22 Dec There’s Something “Stuffed” in the Walls- CreepyPasta
I work in construction. Specifically with a company that focuses on purchasing, refurbishing, and then reselling old buildings. I sort of always expected that I’d eventually come across some fucked up shit. I mean, everyone’s heard the stories. Bodies stashed in the walls, crazed, stabby squatters, hidden sex/murder dungeons, cult shit. All sorts of disturbing stuff. I had long accepted it as simply a reality of the business I’d chosen as my trade. As such, I wasn’t particularly surprised when, a couple weeks ago, my expectations became a reality.
Though, I definitely wasn’t expecting my eventual discovery to be quite so… particularly unconventional. Terrifyingly unconventional.
The building in which said discovery occurred was an abandoned suburban home. Single-story with a basement. The neighborhood was nice enough. Not the sort that had a lot of unoccupied buildings. For whatever reason, this particular home had simply been left vacant, and long gone to seed. Bit odd, but not particularly uncommon. I’d heard rumors from a co-worker that the company had bought the place for pennies on the dollar. Something about some terrible crime happening there a decade or two ago. I didn’t exactly look into it. It wasn’t really an uncommon sort of story when it came to properties the company purchased. Certainly wasn’t the first, or even the second house with a checkered past that I’d worked on myself.
One of my co-workers and I were the first two into the building, the only two that were sent out at first. We were there to do some preliminary inspections, assess damages, and maybe do a bit of light cleaning. Standard stuff.
As far as several-decade old abandoned buildings went, this place was rather run-of-the-mill when it came to what state it was in. Not too bad, but not exactly anything close to good either. Usually, with these sorts of places, we consider it a win if the building hasn’t already collapsed in on itself. A lot of the paneling and drywall was beginning to rot, but it’s foundation and main supports seemed more or less solid.
We weren’t surprised to find some evidence that some local kids had likely been hanging out in the place. Thankfully, the vandalism and the trash that they’d left behind was on the low end of the spectrum in regards to damages I’d seen. A few beer bottles and snack wrappers were strewn about. There were some odd stains here and there that I suspected to be piss. Plus, some particularly edgy brat had spray painted a bunch of vaguely satanic shit all over the basement, and left some spent candles about. Nothing I haven’t seen before, and nothing some patience and a power washer couldn’t fix.
In general, it was a pretty good assessment. With the way my company operates, they’d still turn a profit even if they had to bulldoze the place and build a new home on top of it. However, If at all possible they prefer to preserve as much of the original structure as they can. Vintage does sell for a lot more than new these days.
Things would soon take a turn though. For me at least.
I was in the process of cutting out a section of a particularly rotten stretch of wall when it happened. I was trying to get a read on what we could expect in regards to the state of the innards of the place. The insulation, the wiring, what sort of pests had moved in, and other such concerns. This would also be when I’d most likely come across some sort of suspect shit. In my several years with the company, I’d never actually come across anything particularly awful up until this point. I had no reason to believe that this time would be any different. Even so, my imagination ran wild as I finished cutting out a small square of rotten wall and the loose bits fell to the ground with a limp flop.
Even so, I never imagined I’d find what I did, behind that rotten wall.
I looked once. Looked twice. Stared for a moment. Leaned in closer to peer inside and took a few slow steps back. Cut a hole in a different part of the wall. Moved into a different room to cut a hole there. Then another room. It was the same everywhere.
Where there should have been insulation in the walls, someone had instead shoved in countless… Teddy bears.
They were all of subtly different styles, but all carried the same dirty marks of wear and aging that indicated they’d been in the wall for a very long time. Why would anyone put them there? I mean, they might kind of do something to insulate the house, but such reasoning hardly made sense. It was hardly effective, cost or otherwise, and most certainly a fire hazard. The most obvious answer would be that they were purposefully hidden, but why? Were they filled with drugs? I refrained from reaching out to grab one and check. I’d be better off simply reporting the matter. Safer.
I went to inform my co-worker, who was out in front of the house on a smoke break, about what I’d found. He seemed more than a little irritated as he put out his cigarette and tucked the half-finished stick of tobacco behind his ear, but followed me inside anyway when I told him there was “something he needed to see”.
“Well, what is it?” He asked.
“There,” I replied, gesturing towards one of the holes I’d cut. “Look.”
My coworker grumbled a bit as he leaned in to take a look. He then frowned, moving over to another hole to take a look.
“Odd.” He eventually said.
“I know, right?” I replied.
“Yeah… strange.” He paused. “Pretty weird for a home like this to have no insulation whatsoever, but oh well. Saves us some trouble as we probably would have had to replace it anyway.”
“What? I asked incredulously as I leaned in to take another look into one of the holes
The teddy bears were gone. All of them.
“What, was there something else?” My coworker asked.
“No,” I replied, pausing for a moment. “No, just that.”
I laid in bed that night, still having yet to put those stuffed animals out of my mind. I was certain of what I’d seen… wasn’t I? It wasn’t like such an obscenely large number of teddy bears could simply disappear in the space of a minute or two. The only explanation that made any sense was that I’d simply imagined them. Regardless of how certain I might have been, there was still relief to be found in denial.
I leaned up slightly in bed, shifting myself to face the nearby window and pushing the curtains aside. I like to look at the stars whenever I’m having trouble sleeping. I live on one of the upper floors of my apartment building, which gives me a vantage point that allows me a view of what few stars aren’t drowned out by the light pollution. Though sparse, the twinkling lights always help to calm my mind.
My gaze drifted downward to the street below, street lights illuminating equidistant patches of deserted road… mostly deserted road? There was a smallish silhouette that I could just barely make out underneath one of the lights. It was hard to determine much at that distance, but I thought I saw a pair of somewhat stubby arms and legs, as well as a set of distinctly recognizable, rounded ears.
I yanked the curtains closed once more and rolled over in bed. Still just seeing things. Nothing to worry about.
When I woke that next morning, I glanced out the window to find no trace of the silhouette from the night prior. I took some small comfort in that, yet I couldn’t shake the slight sense of unease that lingered in my gut.
As I drove back to the property that morning, I listened to a podcast I pulled up on my phone to get my mind off of things. It was largely successful too. That is, until I happened to glance out of my car window as I sat idle at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn green.
There was a teddy bear, ragged and worn, sitting on the street corner there at the intersection. Facing towards me.
I stared at it. Blinking a bit and giving my eyes a quick rub. It was certainly there. Unmistakably. Why? Why would it be there? It couldn’t have been one of the ones I’d seen at the house. No matter how similar it might look to the condition those ones were in, right? Some kid had forgotten it there, or something. I made a point to not even look in the thing’s general direction. Not until the light turned green and I left the bear long behind.
I was distracted at work, as you might expect. Thankfully that wasn’t much of an issue though, as power washing spray paint off of the concrete of the unfinished basement was the sort of work I could do absentmindedly. I dwelled on the issue of the teddy bears for a bit, but soon found my thoughts drawn to the vaguely satanic graffiti. I had to give the kids some credit. Unlike the lopsided and misshapen pentagrams I’d found at other properties, the symbols and “ritual circle” or whatever here were so well made that one might be led to believe that they were actually authentic. The paint they used seemed to be high quality as well, as the power washer wasn’t quite enough to get all of it off.
I ducked out of the building and headed over to my truck, intending to make a quick run out to a hardware store to get some paint thinner. I offered the bed of my truck a quick glance, making sure nothing had gone missing since I’d last been out to my vehicle.
And there it was. A fucking teddy bear.
The damn thing was nestled in amongst my tools and materials. It was even facing towards me, as if whoever had put it in that specific spot had done so with that intention in mind. It looked much the same as the one I’d seen earlier that day, though there were enough distinctive details to tell me that it wasn’t the exact same bear.
I was certain that somebody had to be fucking with me at this point. Angrily I snatched the bear from the bed of my truck and chucked it across the street. I then hopped into my vehicle and went about my business, fuming all the while. By the time I got back with the paint thinner, the teddy bear had disappeared from where I’d left it after tossing it.
With nothing to fuel it, my anger cooled to a mild irritation, then to a worry, and eventually to a cold sort of apprehension and dread. I could make no real sense of what was going on. Someone was messing with me, and I couldn’t parse out any sort of motivation for them doing so. Perhaps there was no motivation, an idea that served only to deepen my concern. Those who act without motivation act unpredictably, and are presumably capable of almost anything.
I was able to finish out the rest of my work day and make my way home to the apartment without incident. I resisted the sense of security that this calm began to lull me into. Perhaps things had come to an end, but I didn’t find that likely. All the same, I did allow some tension to ease its way out of my shoulders once I’d locked my apartment door behind me.
Feeling sufficiently safe, I felt there would be no harm in unwinding a bit. I cracked open a few beers, finished a few beers, and came to the conclusion that the thing to do at that moment in time was to make myself a pot of homemade soup.
I gathered up some odds and ends from my fridge and pantry and set myself to prepping. I find making soup to be a calming and even therapeutic activity, as well as a good way to use up leftover vegetables, so I make a point to keep the necessities for making soup in supply.
I was in the midst of chopping up some veggies, humming a bit of a tune to myself, when it happened. I looked up, taking a freshly washed parsnip and laying down on my cutting board. I trimmed off the remnants of the greens, and looked back up to toss them in the wastebasket.
There was a teddy bear on the counter. Right in front of me.
I nearly jumped two feet in the air. My throat seized up, and what was once the beginning of a scream eased its way out of my mouth as a hollow wheeze. The damn things beady black eyes were fixed on my own, almost mockingly. Maybe it was the alcohol in my system, but I was gripped by an irrational anger. I hated that bear.
Without thinking, I gripped the damn thing by its neck and slammed it down on the cutting board. I lifted my knife aloft. It just wouldn’t stop staring. The knife came down, and I stabbed deeply into its gut.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, or if I was even expecting anything to happen. I most definitely wasn’t expecting a spurt of hot, viscous liquid directly into my eye. I yelped, wiping at my eye with my free hand. It came away red. I looked down at the bear. More dark red… blood, oozed out from around where the knife stuck out of its belly.
It smiled at me. And this time, the scream had no trouble working its way out of my throat.
I fell backwards, scrambling away from the counter on my rear end. There was a loud tearing, a flicker of a sudden movement, and the pitter-patter of small feet running away from me. It took me a few long moments, but eventually I was able to get upright on my shaky feet.
The bear was gone. All that was left was the blood, and the knife protruding out of the cutting board. When I got closer though, I realized that there was in fact something else there: a bit of furry hide pinned to the cutting board by the knife. It was a bit too… leathery for what one might expect from a teddy bear.
A set of little footprints lead away from the counter, through my apartment, and eventually up to one of my windows. However, the window was closed, locked, and unbroken.
I’m not entirely convinced it actually left.
I haven’t seen another teddy bear since then, but somehow that just makes everything worse. Sometimes, I can swear I heard one of them moving somewhere behind me, but by the time I look around they’re gone. A heard a scrabbling in the walls of my apartment once. I know for a fact that it wouldn’t be the first time this building has had a rat problem. I’ve let my landlord know what I heard, and he said he’d take care of it. However, I’m scared that it isn’t as simple as just a rat. I’ve still only seen three or four so far. One of them is heavily wounded, or at least it should be. However, I know for a fact that there are plenty more where that came from.
And I’m scared they may have found a new home.