Good night Bahama Drama
Good night Bahama Drama
My name is Marcus, and for the past month and a half, my wife and I have been living in a house on Cowpen Road that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. From the very first night, we knew something wasn’t right, and we’ve been trying to find another place to rent ever since but for some reason, no matter how hard we try, something always blocks our way.
This house is haunted, and I mean truly haunted not no old footsteps in the attic type thing. No, we’re dealing with something evil. A little demon boy.
I don’t know how he died, and to be honest, I don’t even think I want to know. But what I do know is that he hates us.
Every night, just as we start to drift off, he starts. At first, it was little things whispers in the corners of the room, the sound of small bare feet running across the tile when we knew no one was there. The doors would creak open slowly, and we’d wake up to find the closet door wide open, though we locked it before bed. My wife swore she felt something watching her in the shower, but I told her it was just her imagination. I wish I had believed her sooner.
By the second week, he got violent.
We’d wake up with scratches deep, burning claw marks that appeared out of nowhere. One night, my wife screamed so loud I nearly jumped out of my skin. She said something grabbed her foot and yanked her halfway off the bed. The next morning, she had dark bruises around her ankle like small, icy hands had clamped down on her and tried to pull her into the darkness.
The air in this house is wrong. It’s thick, heavy, like it’s pressing down on us, making it hard to breathe. The shadows move when you aren’t looking. The smell of something rotten drifts through the house at random times, and no amount of bleach can wash it away.
Then came the knocking.
Every single night, without fail, around 3:12 AM, the knocking starts. It comes from inside the walls. Sometimes, it’s soft, like a child playing. Other times, it’s hard, angry, rattling the very foundation of this cursed place.
Last night was the worst.
We were lying in bed, too scared to sleep, when we heard it. A giggle. A child’s giggle. But it wasn’t normalit was wet, gurgling, like something was choking and laughing at the same time.
Then, our bedroom door slammed shut.
The windows rattled. The air turned freezing cold. And then, just beyond the edge of our bed, we saw him.
A small, shadowy figure. Eyes like black pits. A smile too wide for his little face.
He whispered something, but I don’t know what it was I was too busy grabbing my wife and running out of that room.
We didn’t sleep last night. I don’t know how much longer we can take this. We’ve called landlords, checked rental listings, even begged friends to let us crash, but every time we get close to leaving, something happens sudden job losses, unexpected expenses, car trouble.
It’s like the house won’t let us leave.
I don’t know what this thing is, but I know one thing for sure this is not the spirit of some innocent child.
This is something demonic. And it’s getting stronger.
Pray for us. Because I don’t think we’re getting out of here alive.
Page Reply:
I don’t know about y’all but I wouldn’t have been in that house after the first door slammed by itself trust me.
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