WEIRD FOOTSTEPS 🦶👣

WEIRD FOOTSTEPS The footprints did not appear suddenly. It came slowly, and only when I realized I had never lived alone in that house. I moved to an old rental house on the outskirts of town because rent was cheap. One-story house, cement floor, finely cracked walls. The homeowner only orders one thing before handing over the keys. "If you see the impression of footprints... don't come." I laughed a little at that time. Consider parental orders excessive. The first night, nothing. The second night, I woke up at 5:12 am. Sound tap... tap... tap... slowly, from the kitchen to the living room. I reminded the mice. If I wake up and turn on the light, I see footprints on the cement floor. Big. Rough. Like the footprints of an adult with chicken feet. The problem is, The footprints stopped completely in front of my room. I wiped the impression with a cloth. Is lost. But the smell remained. The next morning I checked around the house. No leaks. There is no impression of coming in from outside. That night, the sound came again. This time closer. Heavier. Tap… tap... drag... It was as if the leg was injured. When I opened the door to the room, the footprints were already on the floor, and I noticed something that made my throat dry. The footprint is incomplete. One finger is missing. I met my neighbor next door. Middle-aged man, rarely speaks. When I asked about the rental house, his face kept changing. "You have one left?" he asked. I nodded. He took a deep breath. "In the past, this house was a place where illegal laborers were kept," he said. "One person died when he was crushed by cement. His legs were crushed. His body... was never actually removed." I felt my stomach drop. “Buried where?” He shook his head. “On the floor.” The third night, I didn't sleep. I sat in the living room with the lights all on. At 4:59am, the cement floor rang. Crackle. A fine crack appeared in the middle of the living room. And from that gap… out of human footprints. His skin is gray. Black nails. One finger is missing. The legs walk by themselves. He moved slowly, leaving an impression. With every step, the floor sounded like bones were being crushed. I can't move. The foot stopped in front of me. Then another foot comes off the floor. And one body follows, half trapped, half free. His face was unclear. But his mouth was wide open. “I haven't come out yet,” he said. "And you step on where I sleep." I tried to run. But every step I took, the floor became softer. My feet sank little by little. The soles started to stick to my feet. Not chasing. Replace. My skin feels cool. Heavy. I see my own feet, My toes started to disappear one by one. “There's room for just one,” the voice whispered. "One out. One stay." The next morning, the landlord came because the tenant didn't answer the phone. He found an empty house. There was no sign of a fight. No corpses. Only the living room cement floor has just been patched. And on the floor, there was the impression of wet footprints. Two sets. One complete. One… minus one finger. The house was rented out again. New tenants are told the same thing: "If you see footprints... don't come." But no one ever heard. Because when the soles of the feet start to walk, he doesn't want to chase you. He just wanted to make sure someone changed his place. 👀 End DESCRIPTION: Every morning I see wet footprints on the floor of the house. Not my site. Not someone else's site. The problem… the footprints appeared from the floor, and every day the number increases. DISCLAIMER: This story is purely fictional. It has nothing to do with living or dead individuals. If after reading this you suddenly notice that the floor of your house is cool and damp, it is not the author's responsibility Follow if you don't want to show your feet in front of your room tonight. 👀 Any suggestions or opinions are welcome to comment on my wall, but before commenting please make sure you understand this is a fictional story. Thank you for reading until the end.