My family moved from Houston to Atlanta back in 2008.
The house in Houston was just your average house; it had a kitchen, two bedrooms (one for me, one for my parents), a bathroom, a living room… To put it short, just imagine your house, but with only one floor and everything being either beige or white.
My dad got a letter in the mail that his job he applied for was accepted, which had its headquarters close to Decatur, Georgia. That was one of the reasons we moved. The other one I was never told, but it wouldn’t make a difference.
It was a pretty long drive there, but with us stopping at fast-food places and gas stations along the way, we were all full—including the car. When we finally arrived, the new house was absolutely amazing. It had two floors, with both bedrooms on the second; a kitchen with over 20 cabinets; THREE bathrooms; a basement which my dad filled with arcade machines and video game systems (he called it his “ultra man cave.”); and a closet under the staircase in the basement;
An hour after we packed everything into the house, I immediately went to the closet under the staircase. I liked hiding in there. It was pretty spacious, with enough room for my PS4 and a 30-inch flat-screen TV. The room was perfectly neat, except for a crack in the floor.
When you put your head to the crack, you could hear wind, but not quite. It sounded like a mix between wind, and a very quiet whisper. It was probably my imagination. After all, my mom always said I had a big imagination.
I already knew that this house was going to be the best one we had ever lived in.
⸻
Fast-forward three months. It’s 2:12 PM, October 8. We were eating lunch, made up of turkey sandwiches and barbecue potato chips. I didn’t like barbecue, but it wouldn’t make a difference. We all sat there, when we all heard a sudden screech outside. My dad stood up, went to the door, and there, in the road, was a white car, speeding away. In the middle of the road was a dead, white dog. I wouldn’t really like to describe what it looked like, but let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.
The police came, the dog’s body was disposed, and my dad told the officers what he saw. They nodded, and walked into their car, and drove away. I felt bad for the dog, even though I didn’t know anything about it. I just went back into the stair closet and sat there, playing my game. It wasn’t until about 4:00 that I noticed the crack in the floor had gotten bigger. Not by a lot, just a couple inches, maybe 4. I could have sworn it was smaller though. The elderly lady across the road from us passed away in November, probably from being really sick. In the closet floor, the hole had gotten even bigger. I could only see pitch black inside the hole. I shined my flashlight into it, but there was nothing in there.
I then stuck my hand into the hole. As soon as I put it in there, my hand felt like it disappeared. Just like that, out of existence. When I pulled it back out, my hand felt just normal. I couldn’t explain the feeling, but it was absolutely terrible.
I needed to go calm down and get a drink. Immediately as I opened the door, a small spider scurried away. I eventually caught, and stepped on it with my shoe. Then, I had a thought. As soon as I stepped on the spider, I looked behind me. The hole was bigger. It seemed like the more things that died, the larger the hole grew. I decided to experiment with this.
A local news reporter drowned in a lake. The hole got bigger.
My German teacher’s brother was robbed and murdered. The hole got bigger.
But it wouldn’t make a difference.
My mind seemed like it was… corrupted, or something. I didn’t feel right. I wanted to KILL. I… NEEDED TO KILL.
I went upstairs and looked outside to find my mom driving away in the van to go to the grocery store. Dad was still here… I could *sense* it. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a long, sharp knife out of the dishwasher.
Still dirty. But it wouldn’t make a difference.
I went into the laundry room, not sneaking or being quiet at all.
“Hey, kid, what’re you–” he started. The next thing that came out of his mouth was blood as I twisted the blade in his gut.
His skin began to turn pale, and I let him go. He writhed on the ground, and I watched every moment until he eventually stopped moving.
I ran down the stairs as fast as I could to look at the hole.
Big enough for a body to fit in.
Me, being the corrupted mind I had, put both of my legs slowly in the the hole. Slowly, I adjusted myself, and started to fall.
It didn’t feel like a minute had passed before I landed in a different building. This building didn’t look familiar to me, but it wouldn’t make a difference.
I explored the house a bit further. Every living thing in the house was on the floor, dead.
I heard muffled clicking, somewhere else in the house. Someone was on a computer, and they were clicking on their mouse. I explored the building, until I eventually ended up in a room. There was a person sitting there, on a computer. Laptop? PC? I didn’t think about it.
But it wouldn’t make a difference.
As I walked up to the person, I could see large, bold words on the screen: “The Hole.”
They hadn’t even noticed I was right behind them, breathing.
I whispered to them, “Don’t turn around.” They obviously didn’t hear me.
But it won’t make a difference, now will it?
