I lived in a bizarre little house as a child. It was incredibly tall and thin, like an attached house except free-standing, with three floors, a basement and an attic. It was full of quirks, such as two fully-functional fireplaces, a shower stall in the center of the basement, a backyard so small that you could not take five paces without hitting the fence, and an old-timey rope-pull dumbwaiter that led from the kitchen to my bedroom. I loved that weird little place, but unfortunately it was incredibly old and half of its charm was the fact that it seemed to have been designed by an inarticulate conclave of lunatics, and eventually the repair costs exceeded what my parents were willing to sink into it, and we had to move.

Preparing for the move was a chore. I packed most of my stuff myself, and I had taken to throwing stuff down the dumbwaiter and shoving all my clothes so thickly in my closet that they became a single, solid brick of fabric. While clearing that closet out, in fact, I came across a feature I hadn't noticed before: an attic entrance in the roof. Being an adventurous kid, I opened her up, stood on the clothes-brick, and began my first and last exploration into the topmost part of our weird little house.

The first thing I noticed was that it wasn't as dark as it should have been. The place was strung with old, red Christmas lights which still burned with leftover incandescence, and a dozen little cracks and holes peeped down into all the bedrooms below. The second thing I noticed was that the place was set up for habitation: the insulation was plasticked away, there was an old gurney piled with sleeping bags and sheets, and a rusted mint-green refrigerator which still worked when I tested it.

The third thing was the bones.

There were a lot of bones.

I was a kid at the time, with a limited understanding of anatomy, but there were bones of all types heaped into a series of piles around the center of the attic. Small and large, clean and white, from every and any imaginable sort of creature, haphazardly stacked in a half-dozen osseous clumps. Two of them were blackened, as if someone had tried to burn them, and the walls nearest those blackened piles were scrawled in dark bone-char messages. Mostly they were just smears - but the word 'sorry' appeared more than once.

That room had been sitting over my head, for eight years, while I slept.

[source](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/1sfqzf/reddit_what_is_your_most_disturbing_scary_or/cdx8cv7)