Rules for ‘The Thrumming.’
Houses, like people, have their own little quirks. Personalities. Even two houses with an identical floor plan will eventually gain their own unique details, like twins. These quirks of the home become just another part of the day- the light that only turns on when you hit the wall just right, the shower that freezes your bones with one unfortunate toilet flush- you get it. At worst, these quirks may be annoying, sometimes costly to fix, but other times, some would argue they build character. So what if I told you a home could get a malignant quirk? Sounds ridiculous, right? I thought so too. But with what I’ve encountered these past few months, and the body on my shower floor right now, I’d be ignorant to say that my house doesn’t have something deeply wrong with it. Let me explain. My wife Linda and I were tired of renting apartments. We were potentially wanting to start a family. So after a few years of saving, it was time to look for that dream home of ours. We loaded up into the sedan, ready to visit a few houses that caught our eye, when my wife uttered the worst sentence I could imagine: “You ready to drive over to my mother’s?” Okay, listen to me. I know it’s cliché to hate your mother-in-law. I get it. Here’s the thing: I don’t care. I hate Ruth. The less I talk about her, the lower my blood pressure gets. Unfortunately, she’s a really good Realtor, so it only makes sense to go with her to help secure a house. It really doesn’t help when you live in a small city either- there’s not a lot of options, y’know? I still wasn’t happy with the choice. She sticks her nose into all of our business and absolutely hates everything about me. She once tried to get my wife to break up with me for a random cashier. Seven years into our relationship. That woman’s never seen a day beyond misery, but my wife insists that she remains in our lives, and because I love my wife, I hold my tongue. I only wish Ruth would hold hers. So, we pulled up to Ruth’s house, and of course, she’s wearing her finest scowl, which only deepens when she makes eye contact with me. She took her time to enter the backseat. My wife beamed at her, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey, mom! We have about three houses we wanted to look at. Is that still the plan for today?” Ruth nodded approvingly. “Yes, dear. I want to make sure you don’t choose a house in some run-down neighborhood. You can never be too careful these days- they’ll sell you a house with a painted tarp for a roof.” “Ruth.” I cleared my throat and acknowledged her presence. Her demeanor shifted immediately. “Samuel.” “You’re radiant today.” “You’re late.” My wife’s hand on my leg told me I couldn’t fire back with whatever I was going to say, so I didn’t, and instead made the decision to get the car in gear over to the first house. We pulled up to a 3-bed, 2-bathroom home, with a freshly maintained lawn and a new coat of dazzling white paint. Touring the place, it seemed fine enough, until Ruth explained there were 8 offers on the house already. ‘It’s practically already sold, ’ were her words. The second place was technically a steal for the price, even though it was a little bit of a fixer-upper, though Ruth just had to chime in. “It’s too much work for Samuel. You’re gonna be swimming in half-finished projects, in a half-finished house.” She scoffed, placing herself in the back seat. “I don’t think it’s unsalvageable, Ruth. With a little bit of time, I could probably-” “You said the same thing about painting your living room. That took you, what, several months?” My hands instinctively went to pinch between my eyes. “We had to get permission from our landlord. On top of that, I broke my leg.” She threw her hands up, focusing on my wife. “All I’m saying is that if he couldn’t paint some walls, I don’t have high hopes for that one.” Whether she was referring to the home or me, I couldn’t tell. The last house was a further drive from the rest. As the suburb gave way to nature, Ruth filled us in. “I’m not so sure about this one, but I know Linda’s tastes. The owner seems very old-school; he says he wants to be a part of the whole process. He’ll be giving us a tour of the house.” She squinted through her glasses to look at her notes. “Clearly there must be something wrong with it- it’s way under market.” Eventually, we found ourselves at the house, nestled snug in a blanket of trees. Though simple in design, looking at the weather vane on the roof and the rocking chair on the porch, my wife and I could tell this home had character. We were admiring the outside knick-knacks when an older gentleman stepped out from the front door. His appearance reminded me of an old sheriff character straight from a western- his mustache wiggled as he spoke. “You here to take a look around?” His voice carried a roughness tempered by experience. “Yes, sir. You the owner?” I held my hand out to shake his. He nodded, and reciprocated. “Yessir. Been the owner for about 25 years, give or take.” He invited the three of us into a home that was probably cozy in another lifetime. Two gaudy recliners sat in front of an old CRT TV in a conversation pit. A deer’s head was mounted above the fireplace, staring vacantly across the room. A shag rug dominated most of the living room territory. No one had informed this household that the 1970s were over. From the looks of it, no one had cleaned since the 70s either: A thick layer of dust coated just about everything. Normally, most people would take one look at a place like this in disgust and turn on their heel out the door. My wife and I, however, had weird tastes. By the glimmer in my wife’s eyes, I could tell she loved the aesthetic just as much as I did. Ruth was too busy sneering at a family of ceramic ducks on a shelf to voice her distaste. We were all jostled to life by the owner when he cleared his throat. “Kitchen’s this way. Hope you like yellow.” Well, to simply say the kitchen was yellow would be like describing Godzilla as ‘a pretty big lizard’. Wood cabinets, yellow countertops, and floral tile- this house could’ve been a set for a sitcom just switching over to color TV. Despite its age, however, and the apparent lack of cleanliness, what surprised us was how well maintained it appeared. Not a door hinge out of place, not a speck of rust. My wife inspected each angle of every piece of furniture, a basset hound searching for something amiss. “I love the aesthetic in here. It’s a beautiful home.” She cooed, running a hand along the fridge. “You can thank my wife for it. She refused to change a thing about this house, and, well… I just couldn’t either when…” His sentence died out as the man stared out the window just above the sink, into the woods. It’s a little awkward to console a person you know nothing about, but I tried my hand at it anyway. “I’m sorry about your loss.” He simply shrugged. “Bound to happen eventually. Just wish it would’ve been me, not her.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that, and for once, I was glad to see Ruth as she stepped into the kitchen. She stifled a gag. “Ugh. Horrendous.” With each room we saw, my wife and I fell further in love with the home. Both bedrooms and the backyard carried the same energy as the rest of the place- a vignette of better days, waiting for another chance to be filled with happiness. Towards the end, however, the man presented the oddities of the house that, at the time, I looked over. How was I supposed to know this gift horse was a Trojan horse? “House only got one shower.” He swung open the guest bathroom, revealing simply a toilet, sink, and cabinet. I mistook the fear in his voice for reluctance to admit a flaw in the house. “That’s not necessarily a deal breaker for us, right, Sam?” My wife didn’t seem phased either. I shook my head. “Nah, I don’t think that’s a problem. We’ll manage.” The owner looked at me solemnly. “I hope you do. C’mon, let me show you what you’d be working with.” He stiffly moved his way toward the main bathroom, leading us down the hall. He opened the door and motioned for us to take a look inside. Red. Each wall and floor tile was a deep, reddish-orange hue. The sink cabinets, toilet, and shower (with tub) were pea green. I’d been vibing with the retro look up to this point, but something about this bathroom didn’t feel great. Linda and I stared at the vibrant mess of the room before exchanging a glance at each other. Our eyebrows communicated what we were thinking: Remodel. We turned to face the owner, who made no attempt to step a single inch into the door frame. He had a thousand-yard stare, keeping his eyes on the shower at all times. “So, how many offers?” I asked, snapping the man out of a daze. “None yet.” He scratched his stark white mustache, and the wrinkles on his forehead multiplied with the furrowing of his brow in thought. On cue, Ruth spoke up. “You’re not serious-” “Mom, please.” Linda stuck her hand out to shush Ruth. I couldn’t help but smile. That afternoon, we sat at his dining table and worked out our offer. The man seemed more than pleased with what he was getting, which worked for me, as I was willing to go a lot higher for what he was offering; he was planning on leaving the place fully furnished. ‘They won’t let me take it to assisted living,’ was his explanation. The rest of the process was quick. With all inspections passed with flying colors, we had all the papers signed and sealed by the end of the week, ready to move in that weekend. That Saturday, we rented a mini trailer for all the stuff we wanted to keep, and left what we didn’t want, as a ‘pay it forward’ to the next tenant. Our excitement was contagious on the drive away from our apartment complex, despite knowing we were on our way to Ruth’s house to pick up the keys. In true Ruth fashion, when she handed us the keys, she didn’t decide on a “Congratulations” or an “Enjoy your new home”, instead opting to give us one last piece of her mind. “I think you could’ve done better.” “Sure, Ruth.” I nodded, taking the keys from her. “Linda will text you when we get there!” We peeled out of her driveway, smiling and waving as her grimace trailed out of sight. Next stop: home sweet home. It was near dusk by the time we reached our isolated new digs, the last rays of sun stretching frantically above the forest as they sank below the treeline. We stood at the threshold of the front door and unlocked it for the first time. “Welcome home, Sam.” “Welcome home, Linda.” We began moving boxes inside, filling up the closet with things to sort through the next day. Passing by the kitchen, I spotted a piece of paper out of place, taped to the countertop. I picked up the note and read it, unaware just how much my life would change from that moment on. It read: I reread the message twice. What a weird, sick joke. I never took the old guy to be the type, I thought. I heard Linda come up behind me with a bag of groceries. “What’s that? Did he leave us a housewarming message?” The curiosity was clear in her voice. “Yes. Very sweet. Hannibal Lecter would be tickled pink.” I handed her the note and watched her face shift into a myriad of expressions, landing on confusion. “What?” She handed me back the note. I shrugged. “Weird old guy. I feel sorry for him.” I tucked the note into my pocket, and we continued to unpack our car. We didn’t dwell too much on the strange note. It wasn’t until Linda went to bed, and I went to take a shower, that I thought of it again. Standing on the blood-orange colored tiles, staring at the shower, I hesitated, only to immediately be embarrassed by my hesitation. “Poor guy was just confused.” I tried to reassure myself. My hands fumbled with the shower knob, turning it on. I couldn’t help but count. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. The water warmed up just enough for me to step inside. Four Mississippi. Five Mississippi. Six Mississippi. I looked around the room. It was a normal room. Nothing’s going to happen, I thought to myself. Seven Mississippi. Eight Mississippi. I admit, I closed my eyes. I just felt like I had to. I’m so glad I did. Nine Mississippi. Ten- Something shifted in the light of my closed eyelid, and then I heard it. Immediately, I understood why they called it The Thrumming. Let me do my best to describe what I heard. First, close your eyes. While your eyes are closed, clench your inner ear muscles. It should sound like a constant, vibrating, pulsing hum in your head. Like far-off thunder, nestled in your brain. That’s what The Thrumming sounds like. I was so startled by the noise, I almost threw my eyes open. I don’t know how I didn’t. I had no idea what to do- I could feel something standing right outside of the shower. It was big- I could tell a lot of light was being blocked. I could feel it heaving, a cold gust breaking through the warmth of the shower in a rhythmic breathing motion. I scrambled to turn off the shower, and I counted again. At ten Mississippi, the rumbling stopped, the breathing stopped, and the shape blocking the light in my closed eyes was no longer there. I waited another ten seconds to be safe before opening my eyes. Nothing. No footprints, no sign of the door ever being unlocked. The room looked exactly as it did when I entered it. I sprinted to my sleeping wife, not even bothering to grab a towel, and woke her up. “Linda- get up, we gotta go.” I hissed, shaking her. She shot up, grumbling, wiping the sleep from her eyes. “What? Sam, what are you-” She glanced at my disheveled state. “…what’s going on?” “That creepy note about the shower? Yeah. It’s real. We need to go.” I haphazardly threw a shirt on backwards as I hopped on one foot into a pair of jeans. “Very funny, Sam. Can I go back to sleep?” She yawned, resting her head back on the pillow. I shook her awake again, sitting her up in the bed. “I’m telling you, it’s real. C’mon, I’ll prove it.” She followed me to the door of the bathroom, grumbling the entire time. “Okay, go in there, turn the shower on, and close your eyes. Don’t open them.” I reiterate. “Once I do this, then can I go to sleep?” She stretched. “You won’t want to. Remember, keep your eyes closed. Ten seconds after the shower’s on, to ten seconds after the shower’s off.” I closed the door immediately when she entered the bathroom. I heard the water turn on. Nearly ten seconds of water running, I heard one of Linda’s yawns pitch into a squeak of surprise. Nearly immediately, the water turned off. About fifteen seconds later, there was a scramble of footsteps, before she threw open the door, pale as a ghost. “What was that?!” She was wide awake. “I think we just met The Thrumming.” “Okay, so what do we do?” “We leave.” “And go where?! Stay at a hotel? What if it follows us? Can it follow us?” “I don’t know.” We sat in the living room, jumping at every noise, for the rest of the night. But nothing came to get us. No creature lumbered its way from the bathroom. No masked psycho burst from the closet. The only noise was the gradual birdsong from the forest outside, as the dawn peeked through the windows. Our first move was to try to get a hold of the previous homeowner, but it was like he vanished into thin air. We tried every old folks home, assisted living place, and hospital in a wide radius, but none had a patient who matched his name. Next, we contacted Ruth. “Ruth, we need to put the house back on the market. There’s a lot wrong with it. Termites. Holes in the roof. The water heater’s about to explode.” I threw every lie I could out there. I could hear her smile stretch on the other side of the phone. “But Samuel- the inspections came back fine. If you don’t like the look of the house, it’s alright to admit it. After all, I did try to warn you, didn’t I? But no one listens to me.” I wanted to slam my head against the wall. “No, it’s not that, Ruth. There are just a lot of things that we don’t like about this house. Can’t you help us out?” There was a pause. “Samuel, maybe you just need to give it some time. If you still feel this way after a few months-” I hung up on her. We didn’t have the funds for staying at a hotel for the long term, along with making payments on our new mortgage, so we were forced to live with it. For a month, we would take turns taking showers, and every time, we would hear The Thrumming in our heads, mixing with the water running down our spines. We could feel its presence, smell its breath- a boiled egg left in the sun for three days, garnishing a glass of curdled milk and sardine juice. We followed every rule- we kept our eyes closed, showered alone, and kept the door locked. We didn’t fully understand rule four yet. That changed. I had just come back home from a jog, catching Linda on the way out for groceries. She kissed me on the cheek, and I watched her pull out of the driveway, heading down toward the road. I made my way over to the bathroom to wash the layer of sweat that I was wearing like a coat. My new shower ritual started like normal- water on, close eyes, hop in. I’d gotten better at feeling around for the soap and hair wash, though it was still tough to fully ignore The Thrumming. Out of the bathroom, I heard the crashing of glass. Then, Linda’s voice: “Shoot! Sam, I need your help! This vase got me good, I’m bleeding!” Panicked about how badly she may have hurt herself, I was about to open my eyes to turn off the shower and quickly grab my clothes, when I stopped. I just saw Linda drive off. “Sam? Sam, please, it’s pretty bad. I need a towel or something.” It continued to speak, just like how my wife would when she’s afraid. Slowly, I resumed my shower, and the frightened voice outside dissolved into the Thrumming noise, back in my skull. We had to be more careful from that day on. Knocks on the window, voices in the home, and sounds of missed calls were occasionally sprinkled in to our shower sessions. The Thrumming was doing whatever it could to get us to take one little peek. As awful as it sounds, it became the new normal. Linda and I became good at blocking any distractions, focusing on our shower thoughts more than anything else. We tried not to think about how much worse it could get, or how much longer we’d have to deal with it. Instead, our focus was on research, trying to see if anyone else had dealt with a situation like this. We were in the middle of looking for exorcists in our local area when my wife got a frantic call from her mother. Apparently, Ruth got into an argument at a local restaurant. She decided to use some… choice words towards a young waitress, and what’s worse, this ‘interaction’ was recorded by several bystanders. “Linda, I don’t feel safe in my own home anymore! The whole community has it out for me!” Her harpy screech tore through the phone’s speaker. I mimed playing the world’s smallest violin, grinning ear to ear. Linda glared daggers at me before speaking. “Well, Mom, I’m really sorry to hear that, but I don’t know what you want us to do about it.” “Well, I just need to get away for a bit. Let this all blow over. You got a spare bedroom there, right?” My smile was obliterated. I shook my head vehemently, mouthing “No no no no no no-” “Mom, that’s asking a lot…” “I know it is, dear, but listen. You still want to sell that house? Let me stay with you for a bit, and I promise, I’ll get that house back on the market for you, and get you as close to what you bought it for as possible.” Linda and I stared at each other. I could tell we were on the same wavelength- this could be it. If we let Ruth stay with us for a week or two, maybe she could even see what we’re dealing with. She could help get us out of here. “Alright, deal. Come on over, we’ll get the guest bedroom ready for you.” In the time it took her to come over, we ran through the game plan multiple times on how we’d try to explain what’s going on in the house. We were as confident as we were going to be when we heard the knock on our door. I opened the door for her. “Hey Ruth, come on in-” She pushed me aside, her hands full of two suitcases, packed to the brim. “I haven’t eaten yet. Did you have dinner yet? Get a pot of coffee started for me.” She ordered, dropping her suitcases with a thud. “Ruth, before all that, can we-” “LINDA? Linda where-” she spotted Linda sitting in the conversation pit. “Oh, there you are. Get these suitcases unpacked for me, will you? It’s been such a rough day, I just want to eat, shower, and rest.” Our eyes grew wide at the word shower. “Mom, about that, can you come sit for a second? We need to talk to you about-” “Yes, hun, we’ll have plenty of time to talk after I’ve eaten and freshened up-” My wife rose from her seat and pointed at the chair next to her. “MOM. We need to talk NOW, or I’ll throw your suitcases into the forest. Now SIT.” I’ve never heard her talk to her mother like that, but desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess. There was a moment where Ruth seemed stunned, before she resumed her normal, miserable demeanor. “Alright, alright, dear. You don’t have to talk to me like that. I’m not a child. We’re all adults here.” She placed herself gingerly on the couch. I was biting my tongue so hard, I felt like I nearly tore it off. Linda took the lead. “Mom, this house may be…haunted. Or cursed. We’re not quite sure. It doesn’t matter. Point is- there’s something bad with us here. We’ve been following some rules given to us by the previous owner, and it’s the only thing keeping us alive.” She pulled out the original note and handed it to Ruth, who was abnormally silent. Her eyes swept the small paper, line by line. Finally, she spoke. “Do you take me for some sort of idiot?” She snarled, throwing the paper at Linda. “You have to make up some dumb monster because you’re too much of a coward to say you don’t want me here?” “Ruth, enough-” She wheeled her attention my way, pointing a finger at me. “Shut your mouth! It was probably YOUR idea, wasn’t it? You good for nothing waste of SPACE! The worst day of my life was the day you married Linda!” She couldn’t spew the vitriol fast enough from her mouth. She stood, fists balled, face red. “Mom, enough! We’re telling the truth!” We both stood, watching her move with a purpose down the hallway. “Yeah? I’ll be the judge of that! When nothing happens, I’ll be on my way, so you don’t have to deal with me ever again!” Rage echoed alongside her footsteps as she threw the bathroom door open. “MOM, NO, WAIT!” Linda cried. I grabbed her before she could chase after her. “Linda, no, we can’t go in there.” I held her in place, facing her away from the bathroom. My gut lurched when I heard the shower turn on. One Mississippi. “Shut your eyes, Linda. Quick!” I tried to console her, as we both knew what was coming. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Ruth’s boisterous voice echoed from the small bathroom. “WHERE’S THE ‘THUMBING’, HUH? I DON’T SEE IT. IS IT SHY?” Four Mississippi. Five Mississippi. I just held Linda in my arms, as she sobbed, already mourning the loss of her mother. Six Mississippi. Seven Mississippi. I looked down the hall, into the bathroom, where Ruth stood yelling. A tiny part of me thought even someone like her didn’t deserve whatever was about to happen. Eight Mississippi. Nine Mississippi. I turned and shut my eyes. “YOU MAKE ME SICK, YOU UNGRATEFUL-” Ten Mississippi. Ruth’s rage-filled ramblings instantly became soul-piercing screams. I’ve never heard a human make those noises before. Shrieks of mortal terror so loud I could hear her vocal chords tearing, squelched by the gurgle of what I assumed was blood. Wet ripping sounds echoed down the hallway, punctuated by the heavy thud of something heavy hitting the ground. Linda and I sat in each other’s arms for some time before I began to crawl on my hands and knees towards the bathroom, eyes still shut. I needed to turn off the shower. I could feel the transition from carpet to cold tile, and as I moved forward, a warm liquid coated my hands. I followed the noise of the running water, ignoring the reverberating hum in my head. My hands bumped into something on the floor, and I recoiled immediately, knowing exactly who I just made contact with. I awkwardly lifted myself up onto the edge of the tub and blindly groped the wall, finding the shower handle, and turning it off with a whining hiss. I waited in that room until The Thrumming was long gone. I won’t describe to you what was left of Ruth. So, that’s where we are now. With all that’s just gone on, Linda and I have decided to put our only plan left in action, which is why I’m writing this. We weren’t looking for priests before Ruth arrived. We were planning this post. Whoever you are, you’re probably a good person, but Linda and I can’t handle this much longer, so I had to go with whoever reads this first. I’m sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me. It’s nothing personal. So I’ve hidden a rule from you. Our guess is that maybe whatever this thing is, it may not be tied to the house. I think the only reason it’s stayed here is because the old couple before us never broke rule 5. It makes sense- had they broken rule 5 back in their day, the whole town would’ve come after them. The townspeople would’ve known who told them. But in this day and age, on the internet? Anonymity has its perks. So if my theory is correct, you might buy us some time, or maybe even make it leave us alone. In fairness, however, I want to give you the rules one more time. All of them. Rule 1: From ten seconds after the shower is turned on until ten seconds after the shower is turned off, do not open your eyes. You need to keep your eyes closed, so you don’t see it. You’ll know when it’s watching you. Rule 2: When showering, only one person should be in the bathroom. More people means more chances of someone breaking the rules. Rule 3: When showering, keep the bathroom door locked, so no one accidentally walks in and sees it. Rule 4: Ignore what it says to you. It will only get better at tempting you to open your eyes. Don’t. Rule 5: Do not tell anyone about this thing. The secret needs to stay with you, in this house. Don’t let it get out. Credit: Derek Llovet Reddit X Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.