This is a transcript of information provided to me. My father, Steven Jackson, is the one sharing the story with me. The transcription is being taken by his intelligent, beautiful, and supportive daughter, Stephanie. I am getting paid with the understanding that I, Stephanie, will have access to the family car. The agreement is for every weekend of an upcoming month. My father is grateful that his daughter is willing to take the time to assist in this transcription. He is in no way computer-savvy, having spent the bulk of his life working with his hands. My father wanted the following included: I wrote it but objected (Stephanie).

Steven states… I appreciate the help of my daughter, as it would take months to type this. I am not the greatest at working on a keyboard. Furthermore, I love my daughter very much. I appreciate that she is taking the time to assist her old man with this project. She is intelligent, but also a smartass. Her use of the car is at risk if she continues with unwanted comments. Her allowance might see a reduction.

Everything comes from the voice and mind of my father, Steven Jackson.

A bit of background on how I came across the journal I will be referencing as we move forward. The thing is, it’s going to be a mixture of my story and what I found in a recent job.

I own a scrap, or junk, company. My work often has me out in my pickup. You can find me picking up scrap metal in the area. It’s a mixture of items left at the curb and calls I get from local people. Scrapers, like me, will get the items if they are worth something.

The other work I do is home clean outs. What do I do for the home clean out? I go in and get rid of the “clutter” that has found itself in a person’s home over the years. Many families prefer not to deal with the mess after a loved one has died.

When a family contacts me, I like to have a walk-through of the property. I will specify the upfront cost after reviewing the home. The walk-through helps me decide if I need to hire extra help. It also helps determine if I should rent a larger truck or a dumpster. I will inform them of my policy on what I do if I find anything of major value. The value range I use is if the value is over $1000.  I’ll share the revenue with them. We’ll split it sixty to forty percent, with me getting the larger share. Yes, some may think that’s not exactly fair. Yet, some families do not wish to go through the home. Instead of using a finder’s keepers, I put myself in their place. How would it be if that were me? This is why I try to be good to the family.

The Anderson family recently asked me to visit their late parents’ house. They had lost their mother about 5 years back and their father within the year. I heard from some in town that he had become a bit of a shut-in. Over the past 3 years, he did not want to go anywhere. The son told me to get ready for a bit of a shock when he set up the appointment. He also warned me to bring a mask. I admit I was nervous as I drove to the house.

The house was toward the end of town, not too far from the local cop shop and grocery store. It was over an acre with only a mailbox at the start of a dirt road. The road separated at the tree line as you turned onto the property. I turned and started down the driveway. As the property came into view, the trees cleared to provide a better view. The house and garage were plain, but the concrete driveway to the porch and garage was amazing. It was almost perfect, showing only a few minor signs of wear from the harsh winters and weather. Most of this wear was dark spots from weathering.

The son was getting out of his Jag when he saw me pulling up in my old Ford. The gap between our vehicles was as big as the gap between the house and the driveway. The old man had put more care into his driveway than his house. I see how the house represents my old Ford truck. They both needed light repairs and a paint job (more like a new truck—Stephanie!)  The son’s Jag is new and shiny, as is the driveway, which is well-maintained.

I parked my truck and got out. I went over to the son. He was waiting for me on the front porch with the door open. He greeted me with a nice, firm handshake that I had not expected from the man. He looked more like an accountant type. He must have noticed my body language as we shook hands. He smiled and explained not to let his looks fool me. He took over the family construction company and moved from foreman to the office a few years back. We then exchanged some small talk before stepping inside the house. He said he had warned me about bringing a mask as he put on a paper one. As we entered, my first thought was, “You were right; I should have brought one.”

The smell of stale, musty, dry air hit me like a brick through a window. It wasn’t too unpleasant. However, there was also a scent of mold and decay coming from the direction of the kitchen. The son looked over at my reaction and laughed a little. He chuckled, and as he dug into his pocket, he pulled out another mask. He handed it to me. I accepted it with a smile and placed the mask on my face.

As I did this, the son shared something important. After his father passed away, no one in the family felt able to come here. No one could clean or see what to save from the kitchen or the rest of the house. The family had let the power and water get disconnected as no one thought of paying the bills. No one visited until the son came one day to look for some papers. He said that after spending a few hours in the place, he found them in his father’s office desk. Yet, after memories flooded back, he had to get out of there. It was too much for him to take in.

He explained how, a few years before his death, something had changed in his father. He went from a do-it-yourself type of man to one who rarely left his house. He started using delivery services for everything from groceries to food.  He would order essentials from online stores and have them delivered to his front door. He surprised me with a sudden laugh. I’ll be honest, he stated, Dad would call me and I’d place his orders. We both likely smiled under our masks at that point. If it was something that someone could find locally, he would ask his son. Alternatively, he would ask one of his other kids to get it for him.

He gave me a tour of the place, and there were piles of broken-down boxes stacked and tied with twine. There were the obligatory stacks of magazines, newspapers, and junk mail. The house had two floors and a basement. The entire property would need attention. There was a garage as well. I took notes while we toured the property. There were some chemicals, a car, and other things I needed to worry about in the garage. There were cleaning supplies, some paint, and a large freezer in the basement. I made a mental note about the freezer, as I was sure that it would be a mess.

I finally got back to my truck. From the sky, you could tell we had spent about an hour going through the property. I gave him one of my highest bids for a clean out. It was over five thousand dollars. The cost was higher due to the amount of stuff on the property. I’d need to rent equipment and hire help. I explained that I saw some things that might be worth some money. He agreed to the sixty-forty split on anything over $1,000. Before he left, I had to ask him about the driveway.

He explained that his father had spent a significant part of his retirement funds on the work. His father had become a bit of a hermit. He stated his old man paid top dollar for all the cement work. He never told him or his siblings why. He would shake his head and say things like, “Watch out for potholes.”

The son added that he did recall one strange incident after his father had the work contracted. He had asked his dad why he didn’t use the family firm for the job. The father responded that they would likely have argued about the amount of work he wanted done. The son told me about a day he was dropping off a few groceries that the father wanted.  Work had not started on the driveway. As they looked at the old driveway, the son noticed a blood spot by the garage. His father told him he had hit an animal with the truck one night, and that was the end of that conversation. The son felt his father had dismissed him at that point in the conversation.

Two weeks had passed since I had gotten the job before I got back to the house. The set of keys provided to me by the client was in my hand as I opened the door. I began to look around. I wanted to figure out my plan of attack. I also needed to see what was junk and what might be valuable.

The first thing we have to do is clear out the kitchen. This will help to cut the smell of rotting food. I went to the fridge. It was obvious that no one in the family had checked it before the power disconnected. I never bothered to open the door that first day back. I could smell the rot standing there without the door open.  I made a note that we’d need to use some heavy gloves, a breather, and, worst case, a hazmat suit for the fridge.  I was not looking forward to that cleanup. Thinking to myself that my wife and daughter might want to help with the kitchen. (Yeah, that did not happen – Stephanie)

The basement should have been next. I made the decision that the basement would be the final piece of the house. The large chest freezer was something I’d worry about later on. So, instead, I went upstairs to check the bedrooms, closets, and bathroom. I admit that those were not as bad as things appeared downstairs. It was obvious to me that the old man had spent much of his last year sleeping upstairs only. He spent the bulk of his time downstairs by the television. The old recliner sat in the middle of the downstairs room, showing wear from years of use.

I entered the master bedroom. You could tell that the old guy had slept on the same side of the bed even after his wife had passed. You could make out the divots left from his sleeping position on the bed. The nightstand near his side of the bed had a book titled Journal on the cover. A pen was sticking out of the book. I grabbed the journal to skim through when I got home. I wanted to see if it was something his son might want to share with the family. 

I opened a few drawers in the dresser. I wanted to check if I found any jewelry or keepsakes I’d let the family review first. To my surprise, I saw a military-style knife as the first thing in the drawer. It had to be a nice seven-inch blade. It was in a leather sheath with an Army symbol.  A pair of flashlights was in the same drawer. I put those next to me on the bed. Then, I found a Purple Heart medal. It was tucked away in its award box in the drawer.

The son never mentioned that his dad had served, so I made sure to grab that for the family. There was no paperwork explaining the reasoning for the award. I got to say the old man earned some quick respect from me when I found that.

I finished in the house and headed out to the garage for a final walk-through. This was much easier. The garage consisted of garden tools, a lawnmower, a snow blower, and old paint cans. Of course, the classic Olds in the garage took up the bulk of the space. I noted that if their family didn’t want the car, I would offer to buy it. I might risk taking a loss on the job by purchasing the car myself instead of selling it.

I got home from the walk-through after six-thirty that night. I spent my evening planning what equipment and workers I would need for the job. I’d need to rent a dumpster, hire two of my normal part-timers, and ask Stephanie. She could make some money during the summer. I’d have to get all my serious cleaning gear ready with new filters. It was later that night when things changed, and I made a major mistake. That damn journal; I began to read its contents.

Stephanie here… My father took a moment and wiped his face with his right hand. His baseball hat slipped a bit up his forehead, but he adjusted it back down. I am adding this as I have never seen him this shaken. He has turned a bit pale. He went from standing behind me as I type to grabbing a chair and sitting down. If I weren’t doing this at the kitchen table, it would be hard for him to do that. I am concerned about him. I’m sure he will ask me to take this out, well, if he catches it. I told him we should take a break, and he agreed.

We are resuming. Finally, my father decided to call it a night. He grabbed some of his favorite bourbon and sipped on it until he fell asleep in his recliner. I found him still sleeping there at two in the morning. My mom was watching one of her favorite true crime TV shows on the couch. She waved for me to go back to bed. I was fortunate to have no school that morning. I’d been late, as the entire house slept till around ten. Dad came and got me to start again about thirty minutes ago. First, he had to get himself some coffee and me a small breakfast.

I have resumed the story here with transcripts of what my father shared with me.

I brought what I believed to be the old man’s journal home. I wanted to review it and see if it was something the family might wish to have. There was time to read the thing as the job would start in about a week. I had to wait for the delivery of the dumpster. My part-time staffers also needed to adjust their schedules to get free time. Stephanie made it clear she might help if she were not out with her friends during the summer break. This would start 1 week before the job.

I wish to this day that I had not brought that cursed thing back to this house. I regret opening a single page of the journal. The old man started his writing not long after his wife had passed away.

He had memories of her smile and laughter after she won the battle against cancer. She was weak, but you could sense how his wife had some strong courage and willpower. He wrote about how she never wavered and let things get to her. She always stayed positive until dementia appeared and took much of who she was away.

He wrote about how she struggled with her memory loss. The journal stated that her memory loss became too much for him. He wasn’t able to care for her anymore, so he had to place her in a home. He felt horrible that she died alone in that place at night with no one there for her. He started showing signs of depression in some of his early writings. He didn’t want to go on and wrote about how his “Jess” had left him. Yet, he knew she’d be furious with him if he gave in to such thoughts and went on living for her.

His journal writings continued in that form for some time. The entries came at uneven intervals, as he wrote during his moments of sorrow. There were those entries when he needed to let his wife know how his day went. You could feel the emotions of how they loved each other. It was heartwarming. At times, I admit, I felt like I could cry a little at what he had written about their love.

The part that got me the most is how he would have sleepless nights. He would watch some old movies on his television. He and his wife had a thing for old detective shows or movies. He’d write about movies like “The Thin Man,” “Nick Carter,” and “Bulldog Drummond.” I never heard of any of them.

The old man wrote about how old friends would call them Nick and Nora. I did some research and found that they based it on “The Thin Man” movies he had mentioned. The two leading characters were a husband-and-wife detective team. I gathered that the characters showed a loving and happy married couple.  I made a note to see if I could find any of the movies streaming online.

It was a month before his writing started to change. It was as if another person had begun to write the entries. The style and nature saw a complete change from what I had been reading. This is when I should have put the damn journal down and burned it.

It was early September when he had written an entry about a trip to the grocery store. He had listed out what he needed. A bag of potatoes, milk, eggs, and a few boxes of that macaroni and cheese that Jess would fuss about. He had written something like he was about out of his mac and cheese. He knew Jess would not be happy that he ate the stuff. It was full of all these dyes and other stuff not good for him at his age, but he didn’t care. It reminded him of the good days. He added how he was sorry to Jess in the journal. Still, he was getting some. I’ve got to admit I laughed at that, as I know how wives can be.

He wrote the journal’s next entry with a shaky hand, and it seemed as if a madman had possessed him. It started with a calm tone as he mentioned how he had gone to Hubs. He had parked in the back of the lot to get some exercise walking to the store. He wrote “Beware of Potholes” for the first time.

I figured that was so true for Hubs, as the lot needed repaving.  It was a small local grocery store off the main street. The parking lot had seen its days, as it seemed much larger than the store was wide.

When I read, “watch out for potholes,” I saw he meant it figuratively, not literally.

The old man’s shaky handwriting was a bit harder to read. It did not help that his hands must have been dirty as he wrote this. There were smudges of dirt and grime on the pages where he began to tell his story.

“Jess,” he wrote, “I almost joined you that day in death. These things, these things, they pulled me down through a pothole into some underworld. I couldn’t believe it. I stood in a pothole by the truck. I opened the steel tool case and dropped in the grocery bag that early evening. I dropped the bag. I felt something grab my ankles and pull me through. Goddamn it, yes, through the pothole.”

You made fun of me for being like Nick Charles. He carried a small flashlight and a pocket knife around with him. Today, those things saved my life.

I couldn’t make everything out for the next few pages, as his writing must have been fast and furious. What I could make out had me thinking the old man was crazy, or he had fallen and hit his head. From what I made out, I am filling in some gaps.  I’m not 100% sure about some of what he wrote, so some speculation.

He wrote more about what he saw and what he went through underground. At first, I thought this could not be true. I even thought to myself, what if he had some fever dream? I will explain later how I came to find out this was not a dream.

He continued. Jess, I found myself on my ass after I got pulled into the pothole. It was pitch dark, and I could hear and smell something very close to where I landed. I grabbed for the flashlight in my pocket, and as I turned it on, I froze. The scream, my God, Jess, the scream was like that of the fox we had living on the property. You remember, it was so loud you nearly spat your dentures out of your mouth. You spilled your coffee instead, jumping out of the chair as we ate dinner.

Jess, it was hideous. Its eyes were huge, and as it covered its face with its arms, I saw it didn’t have any eyelids. The arms had white skin that hugged the muscles and bones. There were six fingers—yes, six. Each finger had long fingernails, some broken, and they were at least eight inches long. I didn’t see any hair. It reminded me of that silent vampire character, Nostril or something similar.  (The movie was Nosferatu, but I laughed at that when I read it. Added by my dad)

He added that as it screamed, it started to walk backward on what were skinny legs. They bent in an odd direction, as if they had reversed a normal bend. The creature kept backing away from the flashlight’s beam. It reached a point where it must have felt safe. It hissed in my direction and then ran away on all fours.

I didn’t stay put, Jess. I shone the flashlight ahead. Then, I moved cautiously through the long tunnels, watching my surroundings. The creature likely dug these by hand. They were not equal in height or footing, and I tripped often. I’d turn the flashlight around frequently. I wanted to ensure it wasn’t following me. I also needed to check that it wasn’t right behind me. I didn’t know the tunnels, and there was a chance it could double back and get behind me.

I have no idea how far I had moved forward. I never did get one of those digital watches that light up. I couldn’t use my cell phone as it was in the truck. You know how much I dislike that thing. You made sure I took it to town in case I had an emergency. Wouldn’t you know it, Jess? The one time I had an emergency, and I couldn’t call anyone because it was in my truck.

I finally got to what I can only call an intersection. There was a turn to the left and one to the right. I started to go to the right as I read or heard that sticking to the right helps you in a maze. Jess, I got a few feet down the tunnel when I smelled fresh air. I was so happy I almost ran toward the breeze. Instead, I followed that smell of fresh air. I stopped in my tracks, Jess, when I heard it, no, them; fear gripped me..

Jess, it was first a scream for help by what was either a girl or a young woman. Screams for help echoed through the tunnels. What was worse was the fox-like screams that followed it. There were at least two different tones. This meant there were more than one of those creatures down here. I have to admit I was scared. So, I slowly backed up toward the intersection. 

What made me turn and run was the sound of slurps and loud chewing as the girl’s screams disappeared. Jess, I think they were eating her, and I did not want to be next.

As I turned, I saw it; the flashlight did not stop them. They ran toward me. I feared I’d have to fight for my life. My old body wouldn’t win, but I’d go down fighting. I held my small pocket knife in my left hand as I shone the flashlight at the creatures. There were two more of them. They used their arms to cover their eyes as they came closer. I was ready with the flashlight in one hand and my pocket knife in the other. 

Jess, they ran right over me; I mean, they ran right over me. All I could think was that they were off to join their friends in devouring that poor girl. I dropped the flashlight and knife as they went over me. I realized right then and there I had to get out of these tunnels. I got back up and first reached for the dropped flashlight. I needed that to find my pocket knife. I looked around and headed back to the intersection, and went back the way I had come.

As I got further away, the sounds of chewing and slurping started to die down, and then a smell hit me. There was a strong iron smell, mixed with something I could not place. It made me even more urgent to get out of those tunnels. My imagination went into overdrive, Jess. I imagined horrific scenes of gore, such as in that film the kids had us watch. I can’t recall its name right now, other than it shares its name with a power tool. Neither of us liked the movie as it was too bloody.  It was the one where you left the room after thirty minutes and did not come back until it was over. I got off the subject there, dear. I am sorry.

Anyway, as I mentioned, I had to get out of those tunnels, and I reversed the direction I had come. I reached the intersection fast enough. There was a strange twig, stick, or rod on the ground. Thinking I could use it as another weapon, I picked it up. I turned in the direction of the way I had come, and I heard the sounds stop. The noisy echoes they had been making stopped.  A mixture of yells and howls replaced the earlier sounds emerging from the darkness.

My body felt as if it had turned to ice the instant I heard those yells. I knew they’d likely be coming for me next. They had finished what must have been their appetizer. I thought to myself that I would be their dinner. I made myself move, stumbled, and began to run back up that tunnel.

I heard them, their screeches and steps echoing in the tunnels. I was right, Jess; they were coming for me. I kept going, hoping I’d find a way out. I reached the spot in the tunnel where I had bumped my head before. I realized I was close to the place where the creature had dragged me down into this nightmare.

In my haste, I dropped my flashlight after hitting my head in the same spot again. It landed in a small hole in the tunnel floor, pointing upward. I noticed something at that point. There was a small rectangular hole in the ceiling. It was inside the beam of light, a few feet down on the ceiling.

I brought out that weird stick I found earlier.  I scanned the stick thing and found that at one end, it had what appeared to be a matching design. It was the same as the rectangular gap in the ceiling.  They had gotten closer, and I realized I needed to put a bit more distance between me and them. This was not the time to experiment to see if the stick fit the hole.

I grabbed the flashlight off the ground and got moving again. I heard them and imagined them crawling over each other, trying to be the first to find me. I hate to admit it, Jess, but I let out a laugh at that moment. Yet as I did that, I reached the spot where the creature had dragged me underground. I could see some of the remains of my original struggle. Jess, I smiled when what I could see through the flashlight beam was my butt imprint.

I looked up and saw the same square on the ceiling that had gotten my attention moments ago. I took the stick out and lifted it to the ceiling, and they were on me. Before I turned the flashlight toward them, one of them had grabbed my leg. I swear I saw two of them backing away, doing their best to cover their eyes. The one who had grabbed my leg was more stubborn, and it tried to pull me down as it squeezed even harder.

I stabbed it, Jess; I took that pocketknife, swinging down, and stabbed that thing in what was its back. It screeched out in pain and immediately pushed itself backward on the ground. Its friends, or whatever, screeched again, and they attacked it. All I could think of was that the smell of blood must have sent them into some feeding frenzy. As they went to their friend, I went back to work with that stick. The square shape was visible as I held the flashlight upward.

I could tell, as I scanned the roof looking for that notch in the ceiling, that this tunnel was hand-dug. I could make out the scratch marks that they made during the digging. I turned and saw them now digging into the flesh of their friend. What I saw sickened me.

Jess, the sound of their friend screeching in pain brought me back to the moment. I realized that it was not the time to review and admire the tunnel system. The stick was back in my hand. Fumbling it one-handed, it finally fit the square hole. I had to keep a hand on my flashlight and take time to make the stick move. I finally gave up. I put the flashlight in my mouth. Then I grabbed the stick with both hands, and it started to turn. I kept turning my head to the right, left, and up to see if there was any progress. At last, I observed that the hole had opened.

I caught the smell of fresh air and saw a beautiful sight. It was a mixture of the low lighting of the parking lot lights and the stars above. The creatures must have realized it as well. They stopped munching on their friend and turned their attention toward me. I caught their movement, Jess. My head turned, and the flashlight’s angle changed. Are they coming for me? In this case, my dear, they were.

I dropped that stick and jumped, trying to get out of the tunnels. You would have laughed at this clumsy old fool. I jumped an inch up, and my fingertips gripped the edge, and I smiled before falling back down. I must have made such a foolish sight, and if not for the urgency, I would have laughed at myself.

Jess, I knew I had to get out of those tunnels, and this was my last chance. I saw them stirring and moving toward me. They kept trying to cover their eyes from the flashlight beam. They moved, creeping along as I kept bending down to jump out of the tunnel. I do not remember it being this deep when I fell in. I started to check my surroundings between jumps and put the flashlight beam on them. I realized that I had made a mistake and gone too far down the tunnel by a good fifty or so feet. This put me in a lower section and was the reason for my problems in escaping. Jess, I felt scared. I felt like I would not get out of there. The battery could die. Or they’d reach me. Jess, your smile came to my mind. It was then that I knew this was not the time to give up.

I made a bold and dangerous plan. I walked about twenty feet away from the hole and let those creatures follow me. They crawled on what appeared to be all four legs or arms. They were turning and uttering odd sounds each time the flashlight beam shone on them.

My idea was to lead them so they crouched under the hole I had opened. I’d wait for the right moment and run the best I could and step on their bodies to jump out. If it worked, I’d be free! If not, there was a chance they’d finally get this old man for dinner.

I hoped that if they got me, they’d choke and die eating me. It’s a gruesome thought, Jess, but it helped me push through the idea of getting out. I watched and waited as I moved a step back; they would move forward. They were almost at the spot I figured would be right. They crouched under the hole. I put the beam on them, and they covered up. I knew it was now or never.

A deep breath filled my lungs, and I prepared myself. I counted down from five, and as soon as I hit one, I hit them again with the flashlight’s beam and ran. Jess, you would have been proud of me as I had not run that fast in years. I almost stumbled as I approached those things. I steeled my resolve and kept going. I lifted my leg to step on the back of one of them. I knew in that moment this would work. I was able to get far enough up the hole and had an elbow on each side, trying to pull myself out. It was at that moment that the flashlight fell out of my mouth. It landed and pointed down the tunnel in the opposite direction from the creatures. I had been holding it in my mouth and dropped it as I started to pull myself out.

Jess, they almost got me! I had to pull myself out. Their claw-like hands began to tug at my ankles and knees. If not for the thick jeans I wore, I’d likely have seen my legs shredded. Those old work jeans you wanted me to get rid of sure showed their worth that night.

They kept pulling at me, and I had to fight with my legs, kicking at them as I tried to pull myself out of that damn tunnel. I got lucky, honey. On that partly cloudy night, the sky cleared at the right moment. The moon’s rays shone right through the open gap. It was enough moonlight for the creatures to pull back for a brief moment.

It was all the time I needed as I got out of that hole. I moved further away and realized I was still in Hub’s parking lot. I saw my truck about fifty to a hundred feet away from where I found myself. All that mattered was that I had gotten free.

Jess, I went straight home. I thought about calling the sheriff, but would they believe me? How would they even investigate things? I mean, bring in some excavators, dig down, and hope they find the tunnel system? Would Hubs even let them dig up the parking lot for some far-fetched story from an old man?

I thought about it for several days and watched the news. There were no reports of missing people. I decided to leave it alone. I was fearful that they had my scent. They would watch for me to appear. I decided at that moment I would not leave the house.

Another company in town was hired to redo the cement walkways and driveway around the house. I didn’t want to ask our son. He would likely argue about what I wanted to get done. He would say it was too much and not needed. I know that is what I’d tell a customer with this request when I ran the company.

The funny and ironic thing, Jess. The more I thought back about those tunnels, the old construction man in me admired the work. I knew it wasn’t easy to build such a tunnel system. I didn’t talk much about my time in Vietnam with you, Jess. Yet, while I was in that tunnel system, my service came back to me.

I had flashbacks to my tunnel rat service in the Army. Being a soldier who “volunteered” to go into the Viet Cong tunnels, my life was always at risk. As I remembered that night, I had a strong belief that my time in Nam helped me maintain my calm.

The biggest difference that night was that I only had a knife with me and not my .22 handgun. The Army originally gave us a .45, but the loud gunfire damaged my eardrums. It’s the reason I had hearing issues, Jess. I also wished I’d never left my K-Bar knife at the house. The pocket knife worked, but I left it in the back of that creature. I had to give up the handgun when I got out, but that K-Bar had saved my life more times than I can recall. You warned me about wearing it on my belt years back. You were right at that time as the sheriff had a talk with me about it not being “legal.”  Yet, that night, I am sure it would have been much better than the pocketknife in that tunnel.

Stephanie here again, as we are taking a break.

My dad went to get a drink. As he walked away, I asked him what had spooked him about the old man’s story. He got to the counter and poured himself a glass of his more expensive bourbon. He looked over his shoulder. I asked for a drink with a big smile on my face. He came and sat back down instead of giving his normal playful response.

Stephanie here, telling my side of things now, as here is what he said to me. I have to state he took many breaks during this. He also emptied half the bottle of bourbon while he told me all this. You bet I freaked out when he finished.

Stephanie, he began, I want you to understand something important in life. We need to be open about the possibility of supernatural things in this world. I finished this journal and looked for more. But I’m guessing they got thrown away during our house cleaning. It was that, or the old man had stopped writing, or died. I admit I had put the whole thing out of my mind as the crew and I finished cleaning out the property.

We had to tackle the basement. You know I like to work from the uppermost floor down to the bottom in this job. There was a primary reason we saved the basement for last. The power turned off, causing the large chest freezer down there to go bad. The thing smelled horrible.

Two of the guys and I put our hazmat suits back on. We even wore our breathers to lug that thing out of there. We were fortunate that when we pulled it out of the basement, there was a door that led from the kitchen to the backyard. So, we got it up the stairs and out of the house as fast as we could.

It was when we got it outside that we knew we had to empty the thing. There was no way we could pick it up and toss it into the rented dumpster. So, even though it was a great day outside, we kept the suits and breathers on and popped the lid. I will spare you all the ick we saw inside. There was meat, which had defrosted and sat there for who knows how long. The black garbage bags filled up fast, but then I saw it.

A gallon-sized freezer bag. What we saw inside looked like a hand. I told the guys to stop right where they were and not touch anything. I had to call the sheriff. The hand looked human. The exception was that it had six fingers. My first thought wasn’t that the old man was a murderer, but that journal. I recalled how he had written that those creatures had six fingers. My next thought was the blood spot the son saw in the driveway before the father had work done. I felt the hairs on my body stand up as I told the crew we should stop and call the sheriff.

The sheriff showed up about twenty minutes after I called. The sheriff was not prepared for the stench of the freezer. He still walked over to see what we had found. He picked up the bag in his gloved hands and took a big look at it. He dropped it on the ground. He laughed a bit. Then he told me that, if anything, it was from a bear. I looked over at him and asked, “Are you for sure? I mean, it has what looks like 6 fingers.”  The sheriff stated, “Yeah, look at those long claws at the end of the finger tips.  It’s possible to find a bear with 6 pads on a paw if they had a deformity. Or as it thawed in that freezer, it got deformed from everything sitting on it.”  The sheriff added that it’s best to get this cleaned up before the wind changes. The wind would push the stench into town, and he would get calls about the smell.

I knew he was right, so we bagged the thing up. After we finished emptying the freezer, we tossed the bags in the big dumpster. We broke the lid off the freezer. I decided that if I cleaned it up, I would get some scrap metal money from this thing. We loaded it up into the back of my truck and went to the town’s coin car wash. We sprayed the heck out of that thing to get it clean. It was then off to the scrap yard with it. I was right. I got about fifty bucks for the freezer.

Stephanie, I mentioned that to show you how I had put that thing out of my mind. It was much like the journal. It was something I had filed away in the back of my mind. I needed to finish that job to stay on plan. If I got it all cleaned out by the end of the month, a bonus of two grand was waiting for me.  I had four days remaining on that deal and had the garage to finish. I knew we could do it, but I was at the mercy of the dumpster company as we had filled it again.

We managed to finish clearing the garage out with one day left on the contract. Unfortunately for me, the son wanted the car. I finished late that night, but I completed the job.

That evening, your mother called. She asked me to pick up a few things from Hubs on the way home. She wanted some milk, bread, eggs, strawberries, and some ice cream. I got the sense she was going to make crepes the following morning. She would do that as a way to congratulate me for finishing a big job on time. I got the sense she had a new refrigerator in mind since ours was acting up. It was that, or she wanted me to look into a used car for you.  He laughed for the first time in a while. I was happy that he did, but wasn’t sure if that was him relaxing from the booze.

Stephanie, I want to show you something. First, do you recall how mad your mother was when I got home that night? The eggs were broken. The ice cream had melted down to a soup in the bag. This all happened by the time I walked into the house.

I told my dad that I did indeed remember that evening. It was the loudest she had ever yelled at him. She was SO angry that he came in late. The groceries were ruined, and his jeans were shredded from the knee down, and he acted like a zombie. She demanded to smell his breath to see if he was drunk. I heard her tell him to hold still so she could stare into his eyes to see if he was high.

The yelling was horrible, but after a while, Mom calmed down. I didn’t even hear more than a grunt from Dad that night. The sound of the shower was the last thing I heard to tell me he was home.

He slept in very late, only getting up in time for dinner. I could tell as I added my thoughts that here he was revisiting that night in his mind. He had downed the last of his glass of bourbon before telling me what I called the worst.

My dad was ready after that last bit of bourbon. He started pulling up his left jeans leg.  I must have stared at it too long. I was in shock as it was likely the fourth time he had called my name before I heard him. “Stephanie?”

His leg had five, no six, long red scars running from under his knee to his ankle. I could tell it must have hurt, whatever animal did that to him.  He added, “Honey, this was no animal. This was one of those creatures the old man had written about. They are REAL!”.  I could hear a bit of a quiver in his voice as he said that. He believed it, and his sincerity, and that scar had me believing.

I asked Dad, “What happened?”

He told me this, Stephanie, that night I parked at the Hubs. I was in a spot with a few potholes nearby. A laugh escaped me after I got out of the truck. My mind wandered as I thought, “Watch out for potholes.” I went in, did the shopping, and came out into a gorgeous evening with a nice full moon. There were clouds in the sky, but at that time they were not covering the moon. 

As I got closer to the truck, the moon went behind some clouds. I took out my phone and enabled the flashlight.  You know how that place doesn’t have the greatest parking lot lighting.  I nodded at my dad. He continued. He got to the truck and placed his phone on the back of the truck bed. He got out his keys to unlock the door. As he grabbed the phone again, he felt it.

Stephanie: The pain, my god, the pain was horrible. It felt like six knives pierced my leg at once and started sliding down. I could tell something was trying to pull me down. I grabbed my phone and pointed it at my leg, expecting to see a cat or some wild animal. Instead, I saw one of them staring back into the light.

The light had hit its face, and I felt those knives, claws, or fingers release my leg. The arm went to cover its face as a screech pierced the night air. The light in its eyes hurt it as the old man had stated his flashlight had done. His story came rushing back to my mind, and as I watched the thing disappear, the ground closed where it had been. 

I was in shock; my leg was bleeding. My mind raced with what could have happened to me.  I must have sat in that truck for at least thirty minutes before an employee knocked on the window. The kid asked if I was okay. Nodding my head, I told the kid I was resting, being tired. He said they were closing. If I needed something, it was best to head in now. He mentioned he was grabbing the last of the carts from the lot. I told him that I was good and to watch out for the potholes. The kid told me he had become an expert at dodging them while pushing carts. He laughed, said goodnight, and went back into the store.

Stephanie, this is why we have avoided shopping Hubs for some time now. Instead, I have driven us to the nearby town for the big box store. I know you like it, as I often get you a coffee drink when we get there.

My dad was shaking a bit, even sweating as he stared into space after telling me that. I thought back to what I had written. I pictured the sheriff showing up, saying he had found his truck abandoned in the parking lot. They searched and did not find him in the area. It was at that moment that I realized I had the best news.

“Dad,” I said, breaking his focus and getting him back to the moment. I know you’ve been working a lot. You likely did not hear that they sold Hubs. A family member has purchased the store and is making major investments. The parking lot is being paved over with blacktop. Those potholes that have covered the place for a few years will be gone.  He smiled at that, and I saw his body relax at that moment. I didn’t want to tell him. A hole is starting to form right in our driveway. It’s in an area outside of the yard light.  I didn’t have the guts.