Episode 2 Script: The Thing in the Crawlspace

Episode 2: The Thing in the Crawlspace

By Grace Antiedu 

My brother started changing.

He became quiet.

Too quiet.

He would sit still for hours, legs folded under him, eyes locked on the stairs as if he was waiting for something or someone. He stopped eating his favorite meals. Stopped playing. Stopped calling me by name.

Just silence.

Like he was slipping into a place none of us could follow.

One evening, I passed by and saw him crouched by the crawlspace door, lips barely moving.

He was whispering.

I leaned closer.

Not prayers. Not gibberish.

“I didn’t forget,” he murmured. “You said I could stay if I remembered".

He wasn’t talking to me.

He was talking to it.

He was slipping away -and I saw it happening in pieces.

At first, it was little things. My brother stopped humming when he played. He no longer asked for sugar on his rice. His laughter, once shrill and wild, dried up overnight like a leaf left too long in the sun.

Then came the silence.

He sat for hours - not blinking, not bothered, not moving. 

Always facing the staircase. Always watching the narrow shadows that stretched beneath the crawlspace door like fingers too long to belong to anyone living.

He stopped calling me by name. Just stared through me, as though I were the ghost.

Then one evening .… I heard him whispering.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. Even the fridge had stopped humming.

I followed the sound -a thread -thin murmur carried through the walls, down the hall, to the edge of the crawlspace. My brother was on all fours, his lips pressed to the crack beneath the door.

And he was speaking to something inside.

“I didn’t forget,” he breathed. “You said I could stay if I remembered".

His voice wasn’t fearful.

It was .… obedient.

I reached for him, but before my hand could touch his shoulder, he turned -slowly.

His eyes were hollow. Wide and wet. But it wasn’t my brother looking back.

Something else was wearing his face.

Something that had been waiting for someone who remembered.

Not because he moved -he didn’t. Not because he spoke -he didn’t. But because I felt it.

Something .… behind his skin.

Something watching me from inside him.

The hallway lights flickered once. Then twice. Then the bulb overhead burst with a sharp pop, raining glass across the tiles.

My brother’s lips moved again, but no sound came. Just the subtle twitch of his jaw, the way a ventriloquist might shift his puppet’s smile.

And in that moment, from beneath the crawlspace door -

a whisper hissed out like steam from a cracked pipe:

“He gave me his mouth. Would you like to give me yours?” End of Episode 2: Next: Episode 3. Keep watching.