By: Josh Poirier
. . . continued from Part I.
The next morning, Jake’s mom found us in the living room, exhausted. We immediately bombarded her with the events of the previous night, desperate to accurately convey the horrible spectre that we had seen. Unfortunately, she was very suspicious of us. She repeatedly discounted our story, accusing us of trying to somehow cause trouble.
To be fair, she had good reason to be skeptical. Jake and I used to be obsessed with looking for the supernatural. We had a copy of the book Weird Illinois, which catalogued all the supposedly haunted locations in the state, and we carried it with us everywhere. As soon as we were old enough to drive, we used it as a road guide for day trips to the most haunted locations, from cruising down Archer Avenue hoping to pick up Resurrection Mary to hiking out into the woods to explore Bachelor’s Grove. However, not once in our many excursions had we ever found anything even remotely bizarre. It seemed a little too good to be true that the thing we were so desperately searching for would turn up on a vacation to rural Wisconsin, of all places.
We did not back down, insisting that something was very wrong with the cabin. Finally, exasperated, she separated Jake and I and asked us each to give as detailed of a description as possible of what we had seen. We described exactly the same woman. After the interrogations, her demeanor softened considerably. It was clear that our identical stories had unsettled her. However, she insisted that it was just a dream, that we should forget about it and enjoy the rest of the week. Later that day, we overheard her mention it to Jake’s dad, who responded with a few expletives and called us “morons” several times. It was clear he did not believe our story. To his credit, nothing happened for the next two days.
Later in the trip, we wandered down to the basement and gathered around the small TV that we had set up to play video games. We had been down there for a little while when Brad said that he felt uncomfortable, like someone was watching him. Our eyes turned to the large windows of the walk-in basement, which had turned pitch black in the night, reflecting back our uncomfortable images. As we stared forward, the sound of loud banging footsteps thundered down the stairs behind us. All three of us bolted, violently swinging around to see what the commotion was. No one was on the stairs, and the rest of the family was down by the lake at a fire. Then, a soft giggle seemed to come from nowhere, a white blur flashed along the ink black windows, racing towards the back of the basement, and there was the sound of a door violently slamming. Brad raced up the stairs, and Jake and I stared dumbfounded in the direction that the blur had gone. There, in the back of the basement, was the painted-shut door, and on the door near the knob, there was a long black gash that had not been there the other day. We ran upstairs, grabbed Brad, and sprinted out of the house, down to the fire to find the family. We were inconsolable, frightened out of our minds. We would not return to the house until Jake’s dad came with us, begrudgingly. We convinced him to remain in our room with us that night.
Later, Jake’s mom woke up. Apparently, she heard muffled laughs coming from the main room. As it was around three in the morning, she got out of bed, assuming the girls had stayed up late, and needed to be reminded to go to sleep. She later told us that as she entered the main room, no one was to be seen, but the laughter got louder, more frantic. She became very uncomfortable, switching on lights until a voice behind her said clearly, “Stop.” Her scream woke the house. We packed immediately and went to a hotel. The next day we drove home, our vacation cut a few days short by a very unwelcome guest.