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The original was posted on /r/paranormal by /u/Top-Supermarket-5724 on 2025-08-03 08:35:20+00:00.
For context, my grandmother lives deep in the middle of nowhere. Her house is on a secluded peninsula, surrounded by a lake. The closest store is a 15-minute drive, and her neighbors? They only come up in the summer. In December, it’s just her—and, in this case, me.
She and my grandfather were heading to Tennessee for a week and asked me to house-sit and take care of the animals. I agreed. I was 17 at the time, and honestly, I thought I’d enjoy the peace and quiet.
They packed up their things and left around 10 PM. After they drove off, I got comfortable, turned on the TV, and settled in. Around midnight, I started getting sleepy and decided to head to bed.
Let me explain the layout quickly: the house is all one level. No basement, no upstairs. You walk through the front door into the living room. The kitchen is to the left, and to the right on the other side of the living room is a hallway that leads to three bedrooms and one bathroom. My room was at the very end of the hall, and from the bed, I had a clear view of the living room.
I turned off the lights, went to my room, and laid down. Chula, my grandma’s black lab, hopped up beside me. She’s the sweetest dog you’ll ever meet. Obsessively friendly. She loves people, never growls, and is always wagging her tail at strangers. She’s just pure love in dog form.
A few hours passed. I had just drifted off to sleep when I heard my grandmother’s voice.
“Leah? Can you come help me?”
My eyes shot open.
I sat up slowly and called out, “Grandma?”
No answer.
“What do you need help with?”
Silence.
Then, a few seconds later, I heard it again—louder this time.
“Leah. I need help.”
I thought I was dreaming.
I sat all the way up, staring at the door. A few seconds passed—then I heard a low, guttural growl. I turned to look at Chula. She had sat up straight, hair raised, staring into the hallway with her teeth bared. She growled low, deep in her throat, eyes fixed on something I couldn’t see.
I turned on the hallway light and peeked out. Nothing there. No movement. I walked over and looked out the window next to the bed since it faced the driveway. Her car wasn’t there.
I quickly shut the window and locked my bedroom door, heart pounding. This was an old house—every step creaked. I should’ve heard something, but there was nothing but silence.
I grabbed my phone and tried to call my grandma. It went straight to voicemail. I called my mom, trying to sound calm, but my voice was shaking. I asked her if Grandma had come back for some reason.
She said no.
Then the knocking started.
But not at the front door.
It was right on my bedroom door.
Heavy. Slow. Deliberate.
And here’s what chilled me to my core—the voice?
Was still coming from the living room.
“Leah… please come help me.”
It didn’t make sense. I could hear her calling from the other end of the house while the knocks were right outside my door.
She kept calling me. Each time more irritated. The calmness was gone—now it was commanding, aggressive.
“Leah. Let me in. I need your help.”
“Leah. Open this door.”
“Leah—NOW.”
It sounded like her, but distorted. Like something trying to copy her voice and getting it almost right.
Chula stayed pressed to my side, growling steady and low like she’d rip something apart if it got in.
The shotgun was in the same room with me locked in the gun safe in the corner. I knew the code if I needed it, but I didn’t even move from the bed. I couldn’t. I was frozen
Eventually, the knocking stopped.
The voice faded away.
I must’ve fallen asleep somehow, because the next thing I knew, sunlight was pouring through the blinds.
For a minute, I almost convinced myself I had imagined the whole thing. But when I checked my phone, the call logs were still there. I really had called my mom. I really had called my grandma. That part was real.
I tried to push it out of my headtold myself it was some kind of sleep paralysis or dream.
Around 11 PM, I’d just gotten out of the hot tub in the garage. The door was wide open there’s no one around for miles, so I hadn’t bothered to close it.
Then I heard it.
The motion sensor went off with that sharp barking alert. A second later, something slammed really loud in the garage . Like someone knocked over a metal shelf or kicked the wall.
I hit the garage remote and shut the door fast, heart racing.
Not long after, maybe 30 minutes after I got back in the house, there was a knock at the front door.
I crept toward the door, standing just far enough away to not be seen through the frosted glass. I didn’t move, didn’t speak. That’s when I heard her.
“Please… let me in. I’m cold. I’m hungry.”
The voice was scratchy, like an older woman. Soft, but weirdly flat.
I didn’t answer at first. I just stood there, frozen, heart pounding. After a few seconds, I said, loud enough to carry:
“How did you get all the way out here?”
Silence.
Then, more knocking louder, quicker now. She spoke again, more forcefully:
“I said let me in. I need help.”
I backed away from the door, still trying to stay calm. “You can’t just show up at people’s houses. You need to leave.”
That’s when the knocking changed. It wasn’t knocking anymore. It was banging.
Fast. Heavy. Aggressive.
I ran to my room and punched in the code to the gun safe. Just as I grabbed the shotgun, she slammed the door again so hard it rattled in the frame.
“LET ME IN RIGHT NOW!”
The knocking had stopped, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she hadn’t left.
I was straining to hear anything—footsteps, whispering, even breathing—but the house was dead silent. Not even the wind.
Then her voice came again.
Not right at the door this time. Off to the side. Almost like it was outside the window.
“Leah. Please… let me in.”
I didn’t move.
She tried again, louder. Sharper.
“You’re being rude. Open the door.”
I sat down in the recliner in the living room, shotgun resting in my lap, facing the door. Chula laid tense at my feet.
I gripped the shotgun tightly, eyes locked on the door.
She circled the house. I could hear her moving from one side to the other—knocking on the kitchen door, then the garage door, then back to the front. Her voice followed, same exact words every time like a broken record:
“I need your help, Leah. You’re the only one here.”
She kept pacing around the outside of the house, banging on doors, tapping windows, muttering things I couldn’t quite hear.
That’s when it hit me.
She called me by my name.
I hadn’t told her.
I hadn’t spoken to anyone outside.
No way she should’ve known.
I thought, if she was supposed to be here, she’d use the keypad to get inside. She’d know the code.
Nobody was supposed to be here.
And yet, here she was.
I sat in the living room holding the shotgun, watching the door, until the sky started to lighten and the birds began to sing. I never heard her leave.
No footsteps.
No car.
No sound at all.
When I stepped outside after sunrise to let the dog out, the ground was covered in a thin layer of snow.
And it was untouched.
No footprints. No tire marks. No trails leading to or from the doors. Nothing.
Just cold, clean silence.
Later that morning, I called my aunt and begged her to come stay with me. I didn’t even try to explain. I just told her I couldn’t be there alone another night.
She showed up that evening, and I almost cried with relief. For the first time in two days, I felt like I could breathe.
That night, I finally was able to get the sleep I desperately needed.
I will NEVER stay there alone again.
Rest in peace chula
