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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/tmentosyevinnien on 2026-08-06 00:45:26+00:00.

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I glance at Felix, not sure what else we’re waiting for. We’ve been staring at this house for long enough that I’ve found time to count the number of siding panels on its facade. The only notable thing that’s happened since we got here was a gust of wind around fifteen minutes ago—and the only reason I even remember that is ‘cause it made me start counting the trees around the house. I counted twenty.

Other than that, nothing. Not a single light has turned on in the house, no movement around the front and side, nothing. Not even animals. Clearly, nobody’s home, but those binoculars have been practically screwed to Felix’s eyes this whole time. I get where his head is at, though; this prize is the most I’ve seen him want anything. In my years in this business, I’ve never seen people’s eyeballs pop out of their heads the way they did when word spread about this gig. It’s one of those where all the players are happy no matter how you divide up the rewards.

Of course, that comes with a set of risks. Or rather, one risk: we don’t know the risks. That’s right. There’ve been many failed attempts before us, and not a single person could ever even make it to the front door. Why? ‘Cause these assholes are always home and alert.

This damn seat is really starting to hurt my ass, but now that I’m thinking about all those sharks who could be here instead of me, I’ll deal with it. Sure, Felix, I’ll keep watch like you said.

“Shit! Get down,” he snaps. He shoves my head into my lap, but I caught a glimpse of it.

A light. I think it was the living room, but I can’t tell. What kind of intel was Felix working with?

“I thought they weren’t supposed to be home,” I whisper.

“I’m surprised, too. That fuckin’ weasel, he lied to me! He must’ve had different info. He’s probably got plans to do his own operation here already.”

I’m not surprised that he assumes his source lied to him, as opposed to it just being wrong. Everybody wants this gig, after all.

“So now what?” I ask, having let him calm down for a second.

Felix sighs and opens the glove box at my knees. I see it before he grabs it—a handgun.

“We go anyways. Fuck this guy.”

“You’re bringing a gun? You don’t think that could get out of hand?”

“Relax, it’s empty. It’s just, uh, insurance.”

“Right.”

As we snake our way to the front door, I wonder if we’re the first ones to bring a gun. Surely not, but why hasn’t anyone else thought to do this, just barge in?

Felix knocks and rings the doorbell.

It’s taking a while for this guy to answer. I start looking around the lawn, and it hits me how dark it is. Okay, it’s nighttime, so obviously, but…

“Don’t you think it’s weird that they have no security lights?” I whisper.

“Maybe they do, they’re just out of battery or something. Whatever, I’m not complaining.”

“I guess.”

The streetlights, moonlight, and ambient light from the living room window give me barely enough information to make stuff out here. The grass is long and thick enough for snakes to hide in, and these guys have weeds sneaking out of the cracks in the pathway. They must’ve gotten paranoid.

“Where is this guy?” Felix grumbles as he hammers the doorbell.

Finally, we hear rapid footsteps from the other side approaching the door.

The lock clicks, and the living room light escapes through the emerging slit. The last line of defense is a gold door chain.

“Can I help you?”

Jeez, what a voice. The best word I can think to describe it is hydrated—it’s as if he dressed up his throat with resin.

Felix responds pretty fast. “Hi, we’re your neighbors and we just wanted to check up on you. We noticed your lawn is, well uh… you know. We’re just a little concerned, is all.”

“Do you know what time it is?”

“Haha, yeah. Sorry about that. We just couldn’t sleep thinking about you! I’m sure you can also imagine that it’s a little cold out here, would it be okay if we come in?”

This is an odd lie. They don’t have neighbors. They’re not gonna believe us, unless… Wait, don’t tell me! Is Felix suspecting what I think he is?

“Well, I’m sure you can imagine that it’s late. I’ll come by tomorrow, can you tell me which house you live in? Or maybe can you come back tomorrow?”

Felix snickers. “I knew it.” He winds back, and before this man can react, he kicks the door. The chain snaps. The door swings hard and into the man’s nose. I hear him groan and stumble.

We storm inside and find him on the ground, clutching his face in pain.

Before I take any note of him, though, I look around at the absolute state of this living room. Holy shit. Tables and chairs all turned over, shelves opened and some knocked to the floor, drawers all emptied, the contents sprawled around. Felix was right.

“I fucking knew it. You’re not the homeowner, are you?” He cackles. His gun is still at his hip—no need to leverage it yet.

This man’s face is pressed to the hardwood. He doesn’t respond.

Felix steps up to the man and squats to his level.

“So did you find it?”

The man pauses and turns to Felix, and we can finally see his face. I’ve definitely never seen him before—I’d surely remember a face like that. It’s a little bloodied now, but in this dim light, that mug looks sculpted. What’s he doing here as a small-time burglar? I’d expect to see him on a movie poster, or something.

The man grins at Felix, letting his blood seep into his teeth.

Felix grins back. “How much is there?”

“More than you can imagine. I’ve been here for thirty-six hours, and I’ve barely scratched the surface.” He giggles, and it morphs into a wheeze—then snaps back. I feel like his voice sounded different for a second there.

“Where?”

“Upstairs. The master bedroom. That’s where they keep it all.”

Something’s up. I don’t like how quickly he’s telling us this; I’ll have to probe a little. “How do we know you’re telling the truth—”

“IT’S UPSTAIRS,” he hisses. “See for yourself.”

I freeze. What is wrong with his voice?

“Alright well—” Felix turns to me “—I’ll stay here with him. You go upstairs and check it out.” He turns back to the man and pulls his gun. “I hope you’re not lying, or I’ll be making use of this.”

I watch this man’s face darken at the sight of the gun. He hasn’t bothered to wipe off the blood that’s now drenching his mouth. Whatever his intent, it unnerves me.

I don’t like this. I don’t know why—even with Felix guarding him, my head is screaming at me.

Still, though… I can’t help but want to check this out. Slowly, against my body’s wishes, I turn around and trudge to the staircase that I somehow intuited was there.

The master bedroom is two flights up.

When I get there, I grope around the wall for the light switch.

The sight I am met with is unlike anything I could’ve guessed.

For one, there’s no bed. There was at one point, from the dark spots on the floor, but it’s completely gone. The window just above where it would be has these kite patterns on it.

The dresser mirror is shattered. I can see tiny drops of dried blood splattered around it.

The floor itself has thousands of black boot prints all over it. It looks like at a certain point, this man stopped caring about leaving his tracks.

One thing’s catching my eye, though. The walk-in closet straight up ahead. The door is cracked open, and it’s pitch black inside. Something tells me what I want is in there.

I walk up to it, my shoes making hollow knocks on the floor. Why am I so alert? There’s nothing here that can threaten me, although I don’t exactly have any weapons other than my hands.

I nudge it open, and the light from the bedroom trickles in. I try flipping the switch in here, but it doesn’t work. As my eyes adjust, I notice that the bulb on the ceiling has been taken out.

What the hell? Am I in the wrong spot? What the hell is all this?

I’m looking at a photo album placed on top of a white cubby, right in the middle of the closet. It’s open to the first page.

I don’t think to look anywhere else—for some reason, this strikes me.

The first picture is a professional family portrait. Mom, dad, small boy. I’m guessing these are the homeowners. There’s a date at the bottom; this was taken a month ago. I flip to the next page.

Now I’m looking at a collage, three pictures all at a park. The first is from far away, zoomed in on a family having a picnic. They don’t look like they notice the camera. The second is from closer up now, of the same family. It’s the homeowners again. This one seems like a candid; they look pleasantly surprised to see the camera. The last picture is them smiling for it. The date tells me these were taken around three weeks ago. I flip to the next page.

Are these all taken by the same photographer? This next page is a picture of the family at the mall, just walking. The mom is holding the boy’s hand. Whoever took this was moving, too—the photo is all shaky. Their backs are turned to the camera. The absence of a collage this time is off-putting; even more so, it looks like the photographer was no more than a school bus’s distance away. I neglect to look at the date as I flip to the next page.

“What…” I mutter. This one’s just of the dad. He’s… at work. Sitting at a wide desk, seemingly on the phone. The photo was taken from outside the building; I can see the glare on the window obscuring him a little.

All at once, it hits me how cold it is in here. I can feel the air seizing my spine. Something is very wrong in this house. I’m starting to think we should bail.

But I can’t hel...

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