Creepypastas...Really Creep Me Out

Avaritia et Invidia

The building was old. It had been a factory of some sort one hundred, maybe one hundred fifty years ago. Its sturdy brick and steel construction had weathered the years well enough, and after so very long sitting abandoned, forgotten on the edges of the city, it was reclaimed by a well-to-do family as a new, innovative home. Had they chosen another building all would have been well, they would have renovated, remodeled, cleaned, and renewed the old structure into a showplace of their creativity and affluence. But they chose this building. They saw its bones and thought it strong; which it was, they saw its skin and thought it beautiful; which it was, they saw its broken windows, its empty halls, its shattered floors, and thought it empty. It was not.

As the construction began, scars of days gone by showed themselves here and there. Half done graffiti and shaky tag marks covered the first floor and basement of the building's interior; disguising the rotting plaster and piss stained floors in garish paint. But all that was easily wiped away with hammer and chisel. The building's innards were laid bare, wires and pipes were torn away, and then sewn back through the bones to meet the demands of this modern family. Simple, smooth, this was easy, and a good first step. The old wood was cleaned and scraped and finished fresh. The worst of it, the oldest wood that still bore black scars from long cooled fire, was stripped away and replaced anew. And as new skin was stretched over the old bones, as the walls were plied with plaster and paint, work on the upper floors began. Then too began the accidents. First blood was spilled in a careless mistake; the workman forgot to guard against the long rusted nails and twisted wire of the old building's guts. A finger was the price of his carelessness. A needle and thread and a series of shots would put things to right and he would work again, though not in this building. He refused to return, but there were other workmen and they worked on.

Three months to the day after renovation had begun, all was going well. No more accidents, no more problems, discounting the two workmen who had simply not shown up for work one day. That happens in construction though. Nothing to be concerned about, even if they had left a few tools lying about the second floor from the previous night. Besides, the bottom floors were ready. There was ample room for the modern family to live comfortably as work continued on the second, third and fourth floors. So the family moved in. Hurriedly setting furniture where once offices and great machines had been. They claimed their place in the old building, and it became their home. Had this been another building all would have been well.

From the first night the children dreamed-dreams of fire and hunger. Before the first week was out the mother fretted over sounds in the dark, sounds from above like whispers in the cold space beyond the ceiling. As the days passed and the family staggered through the nights, they began to fear something wasn't right about their new home. And so it was little surprise to any of them the day the workman screamed and fell from the second story window. It was early in the evening, as the family sat for dinner that the scream echoed out. Then the crash of glass and more screams as the man fell. There were three men on the job just then. He was the last in the building. He had lagged behind the others who were already packing their trucks to head home in order to finish with the plaster on the last of the walls in a corner room. The family and the men outside all heard the scream, that terrible howl and the crash of the window giving way, and that scream that went on and on as the workman fell to the ground below. The men outside turned to see the workman hit the ground and hear the cracking of his bones and the sudden, hollow ending of his scream. Both would later swear that the workman seemed to struggle as he fell to the ground, not to protect himself from the fall, but to turn himself as if to see the window he'd only just fallen from, arms raised not to protect his head as anyone would, but to cover his ears. Broken bones and blood met those who ran to the fallen man's aid. Even as they reached him as his wet wheezing breath faded away, his face contorted in fear, his neck twisted at an impossible angle, his wide eyes were still focused on the window above.