Creepypasta no sleep contemplation

the under

Okay… erm… I don’t usually do this, but I guess I probably should just in case they ask for further evidence or something. My name is Graham Luciani. I’m 28 years old, living alone in my childhood home. I inherited it several years ago after both my mom and dad passed away. Separately of course. My mother died first, and a couple of years later, my father died and left the place to me. It can sometimes be quite difficult living there. I’m the youngest of 8 children, so you can imagine how big the house would have had to have been to accommodate that many people.
The loneliness is sometimes maddening, and it doesn’t help that my employment consists of me sat alone in a room inputting numbers into a computer. No human interaction there either. When I inherited the house, it wasn’t in a particularly liveable condition. I don’t know how my parents had managed it. Windows were boarded up, the garden was overgrown, and the houses interior was just dusty and dirty from neglect.

After about a week or so, I managed to get the place looking pretty decent, but after a while, the massive size of the house just proved to be way too much for me to handle and care-take. I decided that rather than selling up and moving out, I should convert the house into 2 smaller attached houses and rent one of them out. I wouldn’t have to clean as much, and I would be able to collect rent money from whoever moved in. The renovations would pay for themselves in no time that way. It sounded ideal.

In the town where I live, before making any major modifications to your lot however (having a pool fitted, demolition, building expansion etc.) , you have to first visit the City Hall, discuss your plans, and ask for permission. Most of the time it’s pretty straight forward and simple. Apparently, my case wasn’t though. I visited City Hall after making an appointment with a Mr. Alan Carter, who was the acting Lot Development Supervisor at the time. I took a seat in his office, and after I discussed my idea to develop my house into 2 attached houses, he used his intercom to ask for someone to collect the blueprints to my house from the records room so I could clearly explain exactly what I was talking about, and what I planned to do. After a couple of minutes of small-talk, a rather attractive young lady entered the room carrying a rolled up piece of A3 paper. She handed it to Mr. Carter, and after a smile at me, she left and didn’t return.

Everything was going fine, until Mr. Carter showed me the blueprints. I didn’t even see it at first, but after a little while, I noticed that there seemed to be a door leading to a small room with a set of stairs in what was at the time- my kitchen. I pointed it out to Carter, and he gave me an odd look. “Mr. Luciani, this appears to be a basement staircase.” I was astounded. I had lived in this house for almost 20 years altogether (born, left home and returned again) and I had never once known about any basement. I asked Alan Carter if I could take the blueprints home with me to investigate the new-found area, but he refused, stating that he couldn’t let me leave the building with the original. He did however give me a copy.

When I returned home that night, I made myself a cup of coffee, grabbed a flash-light and took a look around my kitchen around the area where the supposed door was. Mom and Dad had wallpapered the kitchen many years ago, and since it was in such good condition still, I hadn’t stripped it during my first decorating session. It was an ugly yellow floral pattern thing, and now that I was up close, running my fingers along it to find any sign of an indentation, I kinda wished I had torn it down before. After a little while of fumbling around with the wallpaper, I did indeed find a small area that seemed uneven. Now relatively excited to find out what was in this new room, I took a kitchen knife off the sink drainer, and hacked away at the area of wallpaper.

After some tearing and cutting, I eventually tore most of it off, revealing a door. I tore the rest off. The door was made of a relatively sturdy looking wood, and had no handle. Instead, it had an indent which allowed me to open the door in a sliding motion, similar to how an automatic door opens in supermarkets. The door opened into a cold emptiness. Judging by where this door was, the room was under my first set of stairs. I used the flash-light to look around. There wasn’t really anything interesting about this room. Or at least, there wasn’t anything to indicate any reason why it would be wallpapered up. There was a strange smell of dirt and earth, and it was at that point I realised, my parents must have known about this place, as they were the ones that had decorated the house before I was born. With the flash-light in one hand, and the kitchen knife in the other, I entered the room. Sure enough, there was the set of stairs. It led into what seemed like an endless, deep black abyss.