Midnight Narrative - Episode 4 - "The family legacy"

Episode 4: The family legacy

Chapters:
00:00 - Intro
00:19 - Growing up, my grandparents had one rule - Don't look in Pappy's private room
12:04 - I think my son is a serial killer
16:27 - My best friend kept saying she’s from a different reality

Nothing is as it seems in tonight’s triple-feature on Midnight Narrative. First, a summer at Pappy’s house turns into a fight for survival when a teen discovers what’s behind the "private" basement door. Then, a father realizes his son isn't just a popular high schooler—he’s a predator with a terrifying "complaint" list. Finally, we explore the chilling account of a woman whose best friend claims to be a traveler from another reality—only to realize the "curse" is contagious.

Stories featured in this episode:
Growing up, my grandparents had one rule - Don't look in Pappy's private room : https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1sr77er/growing_up_my_grandparents_had_one_rule_dont_look/
I think my son is a serial killer: https://www.reddit.com/r/story/comments/1sp6cme/i_think_my_son_is_a_serial_killer/
My best friend kept saying she’s from a different reality
https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1sqak2q/my_best_friend_kept_saying_shes_from_a_different/

If you would like me to narrate your story, please submit to: midnightnarrative666@gmail.com

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Transcript

SPEAKER_01 0:18

Growing up, my grandparents had one rule. Don't look in Pappy's private room. When I was sixteen, I was sent to live with my grandparents for a month. I hadn't been there in years, but I had a strained relationship with my parents, and they thought a visit to the middle of nowhere would somehow ease the tension between us. Really, I think they just wanted to get away from me. Whatever the case, that trip to the countryside changed my life forever, in worse ways than I ever imagined. Bye, sweetie. Behave, my mother said, waving out the window as her SUV kicked up a trail of dust. Try to contain your excitement a little bit, geez, I mumbled, turning to my smiling grandparents. Oh Stephen, we are so happy that you're staying with us, grandma said, beaming at me. Her warmth was infectious. Pappy didn't say anything at first. He just clasped a meaty hand onto my shoulder. She's right. We don't get many visitors. I grinned at him, even though internally I was screaming. Happy to be here, I replied, praying that my facade would hold. Come on, grandma said, ushering me inside. I'll show you to your room. The moment my grandmother left me alone, I whipped out my cell phone. To my horror, I discovered that I had no service. My grandparents were old school, they didn't have Wi Fi. Every teenager's worst nightmare. Hey pap, I said as I clopped down the stairs. He glanced up at me from his crossword, indicating for me to speak. My grandfather wasn't the most social man. He had a stern, no nonsense demeanor, and he had the build to match the intimidating aura. A little part of me was always a bit afraid of him. Suddenly, my question felt absurdly stupid. Um do you have internet out here? He eyed me for a moment, before nodding to a dinosaur of a monitor. That's all we got. No internet connection to it, though. My heart dropped, at a feeling that it was going to be a long summer. Two days later, I found myself exploring the basement. It was the least inviting part of the house, poorly lit with cobwebs everywhere and a thick layer of dust coating everything in sight. Probably not the safest place to be, but I was bored with nothing better to do. As I pulled the switch to the single light bulb dangling from the ceiling, something immediately drew my attention. A door a single wooden door at the far end of the basement. To my surprise, there was a note nailed to it. Stay out Pappy. It was obviously intended for me. The message immediately spiked my curiosity. I made my way over to it, tiptoeing across the dirt floor. It felt like I was doing something illegal, like I was about to take a leap that I couldn't take back, and that feeling was exhilarating. Once I reached my destination, my heart pounded in my throat. I took a deep breath as I reached for the knob. A boost of adrenaline surged through me as I twisted, and locked, I should have known. I turned to leave and caught mischief elsewhere. The excitement of the situation deflated. The second I did, I stopped in my tracks. Someone was blocking my path. The color drained from my face as I realized who it was, my grandfather. What are you doing down here? It wasn't a question. I was just looking around, I said, flashing him a weak smile. Pappy glowered down at me, his hulking frame looming overhead like a shadow. He stood there in silence for a moment before he spoke. Get out. I don't want to see you down here again. Yes, sir. He didn't have to tell me twice. I swerved around him and bolted back up the stairs, his burning scowl following me the entire way. I had to know what was behind that door. Pappy was obviously hiding something that he didn't want to see me. I couldn't go back down there so soon after being caught. No, I definitely couldn't take that risk. I decided to wait until he was out at the store to make my move. Little did I know, an opportunity would present itself sooner than I expected. That same night, I awoke at an odd hour with a sudden urge to pee. I groggily slipped out of the bed, did my business, and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. Once I was satisfied, I crept back to my room, careful not to wake Pappy and Grandma, and that's when I heard it. I had just reached the top of the landing when a low rustling emerged from somewhere deeper in the house. I don't know why I didn't go back to bed, but for whatever reason, I sat on my haunches at the top of the landing, invisible in the dark. Footsteps clunked along the floor, and the shadow of my grandfather's towering frame came into view. He paused in the kitchen, as if he could sense my presence. For a moment I thought he'd caught me, but to my relief, he eventually continued on his path. My brows furrowed. What was he doing down there? Being the nosy teenager I was, I had to find out. My heart dropped when I heard a door creak open. The basement. He must have been going into his secret room. I descended the stairs as quietly as I could, blood pounding in my ears like thunder. When I reached the bottom, my eyes immediately fell to the open basement door. I scampered down the second set of steps, careful to avoid any noisy floorboards. I froze halfway and watched. Pappy was standing there on the opposite side of the room. He rummaged around behind an old, dusty painting resting against the wall, before producing a rusted key. He inserted it into the lock, and the space was illuminated with light. At that moment my heart nearly exploded. I didn't know for certain, but I could have sworn that I saw crimson splattered on the floor. Curiosity gnawed at me like a piranha. I had to know what was in that room. I knew where Pappy was hiding the key, but I was too paranoid to check at night. He'd gotten the drop on me the last time, I didn't want to find out what would happen if he caught me again. As much as it pained me to do it, I went along with my original plan. I waited until Pappy went to the store to make my move. Goin' to get milk, be back soon. He grumbled to my grandma as he snatched his keys from the hook. Okay, be safe, she said, returning to the pie that she was preparing in the kitchen. That was my golden opportunity. I put down the newspaper that I'd been reading and opened the door to the basement as quietly as I could. My heart pounded with each tiny creak. Fortunately for me, grandma's hearing wasn't the best, and she didn't pick up anything out of the ordinary. I practically flew down the stairs. I was itching to know what was inside that room. I leaned the painting forward and retrieved the key, turning to the door. The sign that Pappy had made was still there, looming over me like a sentry. My hand trembled as I placed the key in the lock and turned it. This was it. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to witness. Dried blood caked the floor. A metal work table sat to my right with a wide array of tools, pliers, hacksaws, hammers, their blades crusted in flaky crimson. At the far end of the room I saw a corkboard, dozens of newspaper articles, and pictures of missing people were pinned to it, and to my left that was what nearly made me pass out, then and there. A yellowed, dingy mattress sat in the corner, on top of it lay a corpse, maggots writhing in and out of every emaciated orifice. Its eyes were wide open, and its mouth had stiffened into a permanent scream. I took a step back as the putrid stench assaulted my nose, but just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, a sound from behind me made me freeze. Click. I slowly turned to find my grandfather standing there, a six shooter trained on me. P Pappy, I I thought you were at the store. I squeaked, my voice weak and brittle. Forgot my wallet. He scowled at me, delivering the most hateful glare that I had ever seen in my life. He sighed, breaking the silence permeating between us. You've seen too much, boy. I didn't want it to come to this, but you've left me no choice. Pow a deafening gunshot ripped through the air. For a moment I didn't feel a thing. The adrenaline surging through my system made sure of that. But when I looked down, I came to the sickening realization that my arm was blossoming with red. Arnold, what was that? Grandma shouted from upstairs. Nothing, ignore it. To my shock, she didn't reply. How much did she know? Your grandmother's going to be upset when she finds out, Pappy said, this time raising the gun to my head and cocking the hammer. But she'll get over it eventually. I didn't give him the satisfaction. I couldn't. My fight or flight response kicked in just at the right time. I bolted forward, the sound of the bullet whizzing past my temple ringing in my ear as I went. I shoved my grandfather and he stumbled, dropping the gun. I didn't stop. I leapt up the stairs, darted into the foyer, and swiped Pappy's spare set of keys from the hook. I heard his pounding footsteps pursuing me as I made a mad dash for his truck. Get back here the sound of his voice booming from the depths of the basement only made me run faster. I crashed outside, unlocked the truck, and threw myself into the driver's seat. Pappy appeared in the doorway as I threw the vehicle in the drive. Crash I instinctively ducked my head as the left side mirror shattered. Pappy didn't try to shoot me again, he stood there, that awful glare burning a hole into my head, as I floored it down the dirt road and far away from that house. I kept driving until I reached the nearest town. Fortunately, the bullet had only grazed me, so I wasn't in need of immediate medical attention. The police investigated my grandparents' house. What they found haunts me to this day. The bodies of my grandparents were recovered from the home. The gun was still warm in Pappy's hand when they found him. After a thorough investigation, my grandfather's crimes were made public. Aside from himself and my grandmother, he was linked to the disappearances of thirteen people, and it's thought that he could have had more victims. I had to attend therapy for years just to feel normal again. Now all this time later, I'm just grateful that I made it out of that house alive. I think my son is a serial killer. I tried my best. I really fucking tried. I didn't want parenthood, but when it's given to you, hell, it's hard not to fall in love with it. It has its ups and downs, sure, but through it all, you learn to love your child. They're an extension of you, a part of yourself that you can try and mold into an even better version. Unfortunately, people aren't as clean cut as that. You tell 'em to zig and they zag. It's just how life is. Beyond the disagreements and head bumping, though it's still possible to raise a kid. Bring them upright in the world. That's what I thought I was doing. My son was well mannered, a gentleman, and god did he have his way with the ladies. Once high school started, it seemed like every other week he was telling me all about his new love, or how he was sure this was the one. He was only fifteen, but who was I to cast out on whatever love life he found for himself? Plus, it all stayed at school, having those cafeteria dates and what have you. However, by seventeen, he was actually bringing girls over to meet us. Have dinner with his mom and I. Now I'm not the best with names, but I do remember faces quite well. That's why when I started noticing the missing person flyers, I was quick to cock an eyebrow. But this is my son we're talking about, the boy who I'd raised since I was a child myself. I was sixteen when he was born. I worked my ass off for him. We grew up together. I couldn't convince myself that everything was peachy forever though, and by the time I saw Miranda's name on one of those flyers, the most recent girl he had brought home, I knew that I had to talk to him. I needed to set things straight, give some relief to my suspicion. I begged God, prayed like a madman that I was wrong, but the more I thought, the more I started connecting dots. I never had one of these girls visit more than once or twice. I'd already caught my son sneaking out at night on multiple occasions. He seemed to always have those hollow eyes whenever he interacted with any of them. When he talked about them, though, it was different. It was like he was truly excited, but not in the normal teenage boy kind of way. It was like when he talked to me about them he was fantasizing, thinking about what he wanted to do to them. When I finally got home after a long day at the office, I practically sprinted up the stairs to my son's room to inquire. To my disappointment, the room was empty, my son was nowhere to be seen. What I did find though were missing person flyers, folded neatly on his nightstand, each one depicting a different ex girlfriend. Now if it had just been the flyers by themselves, I'd have been able to explain it away. Maybe he was helping to hang them up. Maybe he had just run out to finish, and had forgotten to grab them. No, life can never be that easy. What made me realize that I needed to do more than just talk to my son was what had been written on the flyers. Scrawled across each flyer in the handwriting that I helped my boy practice with were complaints. Too loud, too demanding, too arrogant, too annoying. I sifted through the papers, and by the end had reached a total of seven complaints. A tear fell down my face, streaming down the cheek dipping into my newly discovered smile. I must have been in a trance because I didn't even hear the bedroom door open. All I remember is the faint, quiet Dad before I turned to greet my son. Emotion overwhelmed me, and all I could think to say as I outstretched my arms for a hug was that's my boy. I've been best friends with this girl I'll call Sarah since I can remember. Her and I were raised together, our families being good friends since before either of us were born. She's older than me, but only for two months, and that's helped us stay together even in school. Currently, we are both 21. Sarah's always been a really funny and charming girl. Between the two, she's the more outgoing and social, always wearing bright colors. Meanwhile, I could be considered somewhat opposite to her, being more reserved and choosing darker clothing. Still, differences in style and personality never forbid me from loving to spend time with her, and I often found myself tagging along in whatever escapade she came up with. Close to a year ago, everything about Sarah changed completely. She called me one day, and the moment I picked up the phone, I knew something was up. Hey Sarah, what's up? I asked. The voice that came out the other line was definitely Sarah, and she didn't waste a second before starting to question me. Hey, this might sound off, but you're OP, right? I laughed myself, thinking she was building up to some sort of prank at first. Yes, this is OP. Okay, that's good. That's good. She went silent for a bit, then continued, Do you remember inviting me to hang out at the park last week? I recall you inviting me, yes? Me. I I invited you, not the other way around. No? Is something wrong, Sarah? Sarah went silent for even longer. The way she was speaking prior lacked that energetic and contagious attitude I always expected from her, even in the most dire of situations. Sarah, are you there? S sorry, I after a short pause, she began asking another question. Listen, do you remember Do I remember what? I pushed. Do you remember Lucy being there? Lucy, what Lucy? I asked now trying to figure out the punchline of a joke that wasn't there. Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Is this a prank? Come on, you know I'm not good at these. Lucy, don't tell me you don't know who Lucy is. You're you're joking, right? Please, please tell me you're all messing with me. With that, Sarah began sobbing on the phone. Couldn't make much of what she was saying, mid-cry, but after a little bit of me trying to calm her down, she said she'd talk to me tomorrow and hung up. After that I tried calling her back, but she'd reject my calls every time, and eventually messaged me begging me to leave her alone until the next day. In the end I relented, still worried, I could barely sleep, and by the next day I was powering through my shift early in the morning with only three hours of rest. An hour before work was over, Sarah texted me asking if I was free to talk. I replied that I'd be free after work, and her only reply was, Wait, you have a job? Later that afternoon I went to visit her. Both her parents worked late, so it was only her and I. We sat in the living room, at first mostly in awkward silence. She felt distant and cagey, very much unlike the Sarah I knew. She was wearing black sweatpants and a grey hoodie, a far cry from her usual reds and blues. She hugged both her legs and looked at me carefully, her gaze seemingly analyzing my every feature, as if she was trying to find anything out of the ordinary. A bit uncomfortable, I broke the ice. So Sarah, what was that yesterday? Did something happen? After a moment's hesitation, she answered, I think I'm not where I'm supposed to be. I tilted my head and squinted my eyes, thinking once again that this could be the buildup to some sort of elaborate prank. What do you mean? Yesterday I had a nap. When I woke up, things were different. My room, my clothes, this house, everything. Everything was wrong. She shifted into a more comfortable position, still hugging her leg, her eyes now aimed at the floor. Even you, you're healthy, your hair is shorter, and even your clothes are different too. It's like we switched wardrobes and it's driving me insane. The situation was so bizarre to me that I couldn't process what was happening. I couldn't really tell if she was trying to prank me or having some sort of mental health issue, so all I did was try to reassure her. Sarah, honey, it's alright. I'm here for you, okay? I don't know what's happening, but maybe we can talk to your parents and Sarah interrupted me by raising her hand, motioning me to stop and speaking over me. No, no, no. That won't work. They'll think I'm crazy. I can see even you think I'm crazy. No, OP, I'm not having some sort of crisis or going insane. I don't know how, but I think I woke up in a different reality. Different reality? What do you mean? You know, like timeline shifting, multiverse theory. I looked at her, puzzled. At this point she shouted impulsively, Jesus fucking Christ, OP, we watched so many videos on this topic last summer. During her little outburst, I was left speechless. The Sarah I knew hated swearing with a passion, and I recalled we did something completely different the summer prior. Dude, we went to a beach resort with both our families. We were flirting with the Jamaican boy half the time. Ah, of course. She gave her next question a little more thought. Okay, what about the Mandala effect? Oh, that one I know. It's when you remember things differently to how they were, right? Yes, something like that. So imagine you wake up one day, and not one or two things are different, but everything in your life is. As she said this, she tightened her grip on her thighs to the point I could see them sinking into the folds made from pressing into the pants fabric. And you're saying that happened to you? Yes, a lot of things are different. Some are kind of the same, but even those have some differences in this world. I get the idea, but I need you to understand that you sound completely insane. OP, I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me I look insane. At her request, I looked into her eyes. I recognized that look, the one Sarah gave me when she was in trouble. Despair, fear, insecurity, all packaged into a singular look. Something no one, save for me and her family, knew about. After that I was able to believe her, if only a little. We began discussing the differences between my reality and hers. Things like the existence of Lucy, who apparently was the third best friend in our group. How another friend called Katie turned out to be our mortal enemy, or even darker stuff, like how Mr. Lancaster, a well-like teacher back in high school, was arrested for dating one of his students. Sarah asked me to explain what happened in this timeline, for her to know and try blending in. As the weeks passed, I kept hanging out with Sarah. Our time together felt both familiar and new. Her sudden change in taste aligned with mine a lot more, so I felt a little guilty about the fact I was enjoying my new relationship with her more than the previous one. But then things took a turn for the worse. She began getting sick often, and the more I saw her, the more her face was filled with dread and despair, as an unknown disease took over her body. My routine changed to include daily visits to the hospital. As her health deteriorated, the amount of time I was allowed to see her was reduced as well. Last week was the last time I saw Sarah. She looked so frail, I worried she'd pass away any second, but the poor girl was still able to have a conversation just fine. We had been talking for a bit. The time for me to leave was near. I have been cursed, she said all of a sudden, changing topics. What? I asked, taken aback by the sudden declaration. I found out the truth. I've been cursed to die here, in a reality that isn't my own. I never fully believed Sarah's story, but a part of me wanted to believe it was true. Gently I began asking questions of my own. How did you come to that conclusion? Yesterday, an old man came to visit. He had a kind look, and I think he was pitying me. An old man? One you didn't know? Yeah, he told me he knew about my situation, offered to help me. Said I was cursed by someone back in my original reality, that this one can't sustain my form. As she told me this, she looked down at the white bed sheets covering your lower body. For some reason she refused to meet my gaze. That's suspicious. Have you told other people about what happened? Only you. So it's weird, right? How did he offer to help? He said he could undo the curse, send me back before I die. But it has a cost I'm not sure I want to pay. A cost? What cost? I'll tell you later, I need to process things first. Something about what she said bothered me, but I didn't want to pressure her to speak. I figured that maybe she was having some sort of delusion, so after saying goodbye, I went home. Today I woke up in a room that's not my own. I'm not where I'm supposed to be. I look the same, but my clothes are different. My room looks different, the house I live in should be the same. But the wallpaper is the wrong color, and there are pictures on the wall I don't remember taking. The living room has different couches, my email and usernames are different. I think I know what happened, and I don't belong here. I am not me.