Chapter 1 – Chap 1

1. He will begin in the furthest corner of your basement. If you see him, do not overreact. He may decide to move on.

2. If the intruder decides to stay, he will take one step closer each week.

3. Do not attempt to speak with him, hurt him, or get third parties involved.

4. Any violation of rule three generally results in several quick steps forward (Depending on severity of transgression.)

5. Barricading the doors is acceptable. This will slow him down, but the process will be very loud. (Difficult to sleep)

6. To others, the intruder will appear as a mannequin (or a rubber dummy, or a coat hanger etc.) Do NOT let guests near him.

7. The intruder will not move so long as you have guests in the house (Guests who actually want to be there) Once I had an old friend sleep on the couch for three months and the intruder didn’t move a step.

8. You can leave the house, but NEVER sleep anywhere else. NEVER make plans to move (even browsing for houses online etc.) The importance of this rule cannot be understated

GENERAL NOTES: None of these rules are set in stone, the intruder seems to evolve and react depending on your actions. Personally, I recommend measuring the distance from him to the furthest corner of the house, calculate how long it will take him to reach you, set up your bedroom as far away as possible. (once established, do NOT move your bed, you must sleep there from now on.) Please note that sometimes he will leave his station and wander up into the house, do your best to ignore him (He will always return to the last place he left off.)

________

I couldn’t help but laugh as I read the typo-ridden laundry list of absurd rules left on my doorstep. Obviously conjured up by someone with too much free time. Had to give them props for creativity though.

I stepped back inside, folded up the note and tucked it away. Having just moved in, my guess was some neighborhood kid was pranking me. Either way, it was preferable to getting toilet papered. I slumped back onto the living room couch and resumed watching the game.

Owning a place of my own had been my life’s goal since 18. Now, after fifteen years of working, saving and taking on crippling debt, I finally had a house. A killer deal on a modest 1980 two-story with a basement and a backyard swimming pool. The main floor was an open design, kitchen, living room, and an entrance hallway that led to the upstairs. Upstairs was a short alcove with three doors, master bedroom, guest room and washroom. This house was the only thing in my lonely life I felt proud-

-Something caught the corner of my eye. Across the living room, in the front entrance hallway: the basement door was cracked open. A slit of pitch dark. Okay. I thought, turning back to the TV. Must’ve forgotten to close it earlier. I shook it off and focused on the game. As much as I could. The cracked open door lurked in my peripheral all the while. The feeling of being watched crept over me.

“Fuck.” I said. Finally pushing up from the couch, I strolled across the room, pulled the door the shut and wandered back. Embarrassed, I slumped into the couch and swung my feet up on the coffee table. Maybe that note was getting to me. Maybe whoever wrote it wasn’t done messing with me yet. Maybe-

-KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I almost jumped at the pounding on my front door. I muted the TV, got up and hauled over. When I opened the door, a smiling man greeted me. He was five-foot-tall, round and wearing a bright green Hawaiian T-shirt with matching cargo shorts. Vaguely reminding me of the Batman’s Penguin.

“Sir,” he said, a forced smile plastered to his face.

“Hello…” I replied.

“I’m so sorry to bother you.” He said, looking down at my shoes, Studying. “Someone’s been leaving notes on the doorsteps out here and since you’re new…” he looked up, glanced back over his shoulder, then back to me, “I just wanted to …warn you.”

“About what?”

The smile on his face turned grim, “The notes.” He said, pausing for effect. “There’s a…” he searched for words, “There’s a mentally unstable gentleman in the neighborhood.”

“Okay.”

“His father…” he glanced back over his shoulder again, “His father lived in the house across the street from you.”

I looked over across the street. An overgrown one-story box of a house, it looked abandoned.

“When his father …passed, the son…” he looked back to me, “He started writing notes… handing them around the neighborhood.”

I set my hand on the pocket where I’d tucked away the note.

“The son, if you see him, he’s harmless, and the notes… well, of course, they’re nonsense.” He chuckled. I pulled the note out from my pocket, “Yeah, I was wondering,” I said, carefully unfolding the paper. The man’s eyes filled with concern.

“Rule One,” I read aloud, “He will-“

“-Please.” He stammered.

I raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve… I’ve seen enough of those for a while.” He said, rubbing his forehead with the back of his thumb, “They’re harmless, but also kind of…” He looked around, again searching for words.

“Creepy?” I said. His eyes lit up, “Yes, creepy, what a great word. Creepy.” he marveled. Weirdly impressed. I felt like he knew something, and he wasn’t telling me. Not out of secrecy, but out of fear.

“Anyways,” he continued, “I just wanted to let you know, don’t worry about the notes, they’re ridiculous. Of course.”

“Of course,” I said

“Of course.” He replied, “Well, I best be uh…” for the third time, he searched for words.

“…Leaving?” I said.

“Yeah.” He laughed and wagged a finger at me, “I must say you’re really… You’re good with words.” He shook his head like I’d just pulled off a magic trick.

“I try…” I said skeptically, though he seemed sincere.

“Howie, by the way,” He shot his hand out for a handshake. I stepped back a little. The pandemic was still in full swing.

“Oh, of course,” he said, his face turning red. He shook his head again, “Still not used to it.”

“It’s all good.” I said, “I’m Brandon, by the way.”

“Brandon.” He said, smiling again and turning away. I stood there in the doorway, watching him leave. Dumbfounded by the strange conversation. As he stepped onto the road, I stepped back into my house and pulled the door shut. I strolled back into the living room and slumped down on the couch.

Fuck.

My team was losing.

——

It was dark out when the game finished. 3-1 against me. Of course. I turned off the TV and stretched up my arms and pushed off the couch. I froze – the basement door was open again. Wide-open this time. A few long seconds crept by until I finally stepped forward. I shut that door earlier. Standing at the top of the stairs, I peered down into the darkness. I flicked the light on. Nothing but beige cream walls and scratchy carpet. The stairs went down about 20 steps and took a hard turn to the left. I’d only been in the basement twice since I moved in. Nothing but unopened boxes down there. I pulled the door shut and went upstairs to my bedroom. Crawling into bed, I flicked the light off and shut my eyes.

Maybe the door was broken.

A bump in the night startled me awake. I checked the time, 2:58am. Faint moonlight cast in through the bedroom window. The night was still. Un-opened moving boxes crowded my room like a cardboard metropolis. The night was silent. Still half asleep, I sat up on the edge of my bed, staring at the closet door. A door that reminded me of my childhood bedroom. One of the many bedrooms due to moving around so often. A sliding door with fake cherry wood vinyl covering and-

-Something downstairs moved. Seven quick thumps creaked across the hardwood floor. Clicking, almost like dog feet, only heavier. I cursed under my breath, fully awake now. The reasonable part of my mind wondered if a raccoon snuck inside. I pushed up from the bed and marched over to a stack of boxes in the corner. No way was I going down there without a weapon. Sliding the first box off a precarious tower, I turned back and placed it on the bed. Rifling through the box, my hand grasped the cold metal object I was looking for. A chrome-plated switch blade. Bought it off my weed dealer back in high school. I flicked the blade in and out a couple times. This would work. Knife in hand, I stepped towards the doorway, wrapped my grip around the smooth brass doorknob, and opened the door.

It was darker out here. No windows. I flicked the light on. Cold waiting room glow cast over everything. I could see the basement door from up here, and it was still closed. Thank god. I crept silently down the stairs, one step at a time. When I reached the bottom, I noticed a faint smell. Almost like burnt hair and gasoline. Almost. Moonlight cast in through the living room window. Everything was quiet and still. Too still. Like the world was on pause. I stepped into the kitchen. Empty. Shaking my head, I pocketed the switchblade and opened the fridge. Old houses make strange sounds, I thought, pouring myself a glass of milk and taking a swig-

-The foul taste of rot filled my mouth. I spewed and spat into the sink. What the hell? I rinsed out my mouth with water, gurgling until the bitter taste was gone. No way that milk was expired already. I checked the date 3/17/2020. Six days till expiry. Weird. I set the milk down and wandered into the living room.

Standing at the living room window, I looked out across the street. The neighbor’s house was dark. I should’ve asked Howie if the note-leaving person still lived there. Based on what he said, it sounded like this kid needed professional help. Right then, a light snapped on. Exterior, on the left side of the house. Motion detector. Illuminating a cluttered, overgrown back yard. I stood there until the light went dark. Huh. I turned back to head upstairs but stopped. My eyes caught the basement door again. Still closed. Something stirred within me, morbid curiosity. I walked over and pulled the basement door open. I flicked the light on and stepped forward, the scratchy carpet clawed at the soles of my sock-covered feet. I rounded the corner and peered into the dark. A fifteen-foot hallway with doors on either side led to an open rec-room. I flicked the next light switch. Nothing. Of course. I stood there for a good ten seconds, the strange pull of curiosity only getting stronger. I pulled out my phone, turned the flashlight on, and moved forward, stepping around boxes and clutter as I went. The strange smell from upstairs was even stronger down here. Like gasoline and burnt hair. Maybe there was a leak? I’d get that checked out tomorrow.

Regardless, I pushed forward, stepped out into the garage-sized rec-room. Cold concrete against my feet. I scanned the light from left to right until-

-I froze. Stood in the back right corner was a coat-rack post. For a second, it almost looked like a person. I knew it wasn’t there before. It didn’t belong to me. Someone put it there. I felt sick – angry. Someone broke into my house and put a coat hanger in my basement. I marched forward, yanked it off the ground, and stormed back upstairs. I knew exactly who did it too. The same person who left the note, it must’ve been. That was disturbing enough in its own right.

Of course, now, the possibility of the note being a sincere warning never crossed my thoughts. The chance that something unknown and terrible was about to enter my life and never leave, never crossed my thoughts. At this point in time, I was certain that a malicious trickster was attempting to break my sanity. I snapped the coat rack in half, tossed it in the garbage, and sat up in the living room until morning. The next day I installed new security, locks and cameras.

In hindsight, dismissing the note is the biggest regret of my entire life.