The Salt Circle Conundrum

I’ve always been the nervous type. Supernatural stuff? Gives me the willies. But this… this was different. I’m shaking as I write this, huddled in my car outside our house, not daring to go back in. Let me explain.

We live in an old farmhouse on the outskirts of a dusty town. The layout is simple: kitchen, dining, and living room in one open space, then a long, shadowy corridor that snakes to the bedrooms and bathroom. That hallway has always given me the creeps, but I’ve never been this terrified.

Last night, I was in the kitchen, making myself a late snack—vegemite on toast. My dog, Biscuit, a little terrier, was dozing in his bed. As I spread the vegemite, Biscuit suddenly perked up, ears alert, and dashed past me into the living room. I turned, and there, rounding the corner from the hallway, was my dad. He smiled, waved, and disappeared into the living room. I thought he was headed to his study, which was just off the living room.

A few minutes later, my mom walked in from the back porch. ‘Hey, where’s your father?’ she asked. ‘He’s in the study, I think,’ I said, pointing. ‘No, he’s not,’ she replied, a puzzled look on her face. ‘He just called me from the barn, saying he’d be late. He’s not home yet.’

My blood ran cold. I’d just seen him. I set down my toast and walked into the living room, calling his name. Nothing. The study door was ajar, but the room was dark. A chill ran down my spine. I turned to go back to the kitchen, and that’s when I saw it—a faint, wet footprint on the hardwood floor, leading from the hallway to the living room, then stopping abruptly. The smell hit me next: damp earth and something rotten.

I ran back to the kitchen, my heart pounding. Biscuit was cowering under the table, whimpering. Mom was still there, now looking worried. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘I saw Dad,’ I said, my voice trembling. ‘But he’s not here. There’s a footprint, and it smells awful.’ Mom’s face paled. She’s the type to dismiss my fears, but now she looked genuinely scared. ‘Stay here,’ she said, and she went to check the bedrooms.

I stood there, frozen, listening to her footsteps down the hall. Then I heard her gasp. She came running back, her face ashen. ‘The mirror in the hallway… it’s covered in scratches. And there’s writing on the wall.’ She showed me her phone—she’d taken a picture. Scrawled in something black and oily were the words: ‘YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE SEEN ME.’

I grabbed my keys and ran. Now I’m in my car, watching the house. The porch light flickers. The windows are dark, but every so often, I see a shape moving inside. Not my mom. Not my dad. Something else. The police didn’t believe me. They said it was probably a prank. But I know what I saw. And that thing, wearing my dad’s face, is still in there. I don’t know what it wants, but I’m not going back until dawn. I just hope it doesn’t come out to meet me first.