As of Tuesday, more than 230 individuals across six different states have tragically lost their lives due to Hurricane Helene, with hundreds still unaccounted for.
Among those who perished are twin brothers Khyzier and Khazmir Williams, who are thought to be the youngest victims of the hurricane. The five-week-old twins, along with their mother Kobe Williams, died when a tree fell onto their mobile home in Thomson, Georgia.
Nobody was really taking the storm seriously,” said Mary Jones, the boys’ grandmother and Kobe Williams’ mother, during an interview with Today.com. “But then it hit, and the wind was so loud. When the power went out, Kobe got really frightened. She was so worried about the babies.”
Jones and her daughter spent the entire night listening to the storm as it tore through the outside of their home. Around 5:15 a.m., Jones fed Khyzier to let her daughter get some rest, though Kobe couldn’t sleep because of how terrified she was.
Jones eventually dozed off, while her daughter stayed awake. Less than an hour later, Jones was startled awake by a “strange shushing” sound, quickly followed by an eerie stillness.
When she went to investigate, she discovered that a tree had come crashing through her daughter’s room.
“I started shouting, ‘Kobe! Please answer me! Say something!’ It was so dark, and all I could see were the tree branches.”
When she went to investigate, she discovered that a tree had come crashing through her daughter’s room.
“I started shouting, ‘Kobe! Please answer me! Say something!’ It was so dark, and all I could see were the tree branches.”
She was cradling the babies in her arms when the tree struck her head. She was trying to shield them,” recalled Markeya Jones, her granddaughter.
Hurricane Helene has become the deadliest hurricane to strike the mainland United States since Hurricane Katrina in 2005.
As the cleanup efforts continue, many in the southeastern region are preparing for what could be another record-setting storm, as Hurricane Milton heads toward the Tampa Bay area.
I am at a loss for words regarding the sheer level of destruction that Hurricane Helene has left behind. It breaks my heart to see how many families and livelihoods were shattered in a matter of moments.
I Opened a Mysterious Door in My Cellar—Now I Regret Everything
I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.
You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.
When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.
I never believed in hidden doors or secret rooms; those were things from mystery stories. But when Florence and I decided to renovate our cellar, we found more than just a door behind the old wallpaper. It was something we were never meant to discover, and now, I wish I had never opened it.
You never truly understand a house until you’ve lived in it for some time. That’s what I always believed. Florence and I bought this old Victorian house five years ago. We called it our dream home. It had history, charm, and unique details, the kind of house with a past you could feel in every room.
When we started the renovation project, we thought we knew what we were getting into. The cellar was dark, damp, and unused. Peeling wallpaper and cracked tiles told us it hadn’t been touched in years. But we were excited about turning it into a useful space, maybe a wine cellar or storage room. That’s when we noticed something odd—a section of the wall that didn’t match the rest.
In the back corner, we found something even stranger: an old wooden chest, covered in dust and cobwebs. It was locked, but the lock seemed weak, like it could easily break. Florence begged me to leave it alone, but I was too curious. I forced it open, and what I saw made my heart race.
Inside were old documents, letters written in a language I didn’t understand, and something wrapped in a faded cloth. When I unwrapped it, I froze. It was a small, strange object that didn’t belong in this world. Florence screamed and ran out of the cellar, terrified.
I should have followed her, but I was too deep into it. I put everything back in the chest and closed the door, but the feeling that something had changed wouldn’t leave me. Since that day, things have been different. Strange noises, cold drafts, and shadows moving where they shouldn’t.
Now, I regret opening that door. Florence refuses to go back into the cellar, and I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know what we uncovered, but I fear we’ve let something into our home that we can’t control. Every day, I wish I had just left the door hidden behind the wallpaper, where it belonged.
Now, the cellar remains locked. I’ve sealed the door with heavy boards, hoping that will keep whatever we disturbed at bay. Florence refuses to go near it, and our once happy home feels suffocating with the tension between us. It’s like the house itself has changed, like it’s watching us.
At night, I hear whispers coming from the floor below. I try to convince myself it’s just the wind or my imagination, but deep down, I know something’s wrong. The object I found in the chest haunts my thoughts—I’ve hidden it away, but it’s like it calls to me. Florence says I need to get rid of it, but I’m too afraid to touch it again.
I tried contacting the previous owners, but they didn’t know anything about the hidden room. They had lived here briefly before selling the house. No one in the neighborhood seems to know its history, and records of the house are vague. It’s like this part of the house was meant to stay forgotten.
I keep telling myself everything will be fine if I just leave it alone, but the strange occurrences are getting worse. Lights flicker, doors creak open on their own, and sometimes, I catch glimpses of something moving in the dark corners. It feels like the house is alive—angry that we disturbed its secret.
Florence is talking about moving, and maybe she’s right. But part of me knows that whatever we let out, whatever we disturbed, might not stay behind. And now, I wonder if sealing that door was just the beginning of something far more terrifying.
I never should have opened that door.
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