The three of us grew up together.
We were best friends. “Best friends until the end”. That’s what we always said.
I was always the responsible one. Dave was the nerdy one. Jimmy was the wild one. He had a bad gambling habit.
It was like an addiction. He couldn’t stop himself.
Poker was his game and he played for high stakes. The problem was, he was on a losing stake. He borrowed money left, right and center, but he kept on losing.
Pretty soon, he was in way over his head. He owed some very bad men a lot of money.
“N2million ” he said. If he didn’t pay them, they would kill him.
He confided in us and explained the dire situation he was in. After all, we were his best friends. When he came to see us, he broke down sobbing.
He desperately needed our help. “Best friends until the end,” we said.
We agreed to help him in any way we could.
Jimmy had it all planned out. He said he had been watching the bank for almost a month. We were going to go in there wearing masks and take out the two security cameras with spray paint.
Then, we would hold the place up. The safe would be locked on a timer, but there would be enough money in the tellers’ drawers.
We would walk out with at least N4Million that was more than enough to cover Jimmy’s debts.
Dave and I would split the rest between us.
However, we never made it to the bank.
As we were driving there, a van screeched to a halt in front of us and eight armed men got out. They kidnapped us at gunpoint and bundled us into the back of the van. We lay there on the floor as they tied our hands and feet.
Jimmy looked back at us from the drivers seat. “Sorry guys,” he said. “The truth is, I need a lot more than N4Million and the organ market is booming these days…”
You know what it means, right??❤️❤️
💯💯There was a very famous author named David, who had written quite a few best-selling horror novels.
All of the literary critics praised his talent for plot twists and surprise endings. He received a large amount of fan mail every day and some budding authors even sent him manuscripts in the hopes that he would help them get their work published.
While David took pleasure in responding to letters from his fans, he took even more pleasure in stealing the ideas of amateur writers. If he came across a manuscript with a great idea for a scary story, he would use it in one of his own books and deny the author any credit.
Then, in order to hide his theft, he pulled some strings with his friends in the publishing industry to make sure that the original author never got anything published in the future.
One day, David received a new manuscript in the mail. It was bound in a beautiful hardcover book. He read the first chapter and felt that he knew how the story would end. As he continued reading, he became more and more certain that he could guess the twist ending.
It was growing late, but he wanted to finish reading the manuscript to see whether or not he was right.
When David came to the final chapter, he realized that the last few pages of the book were stuck together.
Anxious to read further, he pulled the pages apart. He felt increasingly tired but he still kept reading. Finally, he came to the end of the book. It was exactly the twist ending he had anticipated.
The husband had hanged himself just as his wife was committing suicide in the next room. David made a mental note to steal the idea and use it in his next story.
Just then, he noticed that, after the words “THE END”, there was a little hand-written comment from the author.
It read:
“I already know that you are planning to steal the ideas in this story. I know, because you did the exact same thing to me the last time I sent you a manuscript. You published it under your own name and didn’t give me any credit.
You ripped me off and blacklisted me in the industry. Nobody will accept my novels anymore and I will never again be able to publish anything I write. You have ruined my life and now I am going to have my revenge. You had to pull apart the back pages in order to read this, didn’t you? Well those pages contained a poison. Arsenic, to be precise. Are you feeling tired? That is normal.
It’s one of the symptoms of arsenic poisoning. Soon, your heartbeat will get slower and slower until it eventually stops permanently.
Don’t bother trying to call an ambulance. You will be dead before they arrive. You have already beem exposed for too long.
Goodbye, David.
Some twist endings can be very hard to predict.”
♥️♥️
There was an old apartment building in that was seven stories high. The apartments were very small and decrepit and the building had no elevator. There was only a large, dilapidated wooden staircase that spanned seven flights of stairs. Each one had seven steps.
On the first floor of the building, there was a one-room apartment, directly opposite the staircase.
The landlord who owned it had a hard time finding tenants to stay in the apartment.
Whenever he managed to rent it out, the tenant would suddenly leave, without ever giving an explanation. Every tenant left less than one week after renting the room.
One day, a young man came to look at the vacant apartment. He was a college student and didn’t have very much money. The apartment was very small, but the landlord was asking for a very low rent. The man decided to take the apartment and moved his belongings in a few days later.
The first day that the young man spent in the apartment was a Monday. During the night, he was roused from his slumber by a strange noise. It sounded like a child’s voice, echoing in the staircase near his front door.
“I have reached the first step on the wooden staircase,” said the voice.
“What is a child doing out of bed at this time of night?” the man wondered to himself.
However, he was tired from transporting his belongings and just went back to sleep.
The next night, he was again awakened by the same voice calling out, “Two steps on the wooden staircase have I climbed!”
On Wednesday night, the voice cried, “Three steps on the wooden staircase have I climbed!”
The man jumped out of bed and ran to the front door. When he opened the door and looked out, he saw that the staircase was empty.
An unnerving thought crossed his mind.
“Could it be possible that the staircase is haunted?”
And so it went on the same way, on the fourth, the fifth and the sixth day.
Every night
, the man heard the child’s voice calling out. Each time, it seemed to get closer and closer.
Sunday night finally arrived and the man was trembling in his bed. He thought about moving out, but told himself that he must be brave. He refused to allow himself to be scared off by a ghostly voice.
In the middle of the night, he woke to hear something scratching at his door.
A voice cried out, “I have reached the seventh step on the staircase!”
A shiver ran down the man’s spine as he heard his locked front door swing open.
The next morning, the landlord arrived to collect the rent. When he knocked on the apartment door, there was no answer.
Suspicious about the whole situation, he took out his spare key and let himself in.
Sprawled across the bed, he found the tenant’s mangled body. His face bore an expression of unimaginable fear. The police came and examined the body, but no cause of the death could be determined. It seemed as if the man had been scared to death.
The apartment is still vacant today, awaiting a new tenant. Over the years, all of the previous residents have fled before the week is through. They all say they left because they feared what might happen when the voice reached the seventh step.
There are only two people who knows the answer:
The dead man and the unspeakable thing that climbs the wooden staircase every night.