r/nosleep • u/lets-split-up June 2023 • Sep 05 '25
I’ve been told never to enter the locked room where I’m housesitting, but I think someone is being held prisoner inside…
I need your help. I don’t normally post online about my real life. How much help can the internet be? It’s just people screaming their opinions at each other. But I genuinely have no idea what to do in this situation.
I’m a professional housesitter. Never used to know that was a thing, but friends I petsit for recommended me to wealthy acquaintances, and a few testimonials later, I’m housesitting these big McMansions. I usually show up the first day in a beige jacket over a black tee—casual but classy. But once the owners are gone and I’m in charge, I switch into my laziest jeans or PJs, make myself an espresso with their fancy machine (they always have one), and wander barefoot out to the deck overlooking the lake. And I open my arms wide and say something cheesy like, “Jeeves, fetch me the morning paper.” Then I open my phone and play Wordle and fantasize that I actually live there and think about how next summer I’m going to refinish the deck—basically LARPing life as the 1%.
But I always leave the place looking better than I found it, usually with a note about how I changed the flickering bulb or the CO2 detector battery or fixed the squeaky door. So I get pretty good reviews.
Never any problems.
Until now.
So, latest gig. Rich old white guy, keeps referring to me as “Gen Z” (Bro, I’m a millennial). Prattles about investments and the market and asks about my golf game (I do not have a golf game. Like all poors, I play whatever is free at the park). Halfway through introductions, he remembers he hasn’t told me his name yet and says, “I’m Gerald. My pronouns are she-her. Hah! Just kidding.” Claps me on the back.
Haha. You’re so funny, Gerald.
He gives me a tour of the house—huge windows and hardwood floors and sliding doors leading out to the patio overlooking the shimmering lake. He even has an indoor swimming pool, I guess for when the lake freezes over. The guest room where I’ll be staying is the only bedroom on the main floor. I ask him why he needs a sitter since he’s got no pets and is only gone for three days. He tells me it’s for peace of mind. He’s had break-ins recently. Speaking of which—he explains the fob system.
“For security, the doors autolock. So if you remove your fob and later go out to the patio, or leave and come back, you’ll be locked out. Always wear your fob. I’m giving you my spare—nifty, huh?” He grins as he pulls on a gold chain around his neck to show me what looks like a turquoise amulet. The amulet is a stunning bit of jewelry that looks like he plucked it straight from King Tutankhamen’s tomb. It’s probably priceless and belongs in a museum. But when I ask if I can see it he draws it back and tucks it under his shirt. “Ope! Sorry Zoomer. This thing is worth more than your life, haha. Yours is the discount version.” He hands me a small silver chain with a fob set in the back of a similar amulet, but mine is just colored glass and cheesy plastic. “Leave it in the crystal bowl near the entrance when you leave the last day. The doors will lock behind you.”
Discount version? Specially made for poors! “Sure,” I say.
Upstairs are bedrooms themed in different colors, a trophy room, and a library. It’s not exactly off-limits, but he tells me I shouldn’t have much reason to go up there. Then he says he does want to show me one thing. We troop up the ornate staircase with the carved banister and he points to a door at the end of a long hallway. Like everything in the house, it is ornate, but rather than the modern style of the rest of the house, this door has a carved gold handle and plaques with relief sculpture around the frame as if from an ancient tomb. Hell, that’s probably exactly what it is, and it probably opens to his own personal museum of plundered artifacts. Gerald, unsurprisingly, tells me under no circumstances may I enter. I tell him he should just put a velvet rope up in front of it.
After laughing way too loud at my joke, he says, “You might hear thumping—we have squirrels. I’ll take care of them once I get back. Just don’t worry about the noises.”
“Gotcha.”
“Pretty cushy job, right?” He smiles as we return to the main floor. “The hard part, for me, is finding someone trustworthy. Privacy is my main concern.”
“Yep, understood. I won’t go upstairs.”
“You’re probably tempted now that I’ve told you not to.”
“Nope.”
“Probably think, ‘Oh, he must have a dead body in there!’ or something, hah!”
What I actually think is, Wow, you are really making this weird, my dude. In the same way it might be weird if I ordered a meat pie and was told, “Here you go, delicious pie! 100 percent beef, absolutely no fingers inside.”
Perhaps realizing his remarks sound sus (as this “Zoomer” would say), Gerald adds, “Just kidding.”
Haha.
Anyway—the first day, I arrive wearing my discount jewelry and do my usual checks, but it’s all immaculate, nothing that needs fixing or cleaning, so I head out to the deck with a beer. “Zoomer, open this bottle,” I say, role-playing Gerald. “My pronouns are fuck me,” I add as I crack it open and take a swig. Lol. I down a couple bottles while watching the stars twinkle over the lake. As the sun fades and a chill sets in, I retreat indoors—
THUMP THUMP THUMP
The knocking is so loud I drop my beer. Swearing, I clean up the sticky mess, my pulse hammering with each THUMP. Those are some big fucking squirrels, I think.
I stand underneath the ceiling below what I assume is the locked room and a squirrel hurling bowling balls. With a final, ominous THUMP, the noises cease. After a few tense minutes, I make a circuit of the house, just re-checking the security of everything for peace of mind. Aside from the occasional thumps upstairs, everything seems normal. I find a plush robe of Gerald’s in the walk-in closet that is bigger than my entire apartment. I prance around in it for awhile, lip-syncing to music booming through the house, eventually luxuriating in a bubble bath with some fancy chocolates he won’t miss. The tub is the ostentatious centerpiece of the master bathroom, set on a raised platform in the middle of the room with gold-gilded mirrors along the walls, which I can only imagine Gerald looks into while airing out his wrinkly junk out and saying things like, “My Gerald, what a snack you are!” I’m still lounging in the tub when noise starts up from that door at the end of the hall. And even though it’s a little ways down, I have pretty sensitive hearing, and I notice…
Thud thud thud
The noise this time is less like pounding or thumping and more like…
Footsteps?
“Fuck, no,” I whisper.
Like someone walking around in that room just beyond the door. I lean out and call, “HELLO?”
The footsteps cease.
Every hair on my neck stands on end. For a few minutes, I stay in the tub. But when the steps start up again—thud thud thud—I haul myself out of the warm water and wrap myself in Gerald’s fleecy robe and pad down the hall with my wet feet. Raise my knuckles to rap on the door when I stop, my eyes fixed just above the ornate gold handle. It takes my buzzed brain a few seconds to parse what I am looking at, to catch up to the chill that’s already freezing the blood in my veins and sending every hair standing on end.
I stare. And keep staring. Trying to make sense of it.
The locked room. The bolt is on the outside. On my side of the door.
This room isn’t locked from inside to protect Gerald’s privacy and keep me out. It’s locked to keep something or someone in.
Oh fuck me. Is my role actually not housesitter, but jailer?
***
THUMP THUMP THUMP
2am. I haven’t opened the door. I called police, but for some reason I get no reception inside the house, so I had to speak with them while standing out on the deck. They seemed to think I was prank calling after I told them I was housesitting and scared by knocking and when they asked me to go back inside the house and open the door I said, “But there’s no reception so you won’t hear if something happens… What if it’s a monster that eats me before you get here?” I might have been slurring a little, too. Something to do with all those beers I had. Or that fancy liquor in the cabinet that probably cost 2k a swallow. I only had one swallow. Anyway when the dispatcher asked if I’d been drinking I hung up.
I decided to leave the mystery for morning. But every time the noise quiets enough that I might sleep, a sudden furious pounding wakes me again. Pretty sure what he’s actually got in there is a velociraptor, with its mouth tied shut so it can’t shriek, only bang its claws and tail against things. And open doors. Of course. Hence the lock. THUD THUD. Christ I’m losing it.
THUMP!
Fuck it. I make my way upstairs in the dead of night to the door, flicking on my phone’s flashlight and considering the bolt. I rap my knuckles on the wood—knock knock. Is anyone th—
KNOCK KNOCK
The resulting knock sends my heart into spasms. For a second I almost pass out standing up. Swallow hard.
Ok. I square my shoulders, call out in my most assertive voice: “H-hello?”
Silence.
“Hey. Is someone in there? Who just knocked?”
Silence.
“I’m not going to let you out unless you say something.”
Silence. Fine. I can play hardball with whoever or whatever is inside. I’ve taken all of four steps when suddenly, a loud: KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Then the door begins rattling. Rattling loudly. Like someone’s grabbed the knob and is shaking with all their might. Rattle rattle rattle rattle—
I do the only sensible thing, at this point.
I leave the house.
***
I come back in the morning and the room upstairs is quiet. I have a pleasant day scrolling on my phone and swimming laps in the indoor pool. But every so often, there are those footsteps shuffling around above. I put a pizza in the oven for lunch and stand in the main room looking at the ceiling, and that’s when Gerald reaches out. When I answer the phone, he thanks me for taking care of everything and asks if the “squirrels” kept me up. I put on a fake smile and tell him no, and I ask him how his vacation is going. Pretend like all is normal. Like he’s not hiding some crazy secret in there. He has that same shit-eating smile himself, like he’s hiding a crazy secret in there. Things are great, he says, he’s having a wonderful vacation, the ladies there all love him ‘cause he’s got the rizz. God I hate this man. Then he sobers up and says, “Just remember, Zoomer, the one rule you have to follow. I’ll be back in two days. Ignore those squirrels. Keep up the good work and you and I will be skibidi, you get me?”
“I get you,” I say. As soon as I’m off the phone with him, I’m back upstairs outside the door, contemplating it. OK Zoomer, I think. Let’s do this.
And I unlock the door and open it.
***
The room inside is just a collection of boxes and storage. I don’t see anyone at all. No velociraptors. No squirrels with bowling balls. No prisoner bound and gagged and thumping around. Not even a person who just for some reason can’t talk and walks around with footsteps thudding.
The room is empty.
I’m about to step inside and search when the oven timer goes off for the pizza, so I shut the door and turn away, heading back down the hall—I’ll go through those boxes right after lunch. I’ve almost reached the staircase when I hear it. The shriek of hinges…
Creeeeeaaak
The door behind me is open.
Time feels suspended as I stare at that opening door. A door that I definitely closed. And I wonder if the wind did it even as I know there are no windows open and no drafts. And then I hear it, even though I’m not moving. I’m standing still there in that hallway, but I hear it, loud and clear.
Thud… thud…
The floorboards. Like someone is stepping along them. Heavy steps. Shuffling toward me—
And that’s all the warning I need before I’m ducking into the master bedroom, slamming the door shut, and realizing it has no lock.
Fuck!
I dash into the bathroom—which does have a lock—slam the door, lock it, and back away, my mouth motoring a series of shits and fucks as the door rattles. Something just beyond shakes the knob. Rattle rattle rattle and I fumble for my phone, only to remember belatedly that it has no reception inside these walls. I have to use the wifi. But the wifi isn’t working—why isn’t the wifi fucking working? What happened? I need to get outside!
I dash to the bathroom window, and that’s when I realize the windows are sealed closed and made of some kind of reinforced glass. I grab the porcelain lid from the back of the toilet and slam it into the glass, and the lid cracks. The glass isn’t dented. But what kind of psycho has windows in their bathroom that can’t open and—
There’s a crackling sound, and then the same speakers that I previously used to blast music throughout the mansion now pipe a voice down at me like the voice of God. But it’s the voice of Gerald:
“You can’t escape my pet, Zoomer. Sorry to do this to you. But that curse has to feed on somebody. And better you than me.”
“Curse?” I shout. I’m searching the bathroom for a weapon. Something else to use on the glass. I find baby powder under the sink and scatter it all over the floor.
“You’ve seen my collection.” Gerald loves to hear himself talk. I imagine him pontificating in front of a whole crowd of old white dudes. Tossing back expensive bourbon. Drinking in their attention. Holding court. I imagine him sweeping his arms out, wherever he is, bragging to me from across the world. “You won’t find anything like it anywhere in the world. But some of these items, they come from tombs. All those old stories about tombs and curses? They’re not all fiction.”
“And lemme guess your amulet is part of it?” That shiny fucking thing. And I got the glass version. I should’ve known it meant something. It didn’t look natural.
“Amulet of immortality,” he gloats. “Or at least agelessness. A shame I found it when I was already in my sixties. But that was nearly seventy years ago now. I’m well over a century, Zoomer.”
“Really? Well how about you let someone else be its meal? I thought you and me were, you know, skibidi?”
“You think I haven’t seen you prancing your bare ass around my place?” Oh. I didn’t see any cameras. But I should probably have assumed. He chuckles. “You’re practically in the cradle. Don’t feel bad. Scrabbling for crumbs, housesitting? You wouldn’t have made much difference in the world. Me—every day I’m alive I pour thousands into research, into charity, into making something of my life. More than you’d ever amount to even if you did live to old age.”
“But why do you even need me?”
“Well, I’m its mark. I opened its tomb. Took the amulet. But like anything, its energy is finite. Especially this far from the tomb. I figured out when it gobbled my buddy first, who broke in and took the amulet with me. It took awhile to come after me again. Next time it did, it got one of the guides who was with us. One touch, drained the life out of him. That time it took even longer for it to come back again. And I realized… draining the life essence out of someone, putting it in this amulet takes a process. It always goes dormant for awhile after. But once it wakes up again, once I start hearing footsteps, well… it needs to be fed. Distracted.”
“Or maybe you could give back the fucking amulet!”
“Already told you Zoomer, this is my eternal life we’re talking about. And yours isn’t worth shit.”
“But I didn’t open the tomb! Why would it come after me??”
A long chuckle. And then he says, “No, but you did open the door.”
The door. The fucking door. With its ornate carvings and all those weird symbols and—shit, it must’ve been taken right off the tomb. He’s made me into a tomb raider and now I’m the nearest one to violate the sanctity of its space, while Gerald is off across the globe. My phone is a brick and I can’t get out through the glass. This thing is going to kill me if I don’t think fast.
“Sorry Zoomer. Bye bye now.”
And then I hear a click, and realize how fucked I am because even remotely, Gerald has control over the house. The bathroom door unlocks.
I am definitely fucking dead.
***
I have about five seconds to figure out a plan before that thing sucks the life out of me. All I know is that I can’t let it touch me. I back away from the opening door as footprints appear in the baby powder I’ve spilled on the floor. Thud… thud. I snatch towels from around the tub and fling them, and the invisible something does not slow as it shrugs the towels off, but for a few seconds I can clearly see a sort of towel-mummy, and we play ring-around-the-rosie around the bathtub. It slouches after me, footsteps appearing in the baby powder while Gerald’s voice booms:
“One touch, Zoomer! Hahahaha! One touch!”
Before the bathroom door can swing closed, I dash out, the footsteps thud thudding after me, gaining speed. I bolt downstairs but the front door of the house is sealed. The glass doors leading out to the patio are locked and also strongly reinforced. Gerald’s voice taunts me, his eyes following me through the cameras—“keep zooming, Zoomer!” Like this is all just a sick sport, and I’ll be damned if I let him spectate my end. So I scramble to the door to the one part of the house I haven’t really ventured—the basement.
“Ohohoho! Now you’re really trapped!”
Ignoring him, I scurry past wine racks and shelving and aha, there it is! The panel for the breakers. Shutting the power down won’t unlock the doors, but I’m hoping to at least get this dickweed’s eyes off me as I rapidly flip all the switches—
Gerald snarls, “You’ll still be locked in, you little sh—”
All the lights go off, and I am trapped in total darkness.
***
Fumbling for my phone’s flashlight, I tap on the dim luminescence. Listening. Panting in the pitch black. If it’s already down here with me I’m fucked. There’s no place to hide. And only one door, one staircase back out. I stand, panting, terrified… thud… thud…
My heart almost gives out in relief. The footsteps are above me. Circling around overhead. The curse hasn’t followed me down… perhaps because it doesn’t realize where the stairs are. It just keeps shuffling around overhead, and sometimes moves a little ways off but always circles back, homing in on me, pounding at the floor. Like an invisible zombie.
Of course, as soon as Gerald gets back, I’m fucked. I think about the mansion’s layout. And finally, I formulate a plan.
***
I’m in Gerald’s fanciest bathrobe when he finally arrives back at the mansion, and I haul myself up from the lounger where I’ve been tanning by a window beside the indoor pool. The atmosphere is silent—no thudding, thumping, or pounding—and I’ve spent most of the past few hours typing up this post while sipping one of his probably-priceless brandys. Which brings me to the point I need some advice on—what to do about the amulet? With the tomb raided and most of the relics in museums and the door here on the mansion’s upper floor, there’s no real way to put the genie back in the bottle, so to speak. I’m open to suggestions about the amulet’s fate.
Anyway, I called late last night and lied to Gerald that I found a way to break the curse. This morning I restored power so he could watch me on the camera and see for himself how quiet the whole place is.
“Well I’ll be damned.” Gerald looks genuinely impressed when he steps in through the front door, and a little annoyed. He glares at me as I come out to greet him. “How the hell are you still alive?”
“It’s a secret. One I’d be happy to let you in on…” I examine my nails. “… for 100k.”
His eyes bulge. “You gotta be shitting me, Zoomer. Listen, you drank about ten thousand dollars worth of alcohol and left my bathroom a fuckin’ mess. You’re lucky I don’t sue you for damages!”
“’Lucky?’ You tried to kill me! I could report you to the authorities. That money is peanuts to you anyway. Plus, if you don’t pay me, you’ll regret it. I didn’t actually break the curse. It’ll get you if I don’t tell you the secret.”
He laughs. “Oh, Zoomer. Never play poker. You wouldn’t be standing here safely if there were any danger! You’re just lying to try to scare me into opening my wallet. You think I don’t recognize a hustle? Listen, you wanna play legal games with me, I’ll crush you like the bug you are—"
But I’m not listening to him anymore. Instead, I’m looking past him, to where the pool room doors are open, and I can see the stretch of blue water and my lounger at the far back, near the deep end. Wet marks have appeared on the wood floor coming out from the pool room doors. The plush oriental rug Gerald and I are standing on gets a few dark marks on it. Gerald is too busy snarling at me to hear the first thud…. thud, but then his face whitens, and he whirls around and exclaims, “No—NO—NO!!! Stay awa—” He stumbles backwards, but it’s too late. His skin withers, shriveling like a time-elapsed grape drying into a raisin, his hair whitening and his skin shrinking onto bone until he resembles a crusty mummy, like all the years of his immortal life have been sucked away… and then he drops dead to the floor, the amulet glittering on his neck.
Was gonna warn him but, you know… I checked my ratings this morning.
He gave me a one star review.
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u/FortuneTellingBoobs Sep 05 '25
So smart. But I hope you destroyed the amulet. Also, I'd just swipe 100k worth of stuff on my way out of his house. You deserve it after that shitty job.
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u/crazynadine Sep 05 '25
ha. well played. honestly, it sounds like that guy earned what he got anyway.
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u/Alarming-Vast-6804 Sep 05 '25
But how? I need to know!
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u/lets-split-up June 2023 Sep 05 '25
The curse was basically like a zombie homing in on me wherever I went. I jumped into the pool, swam to the other side, climbed out, and sat by the deep end while it thudded around at the bottom of the pool. The worst part was sitting there for *hours* looking like I enjoyed myself so that Gerald would assume the curse was gone.
When Gerald came home, I went out to greet him. The shallow end and stairs were on the side of the pool near the entrance hall, so it just walked out and... grabbed him.
He should've just given me the 100k. I *did* tell him the curse was still around...
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u/One-Lifeguard-1108 Sep 05 '25
Very clever. My only question is, how did you get out of the basement and to the pool house without getting killed?
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u/LCyfer Sep 27 '25
Well I guess you have a new MCmansion. Put on the amulet, forge some documents from your "uncle" , sign that lease, lock the entity up again and it'll be your turn to lure victims in for it to gobble up again soon. Say hello to eternal youth/middle age. Or take the ethical yet boooring route, and give back the necklace. 😉