Narrator: Peter H. | Maine, USA
There was a coil of rope on the upstairs landing of our vacation rental. Heavy marine rope, too bulky for the shelf it was sitting on. I put it in a cupboard so the kids wouldn’t pull it down.
The first night I heard it slide off the shelf inside the cupboard. A thick, dragging sound. Then a soft knock against the door.
In the morning the rope lay on the landing. The cupboard was still latched. There were dark streaks in the carpet, as though it had been wet.
I put it back. I actually tucked it behind a bag of spare pillows so it couldn’t fall again.
At around eleven the bedroom handle turned. My wife said she’d just seen our youngest go to the bathroom. I opened the door expecting him.
One end of the rope was looped over the outside handle. The rest stretched down the stairs, tight enough that it hummed when I touched it.
I shut the door. We called the children into our room and stayed there until daylight. The rope was coiled neatly on its original shelf by breakfast.
The owner called it a prank. I paid the extra cleaning fee without arguing. I wanted the conversation finished.
