THE CREAKING BOOK
Written By - Prabir Rai Chaudhuri
© All Copyright Reserved By Prabir Rai Chaudhuri- 202
If horror stories scare you, if you quickly have nightmares at night, if you're alone in your room reading these lines and the storm outside threatens, then don't go any further and select another story .
If the creaking of a wardrobe in the heavy silence makes you jump and then laugh, if the living dead amuse you, if you like to be a little scared, continue...
Christine accompanied Mathieu, her friend, both aged ten, for a walk in a forest she did not know. The boy was spending a few days of vacation with his aunt Rosa, the mother of little Quentin, five years old.
You can also find them in Christine 19: The Viking Castle and Christine 5: Iris or Anaïs.
Mathieu and his friend were bringing a picnic lunch. The boy had suggested a swim in a lovely lake, in the middle of a fir wood, but a bit too far for Quentin. The two big ones went there alone. Fortunately...
They saw no one at the edge of the lake. They kept only jeans or overalls, taking off their sneakers. They entered the cold water. On this hot summer day, it was bliss.
Unfortunately, the clouds became darker and darker. The two friends were still playing in the water when the storm broke. They swam for a while in the rain. It was fun!
They then came out of the lake and looked around, looking for a place to shelter. They saw, at the edge of the other bank, a wooden hut.
-Let's go over there, proposed Mathieu.
-Oh you know, answered Christine, to shelter us from the rain... Wet in the lake, and now wet outside, I don't see the difference. Our clothes are soaked. I wonder why we don't continue to play in the water...
They got back on their feet in the downpour. Christine's overalls clung to her skin, and her long brown tresses were dripping. Mathieu's jeans were soaked as much as their t-shirts now. They waded through the mud of the path as they walked.
They skirted the lake in the pouring rain and arrived at this cabin they had just seen. It had only two very small windows, one on the left and one on the right, so narrow that one could not have passed through. The door was ajar.
Mathieu pulled the handle to enter but the door resisted, as if stuck. You couldn't open it or close it. They snuck inside the cabin.
It seemed quite empty to them. The floor was covered with poorly planed boards. A staircase ran along the opposite wall and probably led to an attic.
They approached a large fireplace. They discovered just next to a nice reserve of wood and small logs, which would make it possible to make a good outbreak.
Christine is used to it. She lives in the forest. We have a fire all year round at her place. They decided to light one to dry off and warm up.
The wooden staircase led to the attic of the little house. Before tending to the fire, they climbed the steps and reached a trapdoor. They picked her up. They entered a simple little space under the roof. You could hear the rain pattering. It was pitch black, because there were no windows in this place. They closed the hatch and went down.
Christine then began to light the fire. They were shivering now in their soaked clothes. She placed some very small wood in a pyramid and slipped a match into it. Then she put a slightly larger branch on top. A little smoke and a small flame appeared. Alas, the smoke was piling up the chimney and invading the room.
-Oh damn, said our friend, it looks like the conduit is clogged. We're going to be smoked out if this continues. I'll quickly watch what happens before the flames get too high.
Something was blocking the way. She snatched the object and discovered a book. It looked like a notebook with a thick, dark cover.
Now the fire was drawing very well and the smoke was blowing out without any problem. They added a few more small logs. They both sat down on the ground, one close to the other, in front of the flames. You could see their faces glow.
Christine held on her knees the notebook she had just discovered in the fireplace.
"Strange that it's used to block a chimney," the little girl mused aloud. I wonder who hid it there and why...
"Me too," added Mathieu. Let's read it...
-Yes OK.
Our friend opened it and a horrible noise was heard. The hinge of the notebook creaked like an old door. They both looked at each other, a little worried, and read the first page.
Hello. My name is Joe. I love to fish since my childhood. I discovered this place, this lake, surrounded by fir forests and I found it very much to my liking. After camping for a few days, I decided to build this cabin you just walked into. But then a terrible thing happened to me. Close this diary, put it away and go away, because if you turn the page, if you read the rest of my story, you will be so captivated that you won't be able to leave this place until you have completely read this story you hold in your hands.
The two friends looked at each other. They closed the work and a new creak was heard.
-What do you think? Christine asked.
"I hesitate," replied Mathieu.
- Me, I would like to know the continuation, affirmed her friend.
- An adventure without doubt dreadful, but captivating... why not? whispered her boyfriend. If it keeps raining, we won't be able to do anything else. We have to wait for the storm to stop to go back to Aunt Rosa's.
-Okay, confirmed our friend.
So, dear reader, do you dare to read on? Yes... Good... As you wish...
Christine and Mathieu opened the notebook. It creaked abominably. They turned the first page. Another creak... They read on.
Oh, you stay! Well, too bad for you! Here you are locked in my story.
At that moment, the two children heard a loud banging near them. They jumped. The cabin door had just slammed shut.
Putting the book on the ground, they rushed but couldn't open it anymore. The two windows, the one on the left and the one on the right, were too narrow to fit through. The attic had no exit. They were locked in the little house.
They picked up the notebook again, worried, their hearts pounding.
As I just wrote, when I arrived here I discovered this fish-filled lake. I decided to build this cabin. There was enough wood nearby to carry out my project. I sawed off a few fir trunks and built my hut like trappers, trunks nested one inside the other.
I wanted to add a small attic to dry my fish there. To complete the sloping roof, I needed a good beam to top the ridge. I was wondering where to find it... The trunks of the fir trees around the lake seemed a bit thin for that. I needed a big branch of oak or beech.
I took a rope and my saw, and wandered off into the forest in search of a very old and, above all, very strong tree. I discovered a huge oak tree along an old path. He seemed to me to be a thousand years old. One of its powerful horizontal branches suited me perfectly for the roof of my cabin.
I climbed into this oak tree. I sawed off this big branch and then pruned it to the right length. I pulled her to the hut with my rope. It was hard. Hoisting her onto the roof was even more difficult. It took me two days and a lot of patience and effort and sweat. Finally, I installed my beam at the top of my attic.
Just as I was fixing it, I discovered that in the middle of the branch was a place where the wood was hollowed out, much like an hourglass. It was as if, in the old days, a rope was passed around this branch, to draw water from a well for example, and that the friction of the rope to raise the buckets or lower them had in the long run worn and dug a place of this branch.
I didn't know that I used the branch of a hanging tree for the top of my roof. A tree where, in the past, prisoners condemned to death were hung on a rope at the entrance to towns. They were left to die and rot there. And the rope by which these hanged men were hanging, swaying in the wind, had hollowed out, worn away, the middle of the beam of my attic.
Christine and Mathieu were silent. This sinister story made them shiver. They felt frozen despite the fire.
Once again they got up, opened the small window on the left, the small window on the right, to try to get out, but they absolutely couldn't get through. It was far too narrow. And the door was really stuck too. No way out. We had to continue reading the horrible text.
They turned the page which creaked abominably.
I built two small openings, one to the east, to see the sunrise, and the other to the west, to watch it set. I wanted them narrow, so that no thief could surprise me at night.
- That, you speak, remarked Mathieu.
-Wait, said Christine whispering, shut up, listen.
The two children were silent.
They heard a noise, a creaking from the floorboards in the attic. As if someone was walking up there making the ceiling beams groan.
The two friends huddled together, eyes wide with fear, hearts pounding. Someone was moving there, above them.
- We must go and see, murmured Christine. I don't want to stay like that, with a stranger up there, watching or listening to us...
-Okay, breathed Mathieu. Lets go see.
They took matches, for lack of a flashlight. They slowly climbed the staircase that ran along the wall opposite the fireplace, and arrived below the hatch that barred the ceiling horizontally and gave access to the attic.
"Okay," our friend whispered. One who opens the hatch, one who strikes the match. What do you prefer?
"I don't care," his friend whispered. If you want, I open the hatch.
-Okay, I'm holding the match.
The two children looked at each other. They counted one, two, three, then with a sudden gesture, Mathieu opened the door, while Christine struck the match and presented it to the darkness of the attic.
A meow startled them.
A cat! Our friends took a few seconds to recover from their fright.
- Well, little cat, you scared us a lot. Come on, said Christine.
She took him in her arms and went back down the stairs. Mathieu closed the hatch and joined his friend in front of the hearth.
Stroking the cat, they picked up the notebook and read the rest. They turned the page which again creaked horribly.
One stormy day, I lit a fire. I sat in front to warm up. I came back from the lake drenched to the skin.
Suddenly, I heard, in the attic, a kind of creaking. Surprised, I got up, and taking a burning ember with me, I climbed the stairs. I lifted the hatch and in front of my worried eyes, I saw a cat. A little cat was there. He scared me, that one! I took him in my arms and went back down to sit by the fire.
- Gosh, remarked Mathieu, this is exactly what happens to us.
- Yes, added Christine, it's the same story! Odd...
I was petting the cat when...
-Hush, listen, whispered our friend.
The two children stopped reading. They looked up at the ceiling again.
The sinister creak resumed. Again as if walking in the attic.
-It's normal, murmured Christine.
- How is this normal? said Matthew.
"Yes," explained her friend. It couldn't be the cat. A cat does not make noise when it moves... It does not creak the boards...
"You're right," the boy continued. But then, someone really walks into the attic...
-Or something is moving, added Christine. We have to go back and see.
The two children went up the stairs in silence. The creaking was no longer heard, but instead they heard the sound of water.
- "Plic, plic, plic, plic".
It looked like drops falling from the roof onto the floor of the upstairs room.
This time, Mathieu decided to strike the match. Christine was about to open the hatch.
When they were both ready, she jerked her up. Her boyfriend lit the match. They saw no one. Empty.
- "Plic, plic, plic, plic".
In the middle of the darkness of the attic, in the light of the small flame, they saw a dark spot on the floor. The drops fell there.
Christine and Mathieu approached. Our friend bent down and touched the floor. The boy struck a second match. It was blood!
Terrified, the two children turned their gaze upwards. At the big beam, in the middle place where it was hollowed out, they saw a rope. A long hangman's noose. She swayed gently. It ended with a slipknot, the circle through which the head of a condemned man was passed, in the past...
Terrified, they went back down the stairs after closing the trapdoor behind them and sat in silence by the fire.
Mathieu rushed to the door, drummed, tried to pull it, to push it, but he only succeeded in hurting his hands.
They took back Joé's notebook.
Plic-plic-plic-plic. I heard drops falling in the attic. I went back upstairs and opened the hatch. Nobody. But in the center of the black room, I saw a dark spot. Approaching her and touching her with my finger, I discovered to my horror that it was blood. Raising my head to see where it came from, I saw a rope, a rope like that of the hanged, hanging from the beam. With a slipknot and a round space, through which one could have passed a head.
I took a knife out of my pocket and cut the rope. A heavy noise, like a body falling on the ground, occurred.
The rope, at the same time, came loose from the beam and slipped down my arms. Terrified, I looked at the floor, but saw no one. I went back down the stairs and sat down by my fire.
-We must cut the rope, murmured Christine. The book that followed us now precedes us. It tells us what to do.
"You're right," replied Mathieu. Do you have your penknife?
"Yes," said her friend. Come, let's go.
The two children, with pounding hearts, sweat on their brows, climbed the stairs and entered the attic. No one saw it.
The rope hung down, sinister.
Mathieu lifted Christine so that she reached the knot. She slashed it forcefully after grabbing the bloody rope in disgust. They heard a "BROUM". A huge, dull noise, as if a bag, as if a person, as if the body of a dead person, of a hanged man, fell heavily to the ground.
The children looked at the floor, terrified. They saw nothing but the bloodstain. The repulsive rope fell on Christine's arms. She let out a cry then threw it to the ground, horrified. The boy picked it up. They went back down the stairs but forgot to close the hatch behind them...
-You have to throw this rope in the fire, cried Christine.
-No, said Mathieu, a hangman's noose, can you imagine! I keep it. I will amaze my friends.
"You must throw it into the fire," repeated the young girl. It's sticky with the blood of a dead man. You have to throw it away. She will bring us bad luck.
-You may be right, confessed his friend. Wait, let's see what Joe is saying.
They opened the squeaky book and turned the page.
I went back down the stairs with the rope in my hands. A good rope, but that of a hangman... I decided to throw it into the fire.
I tossed it into the flames, and as it slowly began to smoke before it probably burned, I looked up. I realized that I had forgotten to close the hatch...
-We didn't close the hatch! suddenly whispered Mathieu, turning his head.
-The floor creaks, the ceiling boards move, someone crawls. He comes. Death is coming, cried Christine.
She snatched the rope from her friend's hands and threw it into the fire. Then she read.
At that moment, I saw a yellowish hand appear, like that of a corpse, then a second, as if someone was crawling into the attic and wanted to go down to the first step.
-Mathieu, Matthew! Cristina cried.
The two children were screaming in terror. A yellow and green hand, swollen, rotten, like a dead man's, had just landed on the first step. Then a second appeared. They then saw two skeletal arms, on which some decomposed flesh still hung.
These hands and both arms began to smoke. A stench spread through my cabin.
Christine and Mathieu looked at their fire. The rope was also smoking.
I turned to the attic.
The two friends also looked up the stairs. Both hands were smoking. And suddenly they ignited. The dead man's head appeared. The eyes were just black holes. The skin of the face was falling into rotten shreds.
So, I jumped out of my house.
Later, I wrote in this notebook all the moments of this horrible adventure and I returned to place it in the fireplace so that those who would come to this house after me would never suffer this terrible tribulation.
Then I ran away and swore never to come back.
Joe.
"Clack"
Christine and Mathieu turned, both surprised, toward the noise to their left. The door had just opened.
The two children rushed outside.
Our friend suddenly ran towards the cabin.
-Come back, cried the boy, come back. You're crazy! What are you doing?
Christine came in, grabbed the little cat and came out screaming. The dead man's head had just come off and rolled to his feet on the floor and was smoking. Arms and hands lay on the stairs. They were consumed.
She had hardly left when suddenly the hut caught fire. It was a real torch of fire for almost half an hour, then there was only a few ashes left that the wind carried with it. The rain had stopped.
Christine and Mathieu stared dumbfounded at the remains of the cabin. They were still shaking and shivering in their wet clothes.
A man arrived, a stick in his hand. He stopped himself.
-Hello, children.
"Hello, sir," answered Christine.
- The hut burned down?
-Yes, explained Mathieu, but it's not our fault.
- Good thing that rotten old cottage is destroyed. Nobody went there for a long time. He smelled musty. Don't worry about it, children.
The man stirred the ashes with the end of his stick, and suddenly a rope came out, a rope with a noose, like that of a hanged man.
Christine and Mathieu looked at her. They knew her too well. How was it possible that it hadn't burned?
-Nice rope! whispered the man.
He takes it in his hands.
-Do you want it, children?
-No, answered Christine, I don't want her.
"Me neither," Mathieu hesitated.
-Ah well, said the man, so I win.
He rolled up the rope, put it in his backpack and then walked away. Our friends never saw him again. They went back to Aunt Rosa's house.
Suddenly Mathieu stopped and turned to his friend.
-The man we saw who picked up the rope, do you think it was Joe?
"Possibly," replied Christine. I'd rather not know...
It seems that a rope that was used to hang a condemned man does not burn in the flames. Who knows...
