Скачать или смотреть THE HORROR STORY OF THE BUTCHER BASEMENT AND THE FACES BEHIND THE GLASS

The cops said his house was built on a concrete slab with no basement… but I’ve walked down those stairs, I’ve seen the hooks, the skulls, and the faces stretched on wood.
That is not a metaphor. That is not me being dramatic for the internet. That is exactly what I saw under the oldest house in our perfect little Ohio cul-de-sac, and it is the only reason I am still alive and Hannah is not.
If you drove through that neighborhood in the daytime, you would never look twice at it. Beige siding, minivans in the driveways, kids drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, someone grilling burgers on a Saturday. I moved there after my divorce because it looked safe. Boring. The kind of place where the worst thing that happens is your neighbor does not mow his lawn on time.
My neighbor across the street, the one the story is about, was just another old guy on paper. Retired. Did “estate cleanouts” for a living. Wore the same faded flannel every morning when he shuffled out to grab his mail. When Hannah first met him, she leaned over and whispered, “Relax, he looks like he yells at clouds, not hides bodies.”
Yeah. We were wrong about that.
Over the next few months, things started happening that I could not laugh off. The smell coming from his trash cans. The sound of a saw at 2:17 a.m. cutting through something that was not wood. My dog bringing me a piece of bone with a chipped red fingernail still attached. And then my girlfriend vanished in the twenty feet between her car and my front door, and the last thing my doorbell camera recorded was her turning away from my house… and walking toward his.
The cops told me “there is no basement.” The city records say “slab foundation.” That is why I am telling you this here, instead of to them again. Because I have already gone down those stairs, and I know exactly what is hanging in the dark under that house.