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My father was not a particularly nice man. He was an abusive, and a drunk. I hated him for it at the time, it was only years later after I had matured that I learned his parents were pretty awful to him. That, and he was in the army, and must've seen some pretty terrible things.
Having said that, my father still loved me. We'd go out shooting, camping, father son bonding stuff. He had this old single shot 20 gauge shotgun that he used to hunt turkeys, and he always brought it along with him. He prized that thing, because it was his first gun, and his favorite. He always joked that he wanted to be buried with it.
I never would've thought anything was wrong with my dad, mentally. Never thought that until he hung himself the day before Christmas when I was 7. I dunno why, I was too young to get it. My mother just kept saying about how "something was wrong with the chemicals in his brain, and that made him feel sad a lot".
My uncles were given all of his possessions. The family genuinely wanted to go through with his wish to be buried with his hunting gun, even though it was probably a joke. We didn't find it until a week after his funeral. It was still tucked away in his camping gear. I didn't see it, or any of my dads things until a few years later. I think I was 12ish when my uncle had given me his gun and a box of shells. 7 and 1/2 birdshot, the old type of shell too, the ones made of that papery material. He'd sold all his other ones, but wanted me to have this one. I fired a few rounds from it out of nostalgia, but I wasn't very into guns at the time so it was put into a safe and forgotten about for a long time.
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I was 21 when I moved far away from my parents in Pennsylvania down to North Carolina. Into a decently sized house that was pretty far out in the middle of nowhere. I just like my quiet. Two story with a basement, and this kind of side structure behind the house. I'm not sure what it was, I think it was some place for horse stalls. There was just enough room for two, so it was a fairly small shed. It only had one door, the other door to it was removed and plywood was nailed on it a long time before I moved in. The house was very isolated, and it was on a dirt road that lead off the highway.
I was still unpacking my stuff, but I had gotten all the important things down. The bed, the TV the computer etc. I was moving some of the not-so-important boxed down into the basement. That's when I saw the gun and it's carrying case. I smiled a bit, and realized that all the outdoors would make a great opportunity to get the old thing out again. I took it out and propped it up on the wall in my bedroom on the second floor, next to the nightstand. On the nightstand was my favorite picture of me and dad when I was little.
Fuck it, greentexting is easier and quicker
>around the fifth night in my new home, woke up to sounds outside
>it's happened every night since I moved, figured it was wildlife since I wasn't used to the sounds of the forest
>usually I'd just go back to bed, but it sounded louder than usual, like it was closer to the house
>grab flashlight and go outside figuring I'd wave it around and the light would scare the animal off
>notice the shed door is hanging open, and there is a chunk missing above the doorknob like somebody crowbarred it open
>scaredasfuck.html
>hear something moving again, this time it's around the corner, out near the front of the house
>turn towards it, but too scared to move
>hear walking back towards where I was
>it stops
>it saw the flashlight beam
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>a few seconds of utter silence, no noise at all
>suddenly footsteps
>really fucking fast footsteps
>it was running towards me
>I book it into the shed
>as I'm slamming the door closed I see what was chasing me
>huge fucking guy, gray hoodie and jeans so torn up and old he looked like a Fallout cosplayer
>giant beard, full on Rob Zombie looking fucker
>holding a length of rebar
>he starts slamming the door trying to open it
>I can't lock it because it was levered open, so I just brace against the door
>he's screaming at me, sounds drunk or something
>"GAHFUCKING OPEN THE FUCKING MOTHER DOOR YOU FUCK GODDAMN FUCK"
>this guy is going to fucking kill me isn't he?
>suddenly here someone shouting
"Now you just get the hell away from there ya here?"
>that voice sounded so familliar
>the big fuck started shouting at this other person too
>suddenly hear a gun go off, and the sound of scuffling feet disappearing into the distance
>I wait until there are no other sounds, then wait for probably another hour before I crack the door open
>run inside and call the police, tell them there was a break in without getting into the details
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I talked to the officer who later arrived at my house some 20 minutes later. Apparently, on the way to my house, they picked up a suspicious individual. Some local meth head who was suspected of more than one burglary in the area.
We were assessing the scene out back when we found an empty shotgun shell. The old type of shell, the ones made of that papery material. The cop called me a couple days later and told me the damnedest thing. The guy they picked up was injured, and wouldn't you know it, his ass was full of 7 and 1/2 birdshot.
I never could find my dads shotgun when I went back inside. I looked for weeks, but never saw it again. The police said that the junkie most likely stole it then.... accidentally shot himself with it when he was beating on the door. "Must've stashed it somewhere after he ran off" they said. But I dunno, I'm almost certain I heard another voice in there somewhere. One that sounded gruff and low from years of smoking. One that sounded an awful lot like my dads.
I don't know a goddamn thing about any paranormal bullshit, but my guess is that if we ever dug up my old man, he'd have his old turkey gun with him.
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Cute
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Cool story op, timestamp of shed door for authenticity?
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>>18776344
>authenticity
It's fiction, anon. And you know it.
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