A Strange House Appeared in The Field Across The Street | Scary Stories from The Internet

It all started when I was seven. That was  twenty years ago now. I was a curious kid, always out exploring our families  land, taking the trek out to the woods across the grassy fields.

I  would collect rocks, watch animals, splash around in the streams I discovered,  most of the time by myself. I didn't need company. I never felt lonely.

Or maybe that  was just because I was use to being alone. My parents owned a farm, a vast sprawling plot of  land that stretched for miles in every direction. It was beautiful country and the golden sun  accented the acres of mint green corn stalks that lined our back yard.

My father worked hard,  spending his days tending the crop with the help of a few farm hands. My mother took care of  the house and the occasional trip into town, stalking up on the essentials. They were  a good team and they loved each other very much.

They loved the life they  shared and depended on one another. During the school year my mother or my neighbor  would take me and Trevor into town for my lessons, alternating days. Trevor was my age and my only  friend.

During the summers I didn't see him much, his own duties grounding him at  his parents farm eight miles down the dirt road from us. Occasionally  our parents would get together and share a big country dinner while Trevor and  I wolfed down our food and went out to play. I was a happy kid, content with my life. 

I don't remember ever feeling isolated or lasting unhappiness. My parents  were good to me and the expansive surrounding land consistently  kept my explorer tendencies busy. As I stated, we lived off a single lane dirt road,  miles from town, miles from everything.

Behind our ranch style house were the corn fields, rows and  rows of stalks that reached out and touched the horizon. At least, that's how I remember it.  I often worried about getting lost in green labyrinth whenever I had to go fetch dad for  supper, the tight stalks towering over my head.

In front of the house was a vast stretch of  flat open grassland that expanded for a couple dozen acres before reaching the treeline where the  woods grew dense. I loved to explore those woods, most of my summers spent venturing deeper  and deeper inside their sap crusted guts. But this isn't about the woods. 

This isn't about the cornfields. This is about the house the suddenly  appeared in the field across the street. Like I said, I was seven when it suddenly  appeared.

I remember going to bed on a hot June night, sleep slowed by the  heavy heat. When sleep finally came, it didn't last long. I woke up sometime in the  night, my throat parched from the thick air.

I went to get a glass of water and as I passed  my bedroom window, I saw it for the first time. The first thing that struck me was how tall it  was. Three stories, its roof reaching for the star filled sky.

It was the biggest house I had ever  seen up until that point. My little hands gripped the window sill and my nose pressed against  the glass as my eyes took in this new wonder. It sat directly across the dirt road from  our house, only a couple hundred feet from our front porch.

It was painted dark green,  or so I'd see in the morning, and it looked well kept. The dark windows were framed by  hideous yellow shutters, looking like mold in the silent moonlight. It had no porch, just a  single ugly door the same color as the shutters.

I stared at it, my young mind growing excited  at this new mystery, the following day already filling with thoughts of exploring it. But of  course I couldn't. That was someones house.

Someone was living there. As these thoughts  destroyed my enthusiasm, I remember how badly I wanted to run and wake my parents and share  with them what I was seeing. At the time, the concept of a house suddenly appearing across  from ours was fascinating.

I didn't think it scary or even odd. It was just something that happened  and my young seven year old mind just accepted it. Eventually, I went and got a glass of water and  went back to bed, mind buzzing with possibilities.

The next morning I bounded out of bed,  the sun only barely warming the sky with splashes of deep purple and puddles  of soft pink. I raced to my window to make sure I hadn't been dreaming. The  house still stood, dark and motionless.

I thundered into the kitchen,  almost knocking over my dad, anxious to show my parents. I felt  like it was my own personal discovery, like somehow I was responsible for it  being there. After my dad scolded me, probably irritated by my burst of early morning  energy, I asked him if he had seen the house.

He didn't seem to know what I was talking about  as I hurriedly pulled him to the front door, my mouth running like a dirt bike. I flung  the door open and pointed to the house, my feet padding down the steps of our porch. My father stopped in the doorway, eyes  scanning the field, a look of confusion on his face.

He looked down at me with a  worried look and then back at the field. He scratched his chin and motioned for me to come  inside, telling me to stop being ridiculous, that if I had this much energy I could  help him out in the fields today. He couldn't see the house.

At that age, my mind couldn't wrap itself around  that fact because. . .

well. . .

it was right there! I continued to point and tell him, but it  didn't do any good. He was blind to it.

This left me frustrated and confused.  I didn't know why he couldn't see it. I wanted desperately for him to acknowledge  what I had found in the middle of the night, but no matter how much I talked  and argued, it was of no use.

As sentenced, I spent the day helping my dad in  the corn fields. Shortly after breakfast, three of the usual farm hands arrived and we went out back  for our day's labors. If they could see the house, they showed no sign of it.

I even asked Louie,  the guy who had been helping my dad the longest, if he noticed anything on his way in. He ruffled  my hair and said that seeing me up this early was the only thing he witnessed. I shook him  off, getting angry as to why no one saw it.

As I went about my chores, I couldn't stop  thinking about the house. The looming quiet way it sat in the long grass, its three levels begging  for investigation. I wanted to tell Trevor, but knew I wouldn't be able to today.

He  would believe me. He would be able to see it, I just knew he would. Trevor shared my  sense of adventure and I knew that the next time we played together, our time would  be spent discussing and maybe even snooping around the house.

There was such an air of  mystery about it that I felt myself almost physically pulled towards it. I couldn't  see it from my place amidst the corn, but I could tell you exactly where  it was from any point that I stood. The sun tugged itself across the  sky, one labored hour after another, and finally my dad announced it was  time to call it quits.

I walked back to our house next to my dad, listening  to him talk to the three workers about what needed to be done tomorrow and  what time to come back in the morning. They plodded up the back porch and were met  by my mother who offered them all cold beers which they took with big smiles. Feeling  tired and slightly annoyed still, I walked around the side of our house, wanting another  look at the green house with yellow shutters.

I turned the corner and stopped dead in my tracks. The house was gone. I rubbed my eyes, convinced my mind was playing  tricks on me.

As I opened them again, the field still stood empty, the grass rustling like running  water as a warm breeze rustled through it. I turned completely around, eyes searching in all  directions, thinking that maybe I had misplaced the location it was in. Nothing but grass in  front of me and corn behind me.

I squinted and scanned the distant treeline at the far end of the  field in front of my house, but nothing stood out. Feeling angry, I kicked at the dry dirt,  knowing now that Trevor would never believe me. I had wanted to show him so badly,  desperate for anyone to acknowledge this unexplainable phenomenon.

I remember cursing  for the first time then. After I did it, I nervously looked around to make sure my  mother hadn't heard me. Her voice floated in the warm air toward me and I felt relief  wash over me as I realized she was till on the back porch.

So I cursed again, kind  of liking the way it made me feel tough. Sighing, I dejectedly shoved my hands  in my pockets and rolled my head back to stare of the evening sky. The darkness  of a storm was creeping in from the west, down the road where Trevor and his parents  lived.

I watched as the billowing black clouds piled over one another and felt  the air wince as distant thunder shook it. Later that night the storm reached us. Rain  shook the walls and lightning split the sky, the blinding white veins followed closely  by cannon blast thunder.

I sat in my bed, feeling a little afraid, contemplating whether  to go into my parents room or not. My dad was probably snoring through the whole thing,  but my mom might be awake. I didn't want them to know I was scared though,  because after all, I was seven now.

As another bone shaking blast of thunder fell from  the sky, I slid out of bed and went to my window, forcing myself to go and watch the thing that  was scaring me. My dad always told me that brave men only get brave when they stand up to the  thing that makes them want to run away. And so I planted my feet firmly in front of the window  and watched as nature crashed down around me.

The wind was howling, causing the  house to tremble, and I listened to the rain slam onto the roof, sounding like  a thousand galloping hooves. Another bolt of lightening illuminated the land, its  sparking suddenness causing me to blink. And then I saw it again.

The house was back. I frantically cupped my face against the glass,  trying to see through the rain streaked pane. I could make out its shape, a dark square hole cut  into the night, and I waited for more lightening.

My heart was racing, excitement bubbling up inside  of me. It was back, I knew I hadn't imagined it! I wanted to go and tell my parents, loudly exclaim  that I wasn't wrong, that there was a house across from us.

The thought of waking my father in  the middle of the night kept me in my room. After a few baited minutes, another flash lit the world and I focused on the house in  the brief second it was illuminated. The front door was wide open.

Now, I don't know why, but I remember  seeing that and feeling terror slowly begin to creep its way into my mind.  I knew that something was wrong, that people don't open their front doors  in the middle of a storm. But there it was, completely open, rain and wind pushing  through towards the blackness inside.

Unease wormed its way through my stomach and I  swallowed hard, suddenly aware of every shadow in my room. I gripped the window sill and waited  for more lightening. A few moments later, it came, bringing with it another glimpse  of the house across the street.

Something was standing in the  doorway staring directly at me. It was blurred by the storm, but I could tell it was big and looked  like a twist of colors in human form. I dove for my bed, illusions of bravery shattered  in an instant, and dug myself deep into the covers.

I lay there, shaking, and feeling like  I had just seen something I wasn't supposed to. The next day the house was gone again. Part  of me was a little glad because it gave my young mind time to wrap itself around what it had  seen.

I kept replaying it over and over again, my imagination giving the human shaped blur details  and features. But whatever images I conjured were soon erased by the reality of my memory. And  that reality was: I had no clue what I had seen.

I ate my breakfast in the kitchen, listening to my  parents talk about the days plans. My ears perked up when my mom told me we were having the Harveys  over for supper. I would finally be able to tell Trevor about everything!

Excitement pushed  away my cautious fears of the previous night and I gobbled up the rest of  my pancakes in a couple bites. My father said he didn't need my help today  and so after I helped mom with the dishes, I sprinted out the front door towards the  woods. With the house gone, it felt like just another wonderful summer day, bursting  with early morning possibilities.

Should I go swimming? Should I built a fort? Maybe once  Trevor got here we could play Lewis and Clarke!

Whooping and hollering, my feet took me across  the grassy field towards the treeline. As I passed the spot where the mysterious green house  had sat, I wondered what would happen if it suddenly appeared with me running over its  spot? Would I magically be inside of it all of the sudden?

Or would I be flung high into the  sky as it came rocketing out of the ground? Feeling suddenly nervous, I put on an extra bit  of speed and passed over where it had rested. The day passed in a blur of imagination and  summer heat.

I spent most of it splashing around one of the streams, collecting rocks  and pretending I was fighting pirates. It was one of those days that shaped  how I look back on my childhood. Where everything seemed just right, a  day of make believe and adventure.

As I lost myself in whatever fiction I  was enacting, the thoughts of the house faded further and further from my mind,  burned away in the growing heat. The sun climbed to a blistering climax, then  began the slow descent, dipping towards the horizon and fanning out in pool of color  that mixed in the sky like melting popsicles. Not realizing how late it had gotten, and  also how hungry I was, I threw the last of the pebbles I had picked up into the stream  and began to make my way back to our house.

I wondered if Trevor and his parents had shown  up yet. I looked up into the sky, trying to gauge what time it was. From the way my stomach  was rumbling, it had better be time to eat.

I broke through the treeline and was about  to sprint the rest of the way when I stopped. The house was back. Except  something was different.

The house was facing me. I felt unease creep across the ground and  climb up my legs. This wasn't right.

It was supposed to be facing my house. Why  was it like this now? I swallowed hard, my own house now blocked from sight. 

I watched the windows, dark and empty, looking for signs of life, looking  for signs of the thing in the storm. It was motionless. I began to make  my way around it in a wide circle, keeping my eyes on the front door as I walked. 

I kept expecting it to burst open and some creature come charging at me. But it didn't.  Nothing moved.

Getting halfway around it, I made a break for my front porch. My  legs kicked through the knee high grass, shoes digging into the soft earth as I ripped  my eyes away and focused on my destination. Panting, I clambered up the steps, sucking in lung fulls of evening air. 

I turned around and almost fell over. The house was back facing mine. I stared for a moment, sucking air, and  waited for something to happen.

In my mind, the house was alive, some kind of living  beast that watched me. I didn't know what it wanted or what it's purpose was, but I  was beginning to feel like it was dangerous. Turning away, I went inside.

I  was greeted with a savory aroma, a gentle heat filling the air with  mouth watering smells. I heard commotion in the kitchen along with  the rolling laughter of conversation. I walked into the dining room and was greeted  from the stove by my mother who informed me I had kept Trevor waiting.

I said my muttered  hellos to Trevor's parents, who smiled and returned my greeting before returning to the  conversation with my parents I had interrupted. I went to the bathroom to wash up,  followed by Trevor who was excitedly telling me about a fort he had been  building in the woods by his house. I shared with him my adventures of the day  and together we began to make plans to sleep over at each others homes with hopes  that tonight would be one of those nights.

As I dried my hands, I asked him if he noticed  anything on his way to my house. He looked confused and so I led him down the hall to  the front door. I opened it and pointed to the green house with the yellow shutters. 

Hesitantly, I asked him if he could see it. He chuckled and slapped me on the  back saying of course he could. Relief washed over me and, closing the door  behind us and stepping out onto the porch, I began to share with him my strange experiences  with the house in the field.

His eyes grew wide and a smile split his face in half. The longer  I talked the more I saw his eyes light up. He asked me if I had explored it yet or poked  around the outside to see if I could get inside.

I shook my head violently, expressing the feeling  of fear it omitted. I told him it wasn't safe, that something was wrong with the house. I told  him my parents couldn't see it and that something had been watching me in the storm.

This only egged  him on, sparking his enthusiasm to explore it. As I tried to talk him out of it, I heard my  father call me to set the table. Groaning, I complied and the conversation  ended there.

Trevor helped me fill the water glasses and soon we were sitting  around a table filled with steaming food. I didn't care about the banquet in front  of me. It was just an obstacle to Trevor and my play time.

Disregarding the hard  work that went into the preparation, I dug in with a vengeance after my father  said grace. My mother shot me a look or two as I proceeded to stuff my face, pounding  the food down with a mouthfuls of water. When my plate was clear, I looked across the table  and saw Trevor was of the same mindset.

I waited the appropriate amount of time and then asked  if we could be excused. My father waved us away, commenting on my poor table manners, but I barely  heard him as Trevor and I shot for the front door. The sky was an expanse of brilliant deep purples and blues as the sun departed for the day. 

Stars twinkled above us like tiny candles, their light pulsing as the sound of night  critters filled the air and sang up to them. Trevor and I sat on the front steps, giving  ourselves a moment to let the food settle. We stared across at the dark house, waiting to  see some flicker of life.

The moon glowed in the deepening darkness, lighting the field and joined  in it's efforts by a sea of blinking fireflies. Trevor was anxious to go look in the windows,  expressing these desires in statements of bravery and courage. I shook my head, knowing that some  mysterious malevolence shrouded the looming house.

It was a gut feeling, a twisting in my stomach  whenever I thought about the thing in the storm. After fruitlessly arguing with me, Trevor  stood and announced he was going to go by himself and have a look. I snapped my eyes  to lock with his and hurriedly voiced my opposition to the idea.

No matter how much  I pleaded, there was no changing his mind. He called me a big chicken and pranced  around the porch clucking and waving his arms. This did nothing to change my mind and  I continued to shake my head in disagreement.

Sighing, Trevor ceased his antics and  trot down the steps to the grass. He gave me a wink and a thumbs up,  telling me I was being a baby. I watched him walk towards the house,  my heart beginning to beat faster.

I felt like I should stop him, that I should  tell my parents, but what would they do? They would see him walking towards and empty field and  my dad would probably slap the back of my head. He was thirty feet from the house, his outline in  the dying light nothing more than a black smudge of movement.

I could hear him saying something to  me, but his words were swallowed up by the night. Twenty feet now, his pace was slowing. My mouth was dry and panic was rising in  my throat.

This was a bad idea, this was such a bad idea. I balled my hands into  tiny fists, feeling the sweat coating my palms. Ten feet from the door now.

All was  silent, the house an unmoving giant, it's yellow shutters now looking like dirty teeth, the greasy yellow popping in the darkness.  Trevor was almost there, his footsteps cautiously taking him to the right of the  front door, his target a first floor window. That's when I saw something in the third  floor window, on the far left of the house.

It looked like a candle, a soft glow popping  through the dense darkness. It wavered there, in the middle of the window, and then  began to move. I watched as the light passed from window to window,  then disappeared.

Frantically, I called out to Trevor to come back, running  down the stairs and towards the field. He was about to look in the window when he heard  me, turning and taking a few steps towards me. I crossed the road and kicked into the long grass,  slowing and waving my arms for him to return.

The light was on the second floor now, its glow smoothly hovering past  the windows. It was getting closer. Terrified to go any further, I danced from  foot to foot, heart thundering in my chest, my face contorted into frantic terror. 

Trevor was calling out to me, asking what was wrong. I screamed at him to come back, that  something was coming, that he was in danger. And then I cursed at him.

It was the only thing I  could think of to get his complete attention. Hearing me swear, he finally began to trot back to  me, throwing a look over his shoulder. The light was gone, but as he made his way towards  me, I saw it reappear on the first floor, shining in the window Trevor had been  about to look into moments before.

It stayed there, just floating in the darkness, and I felt something looking at me  from the black. Trevor reached me, spewing questions, and I grabbed his  shoulders, spinning him to look at the light. As soon as he saw it, the house went dark.

We stood there, breathing heavily, unsure  what had just happened. I asked him if he had seen it and he nodded slowly. We  knew now that something was definitely in there.

That something had seen us. I felt  exposed, the plump moon working as a spotlight, making me feel like I was on a stage that  was watched by whatever was in the house. We turned and ran back to my house, both  of us sharing silent guilt that we had done something we shouldn't.

The fear of being  found out, the anxiety of getting in trouble, flooded us as we scampered up the  porch and pushed our way back inside. I should have told my parents something at  that point. Even if they didn't see the house, I feel like if I had tried to explain it  to them, maybe a shred of my honestly would shine through and give them a sliver of  belief.

But I didn't. Neither of us did. We knew snooping was wrong and we'd get in  trouble if they did, in fact, believe us.

As we took our places at the table,  now filled with hot pies, Trevor and I exchanged a look that vowed complete silence.  Our parents asked us why we were back so soon, Trevor's mother joking that the  smell of dessert being the cause. I didn't feel like eating, my stomach a mess  of knotted emotions, but I dutifully shoveled steaming cherry pie into my mouth, barely  tasting it.

I was afraid they would find out, that whomever was in the green house  would suddenly knock on the door and tell our parents what we had done. It  was the illogical fears of a child, the haunting giant that loomed over  every kids life: Getting In Trouble. After we finished eating, I asked my parents  if Trevor could spend the night.

After some discussion between the adults, they agreed,  extending the stay to two nights. Apparently Trevor's dad needed to borrow our tractor,  but we needed it for just a few more days. So, when the tractor was available, my dad would  drive it down to them along with Trevor.

My fear subsided a little, the excitement of two  whole nights together causing the unease to fade. We whooped for joy and jumped around the house,  cut short by a bark from my father to settle down. We scurried up to my bedroom and began to make  plans for the stay.

With so much time available, we decided that tomorrow we would began  construction on a tree fort in the woods. Crude sketches were made in crayon, both  of us laying on our stomachs on the floor, heads knocking together as we crammed around the  piece of paper we were drawing on. Story lines were spun as to who we were and why we needed to  build a fort, our vast imaginations manufacturing motives and villains.

It was exciting, our  conversation fueled by sweet pie, and I felt like I could burst for joy. Looking back, it's  one of those feelings that you only get as a kid, where everything is perfect and it's just you  and your buddy with the whole world to play with. Eventually we heard his parents call him to  say goodbye, making him promise to behave and listen to my mom and dad.

As I waited for him  to come back, I glanced out my bedroom window. The house was gone again. It was midnight.

Trevor lay snoring  in the sleeping bag my mother had taken out for him. He was curled up, his  head barely poking out of the opening. I didn't know why I had  awoken.

The house lay silent, my parents long asleep. Even with  Trevor there, I remember feeling scared, like something was in the room besides us.  I looked towards the corners, the closet, my cracked bedroom door.

Shadows formed  monsters, then dispersed as my eyes focused. I thought about waking Trevor, but didn't want  to be called a chicken again. I felt exposed, like something was watching me.

Like  something at the window was watching me. I chanced a glance at it, but the moonlight was  the only thing that trickled through. No eyes, no faces pressed to the glass.

. . no  candle hovering in the darkness.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I felt  a shiver run down my back. I didn't want to be thinking about that when it was this dark and  everything was so silent. Something was drawing me to the window though.

I could almost feel a  physical pull towards it, goading me to go to it. I resisted at first, but knew I wasn't  going to be able to fall back asleep until I had done so. Quietly, I slipped out of bed,  being careful not to step on Trevor's head.

I tip toed towards my window and felt  dread begin to rise like bile. With every step my mind repeatedly begged me  to go back to my covers. Over and over, the thought rippled through my mind:  Don't look, don't look, don't look!

I reached the window. . .

and looked out. My eyes went wide and I felt a scream rising in  my throat as I slammed my hands over my mouth. My heart was a wild drum beat in my chest and  I felt myself grow sick with gut slamming fear.

To this day, thinking about what I  saw that night fills me with horror. The house was back, standing where  it always stood, dark and silent. But something massive was  peeking at me over its rooftop.

Its head was enormous, spanning  almost the entire length of the house, its almost human eyes terribly wide with sick  excitement. Two colossal hands gripped the roof, making the whole thing look almost like  how a child would peek over a table. It made the night look white, the darkness  that colored its mass almost burned to look at.

Two white eyes punctured through  its black human shaped head, shining like two full moons. Its iris's were the sharpest  crimson, almost neon in the way they glowed. Just visible over the peak of the roof was its  mouth.

It was grinning, its massive square teeth practically exploding out of the shadows of its  coal-black face. They radiated like its eyes did, their bleached white starkness accenting just how  inky black the rest of its head and hands were. I was frozen in place, the whole world  melting away like burning wax.

My eyes locked with. . .

whatever it was, and its  smile widened. It never blinked, those two perfectly round gleaming eyes reaching into  my brain and ripping up every fear I ever had. I waited for something to happen, feeling  like at any second I would scream or pass out.

It just watched me, smiling, its  mouth stretched to immense proportions. Its long ebony fingers shifted on the roof  every few seconds, like it too was waiting. And then something said my name  from the crack in my bedroom door.

I spun, a scream already halfway up my  throat. From the partially open door, I saw an impossibly large eye  and half a mouth smiling at me, one midnight-black hand reaching  inside to grip the wood. I dove towards my bed, digging myself deep into  the covers, shaking and crying.

I heard my door open and Trevor stirring on the floor. I  peeked out from my safe haven and saw it. It stood in the doorway, a tall human shaped  figure.

Its skin was a constant swirl of dark colors, looking like paint being gently  mixed in real time, its face the same liquid texture with one giant eye popping  in and out from the surface. The mouth faded in the same manner, a constant twisted  grin emerging from its hideous face. And then it spoke.

Its voice was  one and many at the same time, sounding like a collection of vocal cords  being filtered through running water. “Come with us. ” I shrunk down into my sheets, every  ounce of my being trying to scream, but the sound was caught in my  throat, choked back from fear.

I heard movement and then a thump  followed by a silky dragging sound. I shifted in my cotton force  field, sweating and trembling, wanting, needing to cry out for my parents.  I chanced another look to see if it was gone.

My room was empty. And Trevor was gone, along with his sleeping bag. As I ripped myself free from my bed,  heart thundering, I heard my friend from the hallway begin to wake.

I couldn't make  out what he was saying, but it was muffled and confused. Then his tone shifted and I could  hear panic begin to blossom like a black rose. I begged my parents to wake,  shutting my eyes and willing it to happen.

I heard heavy footsteps  and the dragging sound retreating down the hall, Trevor becoming more and more vocal. I  heard him begin to cry, his voice soft and muted. The front door crashed open, causing me to jump  and omit a tiny squeal.

Thump, thump thump, I heard the sound of the monster and  Trevor receding. I ran to my window, feeling tears begin to form around my eyes. The monster had Trevor  trapped in his sleeping bag, dragging him down the porch and  across the field.

Towards the house. The death black giant looked down at  them, his teeth shining in the moonlight, crimson eyes ever wide with excitement. The  monster who had Trevor didn't look back as it continued its march across the field.

I  watched as the front door opened on its own, the darkness inside seeming  to ink out into the night. Finally, I screamed. I screamed  till I couldn't scream anymore, my voice cracking in high pitched horror.

I heard my parents wake from  their room in the back of our house as the monster entered the green house. As my dad came charging into my room, I watched Trevor squirming frantically in  his sleeping bag, then disappear as the door was shut behind him. He was in there,  in that horrible house, with that thing.

My dad grabbed me by the shoulders,  shaking me, asking me what was wrong, what happened. Tears running down my face, I  took one last look at the house in the field. It vanished.

That was twenty years ago. That night,  my parents called Trevor's parents and then the police. I explained over  and over again what I had seen, but no one believed me.

It was chalked up  to a kidnapping and over the next couple months a thorough investigation was initiated.  Trevor's parents never spoke to mine again. The house never reappeared and neither did Trevor.

That is, until two days ago. I got a phone call at work from the police, telling me they had found someone. A child. 

They said the child knew me and kept asking for me from his hospital bed. They said that  my name were they only words he would speak. I hadn't thought about the house in  the field, or Trevor, in years, but as soon as the police man finished, I  knew who the mysterious child was.

Trevor. I rushed the the hospital, heart a disjointed  mess of frantic thunder. I was questioned by the police on my arrival, asking me for my  full name, date of birth, and where I worked.

When they seemed satisfied, they  told me I could see the child under police supervision. Something was off  though. They all seemed.

. . quiet, shaken.

As I was about to enter the room Trevor  was in, the officer escorting me placed a hand on my shoulder. He told me to  prepare myself, that what I was about to see might be upsetting. Confused, and  a little unsure, I pushed into the room.

My breath was robbed from my lungs  as I saw what lay in the bed. A child laid above the sheets, his small  body rising and falling with labored breath. His size was the only way I  could discern his approximate age.

His entire form, from head to toe, was  covered in a pure white glaze. His eyes, his mouth, his shining hairless  head, everything. He looked like a mannequin made from snow white  yogurt, but hardened and sleek.

Its head turned to me and then it said my  name. I recognized the voice instantly, memories of my childhood collapsing like  an avalanche of nostalgia. It was Trevor.

I went to his bedside, pulling up a  chair, hands shaking as they reached out to touch his. My voice cracked as  I said his name, my mouth suddenly dry. I asked him what happened.

This is a what he said: Trevor: “How long has it been? ” Me : “T-twenty years. ” Pause.

Trevor: “It can't be. ”  Another pause: “It will happen soon. ” Me: “What will happen?

” Trevor: “They're coming. ” Me: “Who? ” Trevor: “The Grins.

They took my youth  away. . .

they will come as children. ” Me: “A-are you talking about. .

. what happened all  those years ago? About.

. . the monsters we saw?

” Trevor: “They will come as children. They  will come from between the colors. From between the colors.

They will come as children. ” Me: “Trevor, please, help me understand, where  did you go? What happened in that house?

” Trevor, voice shaking: “They took me between  the colors. Took my years away from me. Took all those childrens years away from  them.

All of them. So many houses, so many children. They're ready. 

They will come now as children. ” Me: “Who is coming? ” Trevor: “The Grins.

” Me: “What does that mean? What are The Grins? D-do you mean.

. . that thing we saw in the  house?

Please, help me understand. ” Trevor, growing frantic: “They will walk  among us, waiting till they have grown, waiting to reveal themselves.  The darkness, red eyes, oh, such red eyes.

They will come as children and  we will seen them smile. We will watch them grow. The Grins, they will eat everything! 

They will eat the world out of existence! ” At this point Trevor went into a fit, his body  convulsing and sputtering. I was hurriedly shoved out of the room as the nurses went to work,  trying their best to calm him.

The police told me I would need to leave for the day,  but that someone would be by to question me. Trevor died later that night. I don't know what happened that night  my friend disappeared into that house.

I don't know where he was taken, what was  done to him. I'll never know. But what I do know is that it was real.

I can't  explain it, I can't make sense of it, but that coal-black giant with the red eyes, that  thing that came into my room. . .

those were real. Trevor's final words stuck  with me. They made me afraid.

There was such conviction in them, such sureness. They are ready. They will come as children.

As I drove home, I pulled out  my phone and dialed my wife. I needed to know what my son was doing.