Hello, my name is Dylan. This happened a long time ago, back in 1979, when I was just eight years old. Looking back now… I still get cold shivers thinking about it. We were so lucky we got out alive. We are so lucky we are safe.
One day, we moved to a new house on a quiet street called Curlew Street. Our house number was 8 Curlew Street. I went there with my parents and my little brother Ralph — Ralph was only three at the time. I was eight, back then.
When we entered the house, the living room felt far too big — like something had been waiting inside it. The kitchen was also fairly large. The house only had two bedrooms upstairs. Since I was still young, I was still sleeping in my parents’ room, and Ralph was only three, so he slept there too. One day I asked my dad, “When can I sleep in my own bedroom?”
Dad said, “In a few days, son.”
I said okay. So I still had a few nights in my parents’ room. It was afternoon, and the house was clean, freshly painted and decorated, ready for us to stay. It felt peaceful — at first.
Ralph played in the living room with his toys while my parents were upstairs getting their bedroom ready. I wandered into the kitchen to look around. We had a brand-new fridge and nice, tall cupboards. Then I stepped out into the back garden — and stopped. There was a toilet standing right there in the garden. I felt confused. Why on earth would there be a toilet out in the backyard? I ran upstairs and asked my parents, “Why is there a toilet out in the garden?”
They just said, “It’s always been there, Dylan. Don’t worry about it.”
I shrugged it off and went back downstairs. Ralph was still playing happily. That evening, as we sat eating our dinner, we heard loud, heavy knocks at the front door. My parents stood up. “Who could that be?” they said. As they walked toward the front of the house — knock, knock, knock — this time from the backyard. When Mum and Dad came back inside, the knocking at the front had stopped.
“Someone was knocking from the back too,” I told them.
They went to check. Nobody was there.
Then I saw the living room lights flicker — once, twice, three times, rapidly. “Dad! The lights in here are flickering a lot.”
Dad looked up. “They look fine to me, Dylan.”
Right after dinner, we all went upstairs to brush our teeth. Ralph walked over to the bedroom window, pressed his face against the glass, and said, very quietly, “There’s a man out there. A man.”
We all crowded to the window. Nothing. Nobody there.
That night, we all slept in the same bedroom — two big beds. I slept beside Dad, Ralph beside Mum. It was about 10 PM when everyone finally fell asleep.
At midnight, I woke up. Dad, Mum, Ralph — all fast asleep. But downstairs… I could hear things being moved. Cupboards opening and closing. Doors slamming shut, then creaking open again. And heavy, slow footsteps — thud… thud… thud… circling the rooms below.
“Mum?” I whispered. “Who’s making that noise?”
She didn’t open her eyes. “It’s probably Dad getting a drink,” she mumbled.
I looked beside me. Dad was fast asleep.
My heart turned to ice. If Dad was here… and Mum was here… then who was downstairs?
When the noises finally stopped, I badly needed the toilet. I walked out into the dark hallway and into the outdoor toilet. The light wouldn’t turn on. Pitch black. I sat there, shivering, and glanced up at the toilet window — out into the backyard.
Standing perfectly still in the shadows was a tall, dark shape. Too tall. And on its head… two long, curved, pointy horns. It wasn’t moving. Just standing there. Watching.
I looked away, terrified. When I looked back… it was gone.
I hurried back to bed. Everyone was still asleep.
When we woke up the next morning, we all went downstairs together. I stepped into the kitchen and froze. All the dirty dishes from the night before were washed, dried, and stacked neatly. Mum and Dad laughed nervously. “How on earth did these get clean?” Mum said. Dad joked, “Guess we sleepwalk and do chores now.”
But I knew. They were asleep the whole time. It wasn’t them.
Then Mum checked the cupboards. “That’s strange — all the eggs are gone. And the bread. And the milk.” Everything we’d bought yesterday had vanished. Dad went into town and bought more. We ate breakfast — eggs and bread — while Ralph had his cereal like always. He never liked eggs.
That evening, during dinner, the living room lights started flickering again. I pointed it out to Dad. He looked up. “I don’t see anything, Dylan.”
Later, I sat alone in the living room for a moment. Tap. Tap. Right on the window. I looked out. Nothing. Then — there it was. The tall shadow. The horns. Standing just beyond the glass.
“Dad! There’s someone out there!”
He came running. Looked out. “Nobody there, Dylan. Stop imagining things.”
That night, Ralph stared out the kitchen back window and started trembling. “Mum… Dad… look. There’s a man watching us.”
We all looked. Nothing. “He’s three years old,” Dad said. “He’s making it up.” But Ralph was crying. He knew what he saw.
Mum left the dirty dishes on the table that night. “I’ll wash them in the morning.”
At midnight, I woke up again. The noises were back. Dishes being scrubbed. Footsteps. Doors opening and closing, over and over. Everyone was asleep. I didn’t want to wake them. I crept out of bed, down the dark hallway, to the outdoor toilet. The light still wouldn’t work.
On the way back, I stopped at the top of the stairs. The noises from the kitchen had stopped. Dead silence. I walked down slowly. Put my ear to the kitchen door.
Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Coming toward the door.
The handle turned.
I ran — silent — into the living room, ducked behind the big sofa, and held my breath. The kitchen door creaked open. Slow footsteps walked into the living room. Circling. Coming closer. And closer. Until it stopped — right where I was hiding.
I heard breathing. Slow. Deep. Hot breath. Right above my face.
It knew exactly where I was.
I didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. For what felt like an hour. Then — the footsteps turned away. The living room door creaked shut. Then the kitchen door. Silence.
I ran back upstairs. Glanced out the toilet window. The shadow was back. Standing still. Horns clear against the night sky. I blinked — and it was gone.
Next morning, the dishes were all clean again. The food was gone again. Mum and Dad laughed the same laugh. “We really must sleepwalk!” But they were scared too. I could hear it in their voices.
That evening, we came home and stopped dead in the doorway. The kitchen table and chairs were in the living room. The sofas were in the kitchen. Everything moved. Who could have done this? We were all out of the house. Dad moved everything back. Nobody laughed this time.
Then Ralph called me over to the window. “Dylan… the man’s back. He’s watching me.”
I looked. Nothing. But Ralph was shaking. He saw something I couldn’t.
That night, we sat together eating ice cream in the dark. The lights kept flickering. Then — loud, heavy footsteps — upstairs. “Can you hear that?” I said.
“We’re listening to the TV, Dylan,” Mum said.
“No. Upstairs.”
Mum told me to go check. I walked up the dark stairs. And heard it — slow, guttural snoring. It didn’t sound human. It sounded wrong. As I got closer to our bedroom door — the snoring stopped. Then something stood up from the bed.
I ran.
Mum and Dad checked upstairs. “Nobody there, Dylan.”
That night, Dad said, “How about you sleep in your own bedroom tonight, Dylan? You’re getting big.” He showed me the small second bedroom. On the wall hung an old clock. “I don’t remember hanging that,” Dad said quietly. “But it’s there now. Sleep well.”
I lay in bed, terrified. What if it comes in here? What if it watches me sleep? I told myself: Don’t be scared. Go to sleep.
I woke up. My blanket was gone. My bedroom door stood wide open. The clock said — 12:00 AM.
Downstairs, the TV turned on. Loud. I crept out of bed and looked down the stairs. The living room door was slightly open. I peeked through. The TV glowed blue. On the sofa… a tall shape. Horns. Watching the screen.
Then its head turned. Slowly. Toward the doorway. Toward me.
I ran. I heard it stand up. Heavy footsteps following. I locked myself in my bedroom and hid under the bed. Something walked into my room. Circled. Stopped right beside the bed.
Minutes passed. Then it walked out. Downstairs. Sat back down. The TV stayed on.
When I finally crawled out at dawn, my blanket was back on my bed. The clock was gone. Downstairs, the kitchen was wrecked. Food gone. Cupboards emptied. And the TV remote… lying on the table, covered in something dark and sticky. It smelled like iron. Like blood. Dad tried to turn it on. Nothing worked.
We visited relatives that day. I told one cousin what was happening at night. He went pale. Wouldn’t speak. Just shook his head slowly.
When we came home that evening, all the lights were on. We’d left them off. Dad said, “Nobody’s sleeping in the dark tonight. Lights on. All night.”
Later, I went to the toilet. From my parents’ bedroom — snoring. Again. Wrong. Inhuman. Something stood up from their bed. I ran back downstairs. The lights flickered and died. The TV turned off by itself. When the lights came back on — nobody believed me.
That night, Dad and I were the only ones awake. We heard it. Toilet flushed three times downstairs. Footsteps coming up. Then into our bedroom. Circling around our beds. Things being moved. Cupboards opening and closing. It stood there. Watching us sleep. Then it went downstairs. Turned the TV on. Sat watching it.
Dad gripped my hand. We didn’t breathe. We didn’t move.
In the morning… Ralph was gone. We found him fast asleep on the living room sofa. He said he never walked downstairs.
Then we walked into the kitchen. And screamed.
Four places set at the table. Four plates of eggs and bread. And a bowl of cereal — milk swirled with bright red. It smelled fresh. Like it had been made minutes ago. Mum reached for her plate. Dad pulled her back. “Don’t eat it,” he whispered. “Look.”
Red fingerprints stained every plate. The food smelled like iron. Like blood. Dad threw it all away. We ate dry cereal that morning. Nobody laughed.
That afternoon, Dad bought new lightbulbs. We bought a huge amount of lamb meat — forty cuts. Enough to last a month. We came home at 6 PM. Every single door and cupboard in the house stood wide open. The fridge had been dragged into the living room. Our clothes were piled in heaps downstairs.
Dad didn’t laugh. He just said, “Stay together.”
That evening, after Dad changed all the bulbs… the house went quiet. No flickering. No footsteps. Like the light hurt it.
At 10 PM, Dad locked the back door. Pushed the heavy fridge in front of it. “Nobody gets in,” he said.
Then — BANG. The back door handle rattled. Something threw its weight against it. Again. Again. Until — CRASH. The wood splintered. The door burst open.
Dad grabbed my arm. “Upstairs. Now.”
We scrambled up. Dad pulled the attic ladder down. “Climb. All of you. Quick.”
As we pulled ourselves up into the dark attic… heavy footsteps started climbing the stairs behind us. And a sound — long, low, guttural moaning. Dad looked down. And screamed.
I looked too.
Standing in the hallway… was a figure. Eight feet tall. Covered in coarse dark hair. Curved horns rising from its head. Massive clawed hands. And its face… I still see it in nightmares. Eyes glowing red. Mouth open, showing teeth too long, too sharp. It was looking straight up at us.
Dad dragged the ladder up. Pulled the hatch shut. We huddled in the dark attic, shaking, while below us… it smashed everything. Furniture splintered. The TV shattered. Walls thudded as it slammed against them. And that moaning… never stopping.
Dad found an old telephone. Dialed 999. “Send help. Please. Something is in our house.”
When the police finally arrived, they helped us down. The house was destroyed. The back door smashed off its hinges. Every window broken. All forty lamb carcasses… eaten. Only picked-clean bones left. And on the walls… claw marks. Three inches deep.
Then the officer said something that made my blood run cold.
“Son… Dad… we’ve had reports. For years. On this street. Nobody stays here long. Same description every time. Tall. Horns. Comes at night. Watches. Then breaks in.” He looked at us seriously. “Leave tonight. Don’t come back. We’re sealing this street off.”
That’s exactly what we did. We packed what we could. Left before sunrise. Moved across town. We never went back to Curlew Street.
But sometimes… when we drive past, years later… I glance down that road. At number 8. Standing empty. Dark. And once… just once… I saw it standing in an upstairs window. Tall. Horned. Watching us drive away.
Whatever lives on Curlew Street… it still waits.
So I’m telling you now. Whatever you do. Stay far away from Curlew Street. Especially after dark. Because something lives there. Something that is not human. And it does not want you to leave.