The Cry for Help

I was the typical moody teenager; living in my parents half furnished basement and listening to loud music and hanging out with friends, all the while hating school and the establishment of it all. I'd stay up late, party on the weekends, and barely get good enough grades to pass my classes. My hobbies included video games and annoying my parents. I was completely absorbed with that kind of self important attitude, and didn't care what anyone else had to say about it. It was all about having a good time and enjoying my youth.

But then, something strange started to happen that made me forget about all that silliness. Here's the set-up: It was a weeknight, but I was up way later than I should have been, as usual. I was listening to some tunes on my stereo and playing some N64. I had a couch down in my room, and my bed was up against one of the walls. The basement was furnished, but only partially. Some of the other rooms still had that gross, creepy basement feel to them. I'd usually just keep those doors closed and pretend that the rest of the downstairs was just as nice as the area I lived in. There was a small room adjacent to the wall where my bed was located. It was like a studio of sorts and might have been someones former art work space. But that room flooded a lot, so we never kept anything in there. Plus, it kind of always had a creepy feeling to it, even during the day.

That night, however, things went from just a creepy feeling to downright just creepy. I had noticed a strange sound in the background of my music, but when I would pause the CD, I wouldn't hear anything. I thought maybe it was something wrong with that disc, so I swapped it out with something else. But, again, the sound returned. It sounded like someone crying, but it mixed so well at first that I couldn't really tell. At some point, the cries were louder than the music. And I was freaking out pretty bad. I was frozen with fear for the first time in my life. The sobbing was coming from the other side of the wall from where my bed was. I knew that there was no way to get in there besides going through my part of the basement, which made me freak out even worse than I already was. Something was in there, and must have been in there for hours before making any noise.

After what felt like hours, I finally garnered the courage to get up off the couch and investigate who or what was crying on the other side of the wall. Of course, there was no way I was going to actually open the door and go in there. So instead, I stood up on my bed and went to the vent that separated the two rooms. The weird thing, besides the person crying obviously, was that even though I was closer to the vent, the crying didn't seem to get any louder. It's as if the I was never able to actually get any closer to it. I finally croaked out the words “Hello? Are you okay?” in such a quite whisper so that I wouldn't be heard. But, to my shock, I got a response: a faint “No.”

I don't know what it was about that, but it shocked me so much that I nearly stumbled backwards of the bed before making a made dash up the stairs and out of the basement. I burst through my parents bedroom door to wake them up and warn them about someone in the house. But, as these things seem to go, when my Dad when down to investigate, nothing was in that old art room but some water on the floor. My parents were annoyed, and probably figured I was on drugs, but it spooked me enough to ask them if I could move back upstairs. I avoided going down there as much as I could, but I still wonder who or what needed help that night.

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