What I tell you here is true. It happened to a friend of mine’s best friend’s mother. And I know by the time this story gets to you, that is a very long chain, and by the time you read this, the events might have happened a very, very long time ago.
But read on, because I promise you, everything I tell you is true. Read it in the dark, and imagine hearing it in a bedroom at midnight, with your back against the wall.
Let’s call her Amanda.
Amanda moved in a new house with her husband and a baby girl (that’s my friend’s best friend) in a small town in Wales. Apparently the previous owners were two old woman. She never met them. The move was organised by their estate after they died.
Amanda was determined to make their house their own. She painted the bannisters, replaced the carpets. Ripped out the wooden kitchen, and replaced every surface with granite. Retiled the roof. She worked on their bedroom, scraping off the yellow wallpaper by hand. And this is where it all changed. Because written underneath, on a layer of plaster at least twenty years old, was one word.
She refused to go in the house again.
And that is almost the reason this is the scariest story I have ever heard. But what topped my reaction was an absolute truth that filled me from top to bottom. Something I knew as certain. When she peeled off that paper with two clawed hands, something with one blind eye watched her from the door.
No more truths. The Butter Mouse is coming, and he will reveal himself in the next few months. My advice is to leave the walls well alone.