Real Zombies, the Living Dead, and Creatures of the Apocalypse. Brad Steiger
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with by some type of madman.
Sally finally broke the silence. She said, “Thank God you did not go back into that house.”
I just sat frozen, ready to drive away if I needed to.
We sat there for what seemed an awfully long time, but in truth was only a few minutes. I was very fearful this person in my house would leave before the police arrived. We sat anxiously as the seconds ticked away and occupied ourselves by watching lights turning on—and now staying on—throughout the house.
Soon the house looked like a barn fire on a dark beach as every light appeared to be on—including outside floodlights and driveway spotlights. We again sat silently, watching.
Suddenly from deep inside the house came this animal-like, wild growling scream. I will never forget this nonhuman screaming until the day I die.
As this thing screamed it must have been pounding on the backside of the front door or a front wall. The house echoed this wild animal-like screaming and muffled banging with such force that I began to shake and cry. My friend’s brother touched my shoulder from the back seat with his hand and said, “We need to leave. This is way too much for us to handle.”
I was shaking so much I could barely place the car into gear. We started down the road but had rolled only a few yards when our friend returned with a police car following right behind him.
Coincidentally, my parents were turning the corner right behind the police car. I stopped my car and waited until the policeman was standing just outside my car door. I rolled down the window and then we all started to tell him what was happening.
The policeman looked up at the house to see the last of the light changes occurring. As he stood looking at the house, the creature inside let out one last howling scream.
The policeman reached for his side arm and whispered “Mother of God.”
My parents ran to the side of our car, and the policeman asked my father for the keys to the house. He then withdrew his gun, called for backup, and started up the driveway toward the front door.
Before the policeman unlocked the front door, another policeman arrived. He ran to the front door to aid the first policeman, and they entered the house together.
We all stood outside watching as the policemen made their way through our house—this now eerie-looking building we girls had been giggling in just moments before. It again seemed as if a very long time passed—maybe 10 to 15 minutes—then one of the policemen called my father to the house.
Again, they seemed to be searching the house—this time all three of them. My dad eventually returned to the rest of us, still standing by the cars, and told my friend’s brother to take all the kids directly home and to lock his car doors and not stop for anyone or anything.
As my friends drove away, my dad told my mother and me to get back into the car. He got into the car with us and quickly locked all the doors. He then told my mother and me that the policemen discovered the back door had been ripped open. He said the person who broke in had taken some of our clothing and makeup and thrown it around the house. My dad then looked at my mother in a way that told me there was something more he was not saying.
By this time there were many police cars around the neighborhood. I saw two policemen with a dog searching the neighbor’s yard closest to our house. My friend Kim lived there with her family. We sat in the locked car for a long time. Both of my parents were upset and I was scared to death.
Finally a policeman appeared at our front door and motioned for my father to come back inside the house. My dad left us locked inside the car and did as the policeman directed. My dad talked with the policemen for a few minutes and then motioned for my mother and me to come inside the house as well.
When my mother and I walked into the house, one policeman and my dad took my mother by the arm to show her something down the hallway while another policeman tried to distract me in the living room. I wanted to stay with my parents, and so I started to walk toward the bedroom area where they had gone when my mom let out a horrible scream and burst into tears. I took off in a full run to where my parents were standing.
Whatever thing had been in Chris Holly’s house, it was clearly not human (art by Wm. Michael Mott).
They were in my bedroom. I walked into the bedroom myself and saw my parents looking behind my open closet door. The policeman was looking behind the door as well. I leaned forward and pushed the closet door closed in order to see what they were looking at in the space behind it.
On my bedroom floor, no longer hidden by the closet door, sat a little wooden chair my dad normally kept in his office behind the garage. Draped over the chair, as if someone had been sitting there holding it in his hand, was a long piece of brand new rope. It looked as if someone had just let it slip from his hands as he stood up to leave.
On the floor beside the chair were a long, sharp carving knife from the kitchen and some matches. My makeup had been used to paint strange marks and symbols on my bedroom wall. My nightgown was torn and thrown into the wastebasket next to my desk. On my bed was an outline where something had lain on it and left an imprint. Across my headboard on the wall were long claw marks where something had torn into the wall. I also noticed a putrid order lingering in the house.
I took it all in, despite my paralyzing terror, and then I looked one more time at the little chair and rope no longer hidden by the closet door.
I could not understand what he was telling me. He repeated that someone or something with incredible strength grabbed the window frame and ripped the entire thing out of the wall of the house.
I ran to the bathroom and vomited. My mom, crying, came in after me. I knew I had missed losing my life that night by the mere luck of my friends needing to use the bathroom. If I had entered the house alone, my life surely would have been taken. The question was, but by what?
The police stayed with us for hours. They did not pretend the incident was just a robbery or some silly kid staging a prank. I knew clearly, as they did, that I had barely escaped a cruel and untimely death. Police searched the area for hours that night. They scanned the house for fingerprints and took great care in recording the details of all we had seen and heard.
The police talked to my dad before leaving and told him they knew of another incident in the area with similar details. A woman had been lured into her basement by the unexpected sound of her washer and dryer running. She also heard the horrid screams of this vile intruder and ran for help. It was not the first time they had to deal with this, and we could tell the police were both concerned and frightened.
I slept on the floor in my parents’ bedroom that night. In fact, I slept on their bedroom floor until my dad fitted all the windows and doors of the house with either heavy-duty locks or steel bars. I refused to go outside by myself or drive anywhere in the car alone. I was terrified.
My mother and I were sitting at the kitchen table when I could tell by one look at my dad’s face that the thing had come back, that something once again was terribly wrong.
My father sat down and told us that my friend Kim had been sitting in the family room watching TV. She was home with her mother and little brother, sitting on the couch beneath the family room window, when something from outside the house grabbed the window—frame and all—and ripped it right out of the side of the house.
I could not understand what he was telling me. He repeated that someone or something with incredible strength grabbed the window frame and ripped the entire thing out of the wall of the house.
Kim had jumped up screaming as a long greenish-gray snake-like arm reached for her from outside the window shell. Kim claimed she felt what seemed like a claw skim across her neck.
Her mother heard all the noise from another room. She grabbed her husband’s loaded rifle and ran into