I found a birthday invite from my best friend at my parents’ house.

The Invitation and Discovery

I found a birthday invite from my best friend at my parents’ house. She’s been missing for three years. I should have known something was wrong when my parents called me begging to housesit. They never once called me, not even on my birthday or for Christmas, three years after I left home.

When I arrived, everything was pretty much exactly how I remembered it. So, when I saw a creepy piece of paper hanging out in front of the basement door that my parents told me never to open, well, it stood out.

Every horror movie instinct of mine told me to ignore it, to listen to my parents, pretend it’s not there. But it bugged me like an itch I couldn’t reach. I went downstairs and picked it up.

It was a dirty invitation written on scrap paper that read, “You’re invited to Sherry’s birthday party.” Today, downstairs, the ink was still fresh. My hands started shaking.

Sherry was a close friend who had gone missing right after I left for college. The whole town searched for her. Even my parents went out helping put up missing posters in the neighborhood. This was next level messed up.

I called my friend Roger who lived a few houses down to see this. Honestly, I was half convinced I was losing my mind. Roger looked at the invitation and then at me whistling.

“Wow, this is seriously effed up.

“Where did you find it?” he asked.

I led him down to the basement and he knocked on the door.

“Hello, we’re here for the party,” he joked.

I held my breath, hoping there wouldn’t even be a response. There wasn’t.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” I started to say, but Roger stopped me. He pulled out a little pocket tool and started picking at the lock.

Roger, what are you doing?

I hissed. My parents said the basement’s full of asbestous. Are you trying to get us killed?

But he continued working with the lock, completely focused. It clicked open and dropped to the floor beside out with a loud clang.

The basement looked pretty normal. No asbestos, just a washer, dryer, Christmas decorations in a plastic bin. But the back wall looked wrong. The paneling didn’t match the walls at all.

Roger pushed on it, and suddenly the entire section swung inward. Behind it was another door with a more complicated padlock on the outside.

I don’t suppose you can pick this lock too?

I asked. We ended up breaking the padlock with a hammer from my dad’s toolbox. We pushed the door open and found a room surrounded by thick soundproof padding.

And in the middle of it all was Sherry, my best friend, who had mysteriously disappeared. She was pale, had hair so long it nearly reached the ground. Her ankle was raw and bleeding where a chain had been.

She held a metal pipe above her head, her eyes wide as she screamed, “Stay back.

I’m warning you, Sherry.” Roger called out in disbelief.

Recognition flooded her face instantly.

Wait, you’re not them.

That’s when she dropped the pipe and started sobbing.

Please help me.

We helped her up to my bedroom and started cleaning up her wounds when she opened up.

How long have I been missing for?

She asked us with a blank expression.

3 years, I told her quietly. She nodded.

Sherry, what happened to you?

What’s with the birthday invitation?

Roger asked. Somehow I knew the answer, when I couldn’t. She looked at me with a bitter expression.

Your parents called me over saying you’d sent a gift from college and wanted me to have it. They made me tea and cookies and I remember feeling sleepy. Then I woke up here chained up, tortured every night. I tried yelling for help, but help never came.

She told us the horrible things my parents did to her. They taunted her whenever a new missing person flyer came up. They told her the things they would do to her parents if they’re ever caught.

She explained how she pried a piece of metal from a pipe in the bathroom and had been slowly filing away at the chain. She’d finally broken free the morning I showed up. The invitation was supposed to be for them to lure them in.

“I need to stop them before they hurt my parents or anyone else,” she said in a cold voice.

“This is insane,” Roger told her. “Let’s just go to the police and no, this ends now.

Are you going to help me or not?”

I stared at her, unable to process it. I mean, these people were my parents. She grabbed a few things from my room to use as a weapon and held one out to me, waiting.

That’s when we heard the front door slam.

“Honey, we’re home early.” Mom called out from downstairs.

The conference got cancelled that you can go home now,” Dad added.

I heard their footsteps grow louder, the stairs creaking each time they got closer.

Sherry grabbed my arm and stared at my face, whispering, “I’m sorry, but I’m ending this.” She hid behind my door just as my parents opened it. They stared at me with a surprised look.

Sherry held up scissors and mom screamed. Dad lunged forward trying to grab the scissors. But Sherry slashed them toward his reaching hand and caught his palm with a shallow cut that immediately started bleeding.

I stood frozen in the doorway watching blood drip onto my childhood bedroom carpet. Everything felt surreal and wrong, like I was watching a movie instead of my actual life.

Roger shouted that he was calling 911 right now and pulled out his phone. Mom started talking really fast, saying Sherry was mentally unstable and broke into our house. She insisted we needed to help them restrain her.

Dad clutched his bleeding hand and back toward the hallway. His eyes kept darting between all of us like he was doing math in his head. He was figuring out his next move. Sherry kept the scissors raised and positioned herself between my parents and the door.

Her whole body was shaking, but her voice came out steady when she told Roger to stay on the line with the operator.

I finally moved and stepped beside Sherry, even though my legs barely held me up. I told my parents not to come any closer. Mom switched tactics completely and started crying and begging me to understand.

She claimed they were just trying to protect Sherry from herself because she was suicidal when she came to them 3 years ago. The lies sounded almost believable in mom’s trembling voice. For one horrible second, I wanted to believe her. But then I remembered the chain marks on Sherry’s ankle and the soundproof room in the basement.