u/Silver_Fill_4260

https://preview.redd.it/a9ovikoyhnkh1.png?width=2160&format=png&auto=webp&s=4348910d56e00abf1d61af247be3a9ddc7abe1b6

Link to the story here if you want to read it: https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheCreeps/comments/1texu3f/my_dad_thinks_i_saw_my_great_grandfathers_spirit/

Anyways, this was my first story that I've not only written here, but also the first story that I've written in my free time. I'm pretty proud of both it and how it seemed to perform both here and on r/nosleep. Does anyone have any critiques to give me so I can improve?

I know this post sounds insane, but please just hear me out. I feel desperate for any kind of explanation. It's been plaguing my mind for years now, and I just want closure of sorts.

When I was around eight years old, I was in the basement of my father's house. He was working out while I sat on an old couch, watching TV.

After he had finished, he asked me if I wanted to go upstairs with him.

I had declined his offer, as I had more cartoons to watch.

He shrugged, and I watched as he ascended the stairs that led to the living room until I heard the door shut. Now, I was truly alone.

The basement was unfinished, its floors made of dense concrete, the walls were just wooden frames and cement, and the ceiling was bare, with insulation sticking out of its crevices.

Despite this, I was a huge fan of the basement since it was an open area where I could just be alone and do whatever I wanted.

About twenty minutes after my father left me alone, something entered my peripheral vision.

Naturally, I focused my attention on it, expecting something like a coat hanger or a box, something I could look at and understand that my fear was for nothing.

However, the fear had exacerbated.

It was a man. A tall man with brown, shaggy hair. He donned a brown fedora and a brown trench coat that hung down to his ankles. His enormous back was facing me, making me unable to comprehend any of his facial features.

I was frozen with fear. I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my body as it shrunk into the couch to make myself as undetectable as possible. My brain was overflowing with questions.

“What do I do?” “Is he going to hurt me?” “Does he have a weapon?” “How did this man get into our basement?”

I felt like I only had one choice. "Get dad".

I slowly got off the couch and tiptoed as quietly and quickly as I could muster. I made sure to face the man the whole time, so there’d be no way he could sneak up on me.

Once the stairs were in front of me, I decided to abandon all attempts at stealth -since in my young mind, this was life or death- and I darted up the stairs with the speed of a hummingbird’s heartbeat.

Then, I didn’t care if the man heard me or started chasing me; all that mattered to me was reaching the first floor. I busted through the basement door to see that my father was sitting in a chair in the living room.

"Dad, there's a man downstairs."

Something you should know about my father is that he's always believed in ghosts and other paranormal stuff like cryptids or aliens.

My father, confused with a hint of anxiety, got up and descended the same stairs that had acted as the bridge between life and death for me moments before.

As I followed him, something straight out of a cliche horror movie occurred: the man was no longer there. My dad attempted to reason with me and told me it was my imagination or something along those lines.

But looking back, I think he only did that because he wanted to calm me down, as that night, he burned sage all across our home while murmuring prayers.

Flash forward a few years, and the event had been a common discussion point between my father and I. One day, he showed me an image of my great-grandfather, telling me that the description I gave of the man sounded identical to his grandfather.

However, the image looked nothing like him.

His hair was way too short, well-kept, and too dark. The overcoat he donned was too short, only going down to his waist rather than his knees. I didn't see the man's face, so I really couldn't be 100% sure, but something told me that these two weren't the same.

For whatever reason, and I cannot explain why, my ten-year-old me told my father this, but I told him that the man looked like his grandfather.

If I could do anything, I would go back in time and tell him that they looked nothing alike, just so I could stop feeling guilty.

When I was about fourteen, I thought that was the end of the story, an odd memory that I lied to my father about.

However, one night I was taking a shower while I was home alone. My bathroom's shower had a sliding glass door that faced the door. Before I got in, I locked it, just out of habit.

But while I was in the shower, I saw that the door was not only unlocked, but it was slightly cracked open. I felt like a deer in headlights, too terrified to move, made worse by the fact that I was incredibly vulnerable. Completely nude, with nothing to defend myself with. It didn't help either that I was -and still am- very weak, and if I were to get into an altercation. I'd have my butt handed to me on a silver platter with a garnish of parsley and basil.

I immediately turned the shower off and grabbed a towel to wrap around myself. When I exited the bathroom, though, no one was there.

All I heard was the sound of someone descending into my basement.

I know this post sounds insane, but please just hear me out. I feel desperate for any kind of explanation. It's been plaguing my mind for years now, and I just want closure of sorts.

When I was around eight years old, I was in the basement of my father's house. He was working out while I sat on an old couch, watching TV.

After he had finished, he asked me if I wanted to go upstairs with him.

I had declined his offer, as I had more cartoons to watch.

He shrugged, and I watched as he ascended the stairs that led to the living room until I heard the door shut. Now, I was truly alone.

The basement was unfinished, its floors made of dense concrete, the walls were just wooden frames and cement, and the ceiling was bare, with insulation sticking out of its crevices.

Despite this, I was a huge fan of the basement since it was an open area where I could just be alone and do whatever I wanted.

About twenty minutes after my father left me alone, something entered my peripheral vision.

Naturally, I focused my attention on it, expecting something like a coat hanger or a box, something I could look at and understand that my fear was for nothing.

However, the fear had exacerbated.

It was a man. A tall man with brown, shaggy hair. He donned a brown fedora and a brown trench coat that hung down to his ankles. His enormous back was facing me, making me unable to comprehend any of his facial features.

I was frozen with fear. I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my body as it shrunk into the couch to make myself as undetectable as possible. My brain was overflowing with questions.

“What do I do?” “Is he going to hurt me?” “Does he have a weapon?” “How did this man get into our basement?”

I felt like I only had one choice. "Get dad".

I slowly got off the couch and tiptoed as quietly and quickly as I could muster. I made sure to face the man the whole time, so there’d be no way he could sneak up on me.

Once the stairs were in front of me, I decided to abandon all attempts at stealth -since in my young mind, this was life or death- and I darted up the stairs with the speed of a hummingbird’s heartbeat.

Then, I didn’t care if the man heard me or started chasing me; all that mattered to me was reaching the first floor. I busted through the basement door to see that my father was sitting in a chair in the living room.

"Dad, there's a man downstairs."

Something you should know about my father is that he's always believed in ghosts and other paranormal stuff like cryptids or aliens.

My father, confused with a hint of anxiety, got up and descended the same stairs that had acted as the bridge between life and death for me moments before.

As I followed him, something straight out of a cliche horror movie occurred: the man was no longer there. My dad attempted to reason with me and told me it was my imagination or something along those lines.

But looking back, I think he only did that because he wanted to calm me down, as that night, he burned sage all across our home while murmuring prayers.

Flash forward a few years, and the event had been a common discussion point between my father and I. One day, he showed me an image of my great-grandfather, telling me that the description I gave of the man sounded identical to his grandfather.

However, the image looked nothing like him.

His hair was way too short, well-kept, and too dark. The overcoat he donned was too short, only going down to his waist rather than his knees. I didn't see the man's face, so I really couldn't be 100% sure, but something told me that these two weren't the same.

For whatever reason, and I cannot explain why, my ten-year-old me told my father this, but I told him that the man looked like his grandfather.

If I could do anything, I would go back in time and tell him that they looked nothing alike, just so I could stop feeling guilty.

When I was about fourteen, I thought that was the end of the story, an odd memory that I lied to my father about.

However, one night I was taking a shower while I was home alone. My bathroom's shower had a sliding glass door that faced the door. Before I got in, I locked it, just out of habit.

But while I was in the shower, I saw that the door was not only unlocked, but it was slightly cracked open. I felt like a deer in headlights, too terrified to move, made worse by the fact that I was incredibly vulnerable. Completely nude, with nothing to defend myself with. It didn't help either that I was -and still am- very weak, and if I were to get into an altercation. I'd have my butt handed to me on a silver platter with a garnish of parsley and basil.

I immediately turned the shower off and grabbed a towel to wrap around myself. When I exited the bathroom though, no one was there.

All I heard was the sound of someone descending into my basement.