This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Wild-Tea-9242 on 2025-02-05 03:22:55+00:00.
Growing up, I hated the summers. My friends and classmates would start the new school year going on and on about the fun things they did during break, like going to water parks, rec centers, or going to a camp where they told scary stories around the fire and ate marshmallows. I had nothing to share, from the time I was in first grade till the time I was in fourth grade my stories were boring and mundane.
That is, until one year, when I was 11, and I came back with a story that was not fun or boring at all, but absolutely terrifying.
My summer breaks sucked because my parents would always send me to my grandfather’s, a tradition that started for seemingly no reason. He lived a couple of towns away, his old Victorian house surrounded by farmland, looking for all the world like the place from the first Conjuring movie. There was even a creepy forest of birch trees and a still, murky pond nearby.
Grandpa was a tall, skinny and pale man with a bald head that reminded me of a big speckled egg, large hooked nose that reminded me of a witch’s, and beady dark eyes that never seemed to sparkle with joy at anything, not even the sight of his grandson who he only saw once a year. He dressed in dull colors all the time, sweater vests and button ups with these slacks I thought people only wore when they went to church or attended a funeral. He was quiet, and clearly didn’t like people, he would yell at any visitors and had a Beware of Dog sign even though he hated dogs. He had no pets, the sign was just to ward off trespassers.
Living there for a few consecutive months was torturous for a modern kid like I was, his TV was one of the few left that had a large back and an antenna. Most channels were not available, and whatever kids show I could watch were either super religious, like poorly animated Bible stories, or lame learning programs for toddlers, like CoCo Melon but somehow more unbearable and from the 90’s. The only other things I could do was either read a book, play with the two toys I was allowed to bring, or go outside and play. Not before doing my chores, though, of course.
Each Sunday, he took me to a church in the closest town, and throughout the week he forced me to assist him with various volunteer jobs here and there, like at the soup kitchen or handing out resources to the homeless outside. I know that doesn’t sound too bad, but being out in the sweltering sun with absolutely no shade, handing out sample deodorants and food cans to the needy, was hellish for a kid who just wanted to watch cable TV and play his Nintendo DS that he sadly had to leave at home. Every night, we prayed before bed, and said grace before every meal. The meals themselves were quite bland, my parents were great cooks and all his food was poorly seasoned in comparison and mostly boiled until they took on a pale, unappetizing color.
While he wasn’t the most affectionate grandfather in the world, I did have the sense that he cared for me, he just was one of those people who didn’t exactly know how to show it, I guess. He always asked if my dinner was good after I ate the last bite, and I always lied and told him yes. He would also ask if I wanted to hear a bedtime story, but I always said no and reminded him that I was too old for them, or at least I had thought as much.
The summer before I would start fifth grade, something… unexplainable happened. He changed. When my mom dropped me off, parking her beat up Cadillac in the yard and pushing me towards the door, I felt something was off about the whole place. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I remember looking around, as mom and I stood on the porch and she knocked and knocked to no answer, and thinking…
It’s so quiet.
I didn’t hear birds or squirrels, the breeze we felt earlier was gone, meaning the trees were still, and I couldn’t even hear toads croaking by the pond.
Finally, Grandpa answered the door, peeking through a crack. He looked…shaken. There was an expression on his face I’d never seen before. He seemed paler than usual and his eyes were opened a little wider than necessary. He looked at us as if he’d forgotten that we were coming, as if I hadn’t come on the same day every year, as if mom hadn’t spoken to him over the phone a week in advance like she does each time.
“Dad, are you okay?” Mom asked.
Grandpa blinked, as if coming back to reality. He shook his head and opened the door wider. “Sorry, I was only sleeping.”
I immediately knew he had to be lying, he always got up at the same time and stayed awake all throughout the day until bedtime. He always stuck to a strict routine, and if anything threw him off that routine, he would get angry and become silent for the whole day.
Like always, Mom stayed long enough to have lunch with us at the long, rectangular dining table Grandpa had. I always thought it was funny how big it was, considering he lived alone. Apparently, his wife, my Grandma, died before I was born. Anyway, we ate tuna sandwiches cut into neat triangles with toothpicks spearing olives sticking out of them, drank prune juice, and mom was on her way. I was prepared for another uninteresting summer, wishing I was riding roller coasters or swimming in community pools like my friends.
Things started to get strange a couple of days in. I woke up at 6 AM because I was pretty much forced to, he had set the alarm clock on my night table to ring at that time, same as his. After cleaning up and dressing, I went downstairs to watch the old TV while I waited for Grandpa to start cooking breakfast as always. Two hours in, my eyes glued to the screen, I suddenly became painfully aware of the fact that I couldn’t hear Grandpa walking around nor did I hear food cooking.
I stood up from my spot sitting cross legged on the living room floor, and when I turned around, my heart stopped.
Grandpa was standing there, behind the couch, still in his striped pajamas. He stared at me with these soulless eyes, his mouth partially open as if I was some…weird specimen he hadn’t seen before, and it disgusted him. How long had he been like that, and why wasn’t he dressed yet? He loved routine, so why did he break it?
“Grandpa?” I was concerned for him after I got over the initial shock of seeing him standing there. He was old, but his mind was actually quite sharp, he had never done anything like this before. He didn’t say anything, just stared, as if looking through me.
“Grandpa?” I said more urgently, wondering if I needed to call someone.
“More.”
“What?” I frowned. “More what?”
He seemed to snap out of it, then. His eyes blinked rapidly and he finally seemed to look as if he could actually register my existence. He looked down at himself and started grumbling in frustration. “Damn it!”
I watched him march upstairs to go change. Honestly I didn’t know what to think of what just happened. I got over it pretty quickly. I mean yeah, it was weird, but I trusted him and figured he just had a brain fart or something.
We had a late breakfast, during which he pushed his food around muttering under his breath about something I couldn’t make out. I swallowed the runny, poached eggs and got the courage to ask, “Grandpa, is something wrong?”
“I just haven’t gotten much sleep lately.” He waved me away, looking grouchy and not even making eye contact with me. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Are we doing anything today?” I was so bored I was actually looking forward to charity work.
“No. I’m going back to bed, I don’t feel well.” Grandpa got up, angrily wiping his mouth with a napkin, and stormed upstairs. I was left there feeling uncomfortable, wondering if I did something to make him angry.
He stayed in bed all day, and when I tried to wake him to make dinner when evening came, he told me to make myself a ham sandwich and put myself to bed. Instead, I went outside to explore. I stood by the pond and skipped rocks, wondering if I could use everything that was happening as a way to get out of coming there next year.
A creeping sense of unease came over me as I realized, once again, how eerily quiet it was. I didn’t hear any bugs, animals, or anything, like usual. In fact, there were quite a lot of dead frogs, turtles, and lizards floating along the pond’s surface, more than what felt normal. By the tree where an old tire swing hung, a bird lay on its back, rotting next to cracked little egg shells. I tried not to think about it as I searched for more rocks to throw, I wanted to believe I was too old to get scared by such things.
What I couldn’t ignore, however, was the bubbling sound in the pond. Where one of the rocks I threw landed, far out into the middle, the water bubbled a little. Then, ripples formed a V shape, traveling towards the shore in my direction, as if something under the surface was swimming towards me. I won’t give away the region I live in, but we don’t have many gators or crocs around here, and judging by the movement of the water it seemed too big to be anything else.
I turned and ran to the house. When I made it to the porch, I spared a quick look at the same time as I opened the door. Now, there was a split second between me looking and me running into the house. During that very short time frame, I could’ve sworn I thought I saw something round poking out of the water, close to shore. It didn’t look anything like a gator, in fact, it almost seemed like the upper half of a head sticking out and peering at me, like someone was swimming in that …
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