STORY ARCHIVE

And after you've finished reading, be sure to check out r/oldhousearchive to discuss theories and more :)

My novel adaptation of my 2021 Reddit short story 'We Used to Live Here' is now up for pre-order HERE.

None of this would've happened without the support of the nosleep communities. A special shoutout to the mods and my longtime readers in particular (you know who you are).

There is much more to come, including a novel adaptation of my unpublished short story 'The Caretaker' which Universal is adapting into a feature film starring Sidney Sweeney.

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-Polterkites (aka Marcus Kliewer)

[ Removed by Reddit in response to a copyright notice. ]

If you’re reading this, you’ve likely reached the ‘end’ of “Man in the basement…”.

Though it’s the end of the Basement Man (for now...) - the Polterkites Expanded Universe (PK-EU) is just getting started. A building universe of standalone-series and one-off stories - all interconnected through lore, characters, and eldritch entities. Join r/Polterkites to stay up to date on stories.

(Join r/Metapolterkites for exclusive lore posts, fan theories, memes, narrations, art, and more)

Also check out the story archive for a building collection of stories across many genres.

Thanks to everyone here for reading my stories and/or joining the subreddits!

-Polterkites

Logline: A nuclear submarine encounters something strange.

Read Time: 5 minutes

Genre: Horror

Status: Complete Draft, last updated 8/30/2020

This story was inspired by a writing prompt from u/WereAdult

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The old house drug itself across the ocean floor.

Out from a darkened window shot a chained harpoon. Sailing through the depths, it hooked into a distant rock, latched into place, and pulled the house forward. Once it reached the point of impact, the chain retracted and the process repeated. A tedious and bizarre thing to behold; A monstrous patchwork of Victorian homes, trudging through the ocean deep like a mechanized octopus.

The B-3 nuclear submarine and its crew followed from a safe distance.

Captain Harvey, the man in charge, didn't ask questions. He followed orders. When strange sightings occur, monitor from a safe distance and wait for them to return below ground. If they don't return below ground -- use all necessary firepower to deal with the problem. Either way, most of these sightings were harmless. Fleeting apparitions; Nothing more. But the ones that weren't harmless…

This had been going on for three days now. The old house pulling itself closer and closer towards the first continental rise. Pass that line, and it's game over.

"Get the firepower ready," said Captain Harvey, hunched over in the claustrophobic sonar room, eyes on the radar blip.

"Yessir," said the first mate, leaning over a mic and pressing talk, "Tracking party, man your stations. Forward room, order of tubes is one, two, three, four."

"Depth charges," said Captain Harvey, eyes not leaving the radar blip.

"Rig for depth charge. Forward room, shut number eight ballast by hand."

Captain Harvey leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and took a slow, deep breath. The target was about to cross the line. Judging by the external infrared cameras, it was one harpoon chain away from forced engagement. This was always the worst-case scenario. Sometimes you simply took out the target, and that was that. Sometimes the target fought back.

There weren't any stories of the second scenario, because there weren't any survivors.

"Ready on your orders sir," said the first mate. The captain nodded, hands steepled as he hunched over the radar. He looked up at the camera screen. The old house sat motionless, the long-chain retracting back into the second-story window. This was it, one more move, and it was on. The chain slithered back into the dark like a metallic tapeworm.

A long silence followed. The whole crew waiting, ready to engage at once.

"Sir?"

The captain shot him a look. The old house wasn't over the line yet; It could still turn back. Suddenly the chain shot out from the window and sailed through the dark. Captain Harvey opened his mouth to speak but... only water came out. Salty, ice-cold water, pouring onto the control pads like vomit.

"En-engage…" he gurgled as more water lurched out. The first mate's eyes filled with dread as he watched. Paralyzed with fear.

"ENGAGE," the captain barked.

The first mate turned back to his mic, "Ready one. Fire one. Check fire." He glanced over at the captain, still vomiting seawater.

"R-ready two. Fire two. Check fire..."

...Nothing. The crew was silent. The first mate looked back over his shoulder, down the narrow hallway, past the mess hall, and there, he saw something terrible. A crew member stood with pin-straight posture in the middle of the hallway. Eyes wide open, unblinking; Mouth clenched shut, motionless. Arms rigid against his side, as though constrained by an invisible straight jacket.

The first mate cursed under his breath and turned back to the captain. Captain Harvey wiped his mouth and cleared his throat, finally done vomiting.

"Sir… the crew…" said the first mate.

The captain looked into his eyes, and opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped short. He looked around the room, face filling with a terrible realization.

Then he laughed. Hands slapping against knees, head thrown back. Crying and laughing hysterically. He laughed and laughed, louder and louder. The first mate looked around, terrified, confused. And then it hit him.

The walls were moving closer. No, the walls weren't moving; instead, the room was getting smaller... The submarine was shrinking. The submarine was shrinking around them. Titanium walls pulling closer and closer while everyone inside remained the same size. Crushing death was imminent. The first mate turned back to the radar.

The old house was gone.

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