Nosleep and Creepypasta Stories to Keep You up All Night

It Escaped, I'm So Sorry

Breakfast today consisted of three apples, a bowl of oatmeal without milk, two slices of toast smothered in butter, and a glass of orange juice. I set them all on the food tray and lifted. When I got to the door, I set the tray on a small table beside the handle.

I twisted the deadbolt above the handle, and opened the door toward me. It revealed a small room with a second door beyond it. The second door was made from reinforced steel, designed for safe rooms where people could hide in the event of an intruder.

This door had been installed backwards, however.

It kept it from getting out.

Grabbing the tray again, I put it on a nightstand I'd placed inside the small buffer room.

I raised my arms up and began at the top, twisting the deadbolt at the top of the door, and working my way down to the one just above the handle. Then, I bent over to twist and lift the bolt that held the bottom of the door. The bolts were all well oiled and maintained, so they made very little sound.

When those were all unlocked, I pulled a small keyring from my back left pocket. I turned around and closed the other door behind me, locking it with a key. A single bare bulb overhead lit the small buffer room.

I slid another key from the ring into the final lock. It had a keyhole on both sides, preventing anyone but me from opening this particular door. Once the click told me it was unlocked, I put the keyring away, lifted the food tray, and used my elbow to turn the handle down.

My hip easily pushed the door open. It swung inward on silent hinges, hanging over the wooden steps that led down to the basement.

Before proceeding any further, I kicked the door closed from a few steps down. I held the tray in one hand while I fished the keyring from my pocket and locked the door. Then, I turned back around.

I looked over the tray of food down into the dim light.

The stairs went down in a straight line and went directly to a concrete floor. I'd intended to finish the basement one day. Now I never will.

It was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. Standing there. Watching me. The side of its face was illuminated by the single bulb I left on down there.

It was a woman today, barely older than a teenager.

I ignored its hollow, yet piercing eyes and descended a few steps. It didn't move as I got closer. It was standing to the right of the stairs, so I was able to scoot past it. As I passed, I felt it's heavy breath on my skin, and it turned its head to follow my movement.

"Food's here," I said out loud, walking to the heavy dining table I'd set up down there. I set the tray on the table and gathered up the pieces of the last meal. I saw the clear signs of partially eaten and then thrown food. It ate just enough to live, then threw a tantrum.

Looking at the woman by the stairs who was watching me, her arms hanging limply at her sides, you'd never think that it threw tantrums. But I heard them.

I gathered what food chunks I could onto the old tray before pulling my flashlight from my back pocket. I turned it on and aimed at its face. It didn't recoil or flinch. Its eyes didn't blink or turn away either.

Sweeping the flashlight around, I began my usual checks. I inspected the metal over every window, ensuring that the welds were holding and looking for any new scratches.

There were ten windows originally in the basement. I had filled in four with concrete and intended to finish the rest when I had time. The remaining six were covered by two steel plates. One was welded on the inside, the other was welded on the outside.