MY BROTHER SNUCK INTO THE ABANDONED FARMHOUSE THE NIGHT AFTER DAD’S FUNERAL
I saw the faint glow through the trees from the window of the old house and my stomach dropped.
I pulled my jacket tighter, the cold February wind biting at my cheeks, and drove the quarter-mile down the long, dark driveway. The porch light flickered erratically as I got closer, casting weird shadows all over the decaying structure. This couldn’t be happening.
The front door was slightly ajar, scraping against the rotting wood floor as I pushed it open. A thick smell of damp earth, mold, and something vaguely metallic hit me, making me gag slightly. It was absolutely freezing inside.
“Michael?” I called out, my voice barely a whisper in the vast, echoing hall. Nothing but the sound of my own ragged breath answered me. Dust motes danced in the single, weak beam of light spilling in from the porch outside.
Then, a distinct, heavy *thud* from upstairs, followed by frantic shuffling sounds. He was definitely here. What in God’s name was he looking for in this awful place? After everything that happened? This house held nothing but bad memories for him, for all of us. It made no sense at all.
“Michael, I know you’re up there!” I tried again, much louder this time, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it might break through. The air felt heavy, charged with something I couldn’t possibly name or understand. Was he alone?
I took a tentative step towards the grand but crumbling staircase, the old wood groaning loudly under my weight. Footsteps pounded frantically above my head now, coming closer to the landing at the top. “Go away!” he yelled down, his voice raw, not just with anger like usual, but maybe fear too? But it wasn’t directed at *me*.
Another terrible sound came from the darkness upstairs – a muffled cry, followed by the unmistakable noise of a struggle. A cold, paralyzing dread washed over me instantly. Who else was in this house with him right now? What had he gotten himself into this time that was this bad?
The front door slammed shut behind me with a final, resounding boom, trapping me inside with them.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…The air thickened with a terrifying silence broken only by the frantic scuffle upstairs. My heart felt like a trapped bird, desperate to escape my chest. Trapped. The word echoed in the darkness behind me. I couldn’t run. Michael was up there, in danger, in this house that felt like a tomb.
Ignoring the icy dread, I forced myself to move, taking the crumbling stairs one at a time. Each creak and groan amplified the terror, announcing my presence to whoever was lurking above. The sounds of the struggle intensified – grunts, muffled curses, the splintering impact of something hitting wood. It wasn’t just fear in Michael’s voice; it was desperation.
As I reached the top landing, a sliver of light escaped from under a door at the far end of the hall. Shadows danced erratically under it. I crept forward, pressing my ear against the cold, splintered wood. Voices, low and guttural, were arguing, punctuated by sharp gasps.
“…where is it, Michael?! You know he wouldn’t take it with him…” a rough, unfamiliar voice snarled.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Michael yelled back, clearly struggling. “Get off me!”
My blood ran cold. This wasn’t just a fight; it was an interrogation, a search. What had Dad hidden here? And who was this man?
Adrenaline surged. I kicked the door open with all my might.
The sight was horrific. Michael was pinned against a wall by a large, burly man I’d never seen before, his face twisted in rage. The room, a decaying bedroom, was ransacked – furniture overturned, papers strewn everywhere. In the man’s hand glinted a heavy antique candlestick, raised as if to strike.
“Leave him alone!” I screamed, lunging into the room.
The man startled, turning his menacing gaze towards me. In that split second, Michael shoved hard, breaking free. He stumbled towards a loose floorboard near the fireplace, prying it up frantically. “It’s here! You won’t get it!” he yelled, pulling out a small, tarnished metal box.
The man roared, abandoning Michael and lunging for the box. I threw myself at his legs, tripping him. He went down with a crash, swearing violently. Michael scrambled away, clutching the box.
“Out! Get out!” I yelled, scrambling back myself as the man recovered, getting to his knees with a furious snarl. He looked from the box to Michael, then to me, his eyes burning with thwarted greed. He knew he was outnumbered, or perhaps heard a noise that spooked him, because with another curse, he scrambled to his feet and bolted from the room, his heavy footsteps thudding down the hall and stairs. A moment later, I heard the front door bang open and then slam shut again, this time from the outside.
We stood there, panting, listening until the sound of a car engine sputtering to life faded into the wind. Michael slumped against the wall, trembling, the metal box clutched to his chest. His face was bruised, a trickle of blood near his temple.
“Are you okay?” I rushed over, checking him over.
He just nodded numbly, his eyes fixed on the box. “He… he said Dad owed him. A lot. Said Dad hid something here to cover his tracks. Something important.”
Carefully, Michael pried open the latch. Inside lay a stack of old, brittle letters, tied with a faded ribbon, and a single, thick envelope containing a substantial amount of cash – far more than we knew Dad had. The letters weren’t business documents; they were personal, written in a delicate hand I didn’t recognize.
“What… what is this?” I whispered, picking one up.
Michael just shook his head, staring at the money. “He wasn’t just our father,” he said, his voice raw with a sudden, profound weariness. “He had another life. Secrets. This house… it wasn’t just abandoned to us. It was his hiding place.”
We left the farmhouse as dawn broke, the cold wind biting less sharply now. The house stood silent and foreboding behind us, no longer just a place of bad memories, but a repository of forgotten truths. We had the box, the money, and the letters from a stranger. And we had each other, standing in the pale morning light, bound by the silence of our shared discovery and the shattering realization that the man we had just buried was someone we had never truly known at all.