A Retired Man Tore Open His Bedroom Floor After Hearing Strange Noises at Night — But When the 70-Year-Old Shined His Flashlight Under the Floorboards, He Discovered Hundreds of Strange Eggs Waiting to Hatch…
For weeks, Harold, a seventy-year-old retiree, couldn’t sleep. Every night, the floor beneath his bedroom creaked strangely.
It wasn’t the usual groaning of old wood. It was sharper — like dozens of tiny claws scraping against the ground, mixed with a faint rustling sound, almost like whispering.
At first, Harold thought it must be mice. Maybe a nest had formed under the old planks. But when the noises grew louder — and closer to his bed — he couldn’t ignore them anymore.
Something was moving down there.
One night, around 3 a.m., unable to take another moment of sleepless tension, Harold grabbed his flashlight, an old metal shovel, and got down on his knees. His heart thudded as he pried open the loose floorboards beside his bed.
The cold air from below carried an earthy smell.
He shined the flashlight into the darkness — and froze.
Hundreds of pale, oval objects were packed tightly in the soil beneath his house. They were about the size of chicken eggs, but slightly bluish, with faint veins running across their translucent shells.
Some of them twitched.
“Good Lord… what is this?” Harold muttered, his voice trembling.
He reached down and gently lifted one. It was damp — and warm. Too warm. For a horrifying second, it pulsed against his palm, like something inside was alive and breathing.
He set it down quickly and backed away. But curiosity got the better of him. With shaking hands, Harold tapped the shell lightly with the shovel.
A crack appeared.
Inside, something moved.
At first, it looked like a small lump of gray tissue, but then it shifted, wriggling toward the crack of light. A dark, glistening eye blinked open.
Harold dropped the shovel. The egg slipped from his grasp and rolled across the dirt.
“What on earth…?” he whispered.
He stumbled backward, heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. The house around him groaned as if reacting to what he had done.
Then came the sound — a low, wet popping — as the cracked egg split open completely.
Out crawled something small, slimy, and shivering. It looked like a lizard at first… but its skin was pale, translucent, almost like jelly. It made a faint chirping sound — high-pitched, but not quite like any animal Harold had ever heard.
Panicked, Harold scrambled to his feet and ran to the phone.
“Animal control,” he gasped when the dispatcher answered. “Please—something’s hatching under my floor!”
The woman on the line paused. “Sir, calm down. What kind of animal are we talking about?”
“I don’t know,” he stammered. “They look like… eggs. Hundreds of them!”
She promised to send someone in the morning.
But morning was still hours away.
Harold sat on his bed, flashlight in hand, staring at the hole in the floor. The strange chirping below came and went, sometimes in waves. The faint rustling turned rhythmic, like breathing.
He barely blinked until dawn.
When animal control finally arrived, two officers entered his room with masks and gloves. Harold pointed to the gap in the boards. “There,” he said. “That’s where they are.”
One of them crouched and shined his light inside.
The man froze. “Uh, sir… are you sure these are eggs?”
Harold frowned. “What do you mean?”
The officer swallowed hard. “They’re gone.”
Harold’s stomach dropped. “Gone?”
The man nodded. “There’s no trace of them. Just disturbed soil and—” He looked closer, grimacing. “—something sticky. Like slime.”
Harold’s knees went weak. He knew what he had seen. He felt those eggs.
They couldn’t have just disappeared.
For the next few days, Harold tried to convince himself he’d imagined it. Maybe it was just exhaustion or poor lighting. But that illusion shattered three nights later.
He woke to a noise. Not under the floor this time — but inside the wall.
A slow, scraping sound.
Then, a faint chirp.
He pressed his ear to the wall. Whatever it was, it was moving — crawling upward, toward the ceiling.
The next morning, Harold found a thin trail of damp residue along the baseboard, leading to the corner of the room. Something had been there.
He called animal control again, but by the time they arrived, the trail had vanished.
Determined to get proof, Harold set up a camera that night, pointing it directly at the hole in the floor. He left the light on low and waited.
At 2:37 a.m., his eyes flickered open.
Something was moving in the shadows again.
Harold reached for the camera the next morning, hands trembling. He pressed play.
The footage showed hours of stillness — until a faint ripple appeared near the opening in the floorboards. Then, something long and pale slithered halfway out, glancing around the room.
It had thin limbs, too many joints, and eyes that reflected the light like mirrors.
Then it turned — and looked directly into the camera.
The screen flickered, static filling the image.
When the picture returned, the floor was empty again.
That morning, Harold packed his things. He left the house he’d lived in for forty years and drove to stay with his sister across town.
A week later, his neighbor called. “Harold, your house… something’s wrong with it.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“There’s a strange smell coming from underneath,” the man said. “Like rotten eggs and… wet soil. And the ground near your porch looks like it’s moving.”
Harold hung up the phone and drove straight there.
When he arrived, the yard looked as though something had tunneled beneath it — large mounds of dirt scattered near the foundation.
He didn’t go inside.
He just stood there, staring at the house as the faint chirping sound echoed from somewhere deep below the ground.
Weeks passed. Local contractors who inspected the property later refused to continue their work after discovering what they described as “organic formations” embedded in the soil. The report mentioned unidentified biological matter resembling egg casings — soft, gelatinous, and hollow.
By the time authorities returned for a second inspection, the casings had dissolved completely.
Harold never moved back.
He sold the property for a fraction of its worth, warning the buyer about the “structural issues” beneath the house. But every now and then, when he passed the street, he swore he could still hear it — that faint, rhythmic rustling coming from underground.
As if the eggs he found that night… were only the beginning.
