Horror Stories With 9 Angels

The House That Vanished

Sooyoung

When I was 11 years old my dad would drive us through the woods on the way home from shopping, telling us the story about the house that vanished. We drove down the bumpy, lonely road past nothing but frigid, naked trees that had icy branches pointing at us like fingers, and the cloak of darkness behind them. The atmosphere was spooky enough, but worse was the story he told, and what happened that one night… Dad would take us down that road occasionally to give us a scare. It usually worked. By the time he told the story and we arrived at the place where the house used to be, I was ready to close my eyes and begging him to take us home. Dad wasn’t mean, he just had a fascination with ghost stories. And he was good at telling the tale. There was once a house in the woods where a family decided to start a new life. They were tired of the city and wanted to be close to nature, so chose a property in the forest. The father built the house by hand with the help of his children and some friends. It was a large family, five children, and so it didn’t take long to build the house. The all dug out the basement together. Then a cement truck came and poured in basement floors and the foundation of the house. Cement steps were made to go up to the future front door. That night as the family stayed in tents nearby, two of the children decided to sneak out and play on the newly laid foundation. The next morning, the children were no where to be found. The family thought they had run away, and searched for days in the woods. They were never found. The only trace of them was the footprints they left on the foundation, because it wasn’t quite dry yet as the children played. Eventually the family continued to build the house. Finished, it was two stories high and held enough bedrooms for all the children, even the missing two. One night after work the father came home and found the entire house had vanished. His heart wanted to stop in his chest. There wasn’t a piece of rubble or ashes so it wasn’t as if the house had burned down. He wandered around the woods trying to find his family, tears in his eyes and sheer terror in his heart. This reminded him so much of the night two of his children vanished. He wondered if he must be going mad. There was a full moon and an ominous feeling in the air. He walked back to the foundation of that house, walked up the stairs, and later on, friends and relatives were extremely puzzled when they could find no trace of the house or the family. So, that one night, after telling the story, we arrived at the spot in the woods where the foundation of a house sat all alone. The stairs that went up to nothing were barely visible in the eerie darkness, with only some faint moonlight and our car’s headlights to see by. Usually he’d sit there a few minutes and let us freak out, then drive off, but this time, he was saying, “Why don’t you try climbing these stairs yourself to see where they lead? Maybe you’ll be able to see those children’s footprints for yourself.” We were screaming our heads off, “God no! We will not go up there! Take us out of here, Dad!” but Dad wouldn’t listen this time. But since we wouldn’t go ourselves, he got out of the car himself and headed towards the stairs, us kids screaming our heads off, watching him walk up the stairway until he was beyond the range of our headlights – enveloped in the darkness, we waited, and waited, for him to be back, for the joke to be over… Years later, I am still in the mental hospital, trying to convince my psychiatrist I am not crazy…