What Scared You As A Child?

Yvette Russell - Alone

Growing up, I never minded being alone. I was perfectly content to spend time on my own, doing my own thing. And if I could have the entire house to myself, all the better. Then I could indulge in the most basic of teenage pleasures: listening to my music really loud.

One night, when my parents had gone out for the evening, I was doing just that. My music was at top volume while I sat in the basement at the family computer, fiddling with Photoshop and chatting with friends. It was the perfect evening for an introvert. The only price for this little paradise was that I had to stand in for the answering machine we didn't have, and take a message for everyone who called. Definitely not a fun task, but worth it for the solitude.

Eventually, as it got later, the calls stopped and I was finally able to listen to my music uninterrupted. Bliss. That was until, during the lull between two songs, I thought I heard someone walking around upstairs

The footsteps were heavy, like someone was wearing boots and walking across the linoleum in my kitchen. This, in itself, wasn't so unusual. My dad often wore his winter boots inside if he was in a rush, even though it drove the rest of us nuts. Nothing like stepping in a melting puddle of snow in your socks.

I figured that had to be the case now. Dad must've just popped back home to grab something before he headed out again, and hadn't bothered to take his boots off.

Remembering that I had a message to deliver to him from an important phone call, I went to the bottom of the stairs and called for him. I wanted to catch him before he left.

But there was no answer.

Thinking he might not have heard me, I called again. When I received the same response—nothing—I climbed the basement stairs and went to look for him.

When I reached the upper floor, I found that it was completely dark. None of the lights were on, which was a surprise. Wouldn't my dad have turned the lights on if he had come home? Though maybe, I figured, he was in a such a big rush that he just hadn't bothered. It was pretty easy to navigate the house in the dark when you had lived here as long as we had.

Undeterred, I called out for my dad again.

And again, there was no reply. And no other sound, I noticed. No other footsteps except my own. I tried calling for him a few more times before I gave up.

My father must've not come home after all.

It made me feel a little uneasy. I had been so sure that there had been someone upstairs, but I convinced myself that I must've just... misheard it. I went back downstairs, and returned to my friends who were waiting for me to come back online. Turning my music back on, I tried to push it from my mind.

Several songs later, I had mostly forgotten about it. I was back in my groove, happily drawing and chatting away. But, during a pause in the music, I heard it again.

Footsteps.

This time I muted the app and listened hard, just to make sure. 

And it was footsteps. Rhythmic, heavy, and right overhead.

Now, old houses have their quirks, and they can make some seriously strange noises. They settle, or creak, or groan. But I knew this house and all its quirks because I had lived in this house for most of my natural life. And this was not settling, or creaking, or groaning.

This was footsteps.

I was sure. Somehow, I must've just missed my dad. Though... he couldn't have slipped passed me. The back door was visible from the stairs, so I would've seen him leave as I climbed up. But maybe he had ducked into the master bathroom or something, where it wouldn't be easy to hear me.

Either way, he had to be here. Those had been definitely footsteps. I climbed the stairs to the upper floor again. The lights were still off, and it was quiet like no one else was there. Determined, I switched on all the lights and meticulously searched the entire upper floor. I opened every door and checked every room. I looked in any place someone could hide or be overlooked.

But I couldn't even find the cat. The house was empty.

I was alone.

At this point, I was completely freaked out. Unsure of what else to do—it was too cold to wait outside, and I felt too silly to call my parents—I returned to the basement. I turned up my music again, switched on the TV, returned to the computer, and hoped the noise would drown out all other sounds. Then I waited anxiously for my parents to come home.

After that, it wasn't so fun to be alone.

So what do you think? Ever had an experience like that? Tell us!