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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/CreepyStoriesJR on 2024-09-16 18:43:34+00:00.
I had never thought I would be the kind of person who could live alone in a big house. Yet, here I was, standing in front of the two-story house that would be my new home. It was a stroke of luck, really, to find a place like this, especially for the price I got. The neighborhood was quiet, lined with old trees that whispered secrets to each other whenever the wind blew. It was situated on the outskirts of a large city, close enough to feel connected but far enough to have peace and quiet, something I craved after years of cramped apartment living.
The house itself was charming, a bit old but with a certain character. Tall windows, a wraparound porch, and an attic with a small circular window that overlooked the front yard. It was the kind of house that seemed to come alive in the evening light, with its long shadows stretching across the lawn. I had envisioned a fresh start here, away from the noise and chaos of city life. I couldn't wait to make it mine.
The price had been almost too good to be true. When the realtor showed me around, I couldn’t help but feel like I was getting away with something. She mentioned that the previous owner had moved out rather hastily, and there had been a few “strange incidents” around the property. She brushed it off, attributing it to neighborhood rumors and nothing more. I should have asked more questions, but I was captivated by the house’s charm and potential. The thought of having so much space to call my own was intoxicating. I signed the papers that very day.
Moving in was a whirlwind. I spent the first few days unpacking boxes, arranging furniture, and personalizing every corner. It was exhausting, but in a satisfying way. I painted the kitchen a warm yellow, hung curtains in the living room, and set up my little reading nook in the corner, complete with a plush armchair and a stack of my favorite novels. This was it, a new chapter in my life. A place where I could finally be at peace.
On my second day, I met one of my neighbors, Phil. He was a bit older, probably in his mid-40s, with a weary look that suggested he had been through a lot. He lived alone, having recently gone through a rough divorce. When he saw me struggling with some boxes, he offered a hand, and we ended up chatting for a while in the front yard.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” he said, his voice gruff but friendly. “It’s been empty for a while. The last guy left in a bit of a hurry.”
“Oh? Did something happen?” I asked, curious about the house's history.
Phil hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not really sure. He was… different, I guess. Paranoid, if you ask me. He used to say he heard things around the house. Whispers. It got to him, I suppose.”
I felt a chill, but I quickly brushed it off with a smile. “Whispers, huh? Probably just the wind playing tricks. Old houses make all kinds of noises, you know.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Phil replied, but there was something in his eyes that made me uneasy. “Anyway, if you need anything, I’m just a couple of doors down.”
As Phil left, I couldn’t shake off his words. Whispers. It was a silly thought. Houses creak and groan; it’s what they do. And yet, a seed of doubt was planted in my mind. I went back inside, closing the door behind me, the lock clicking into place louder than usual.
The rest of the day went by smoothly. I organized the kitchen, hung some pictures in the hallway, and made myself a simple dinner. As the evening approached, the house took on a different vibe. The long shadows in the corners seemed to deepen, and the air grew still, almost expectant. I convinced myself it was just my imagination. After all, I was still getting used to the new surroundings.
Later that night, as I settled into bed, I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. This was my place, my sanctuary. The room was comfortably dark, with only the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. I lay there, letting my thoughts drift, feeling the gentle tug of sleep creeping in.
Then, I heard it. Faint and distant, like a murmur carried by the wind. I jolted awake, my eyes snapping open. I strained my ears, holding my breath to listen. Nothing. I must have been half-asleep, I thought. Probably just the wind or a loose branch scraping against the house. I shook my head, trying to dismiss it, but the unease lingered.
Minutes passed, and just as I began to relax again, there it was, soft, almost melodic whispers, coming from the direction of the window. My heart pounded against my ribs. I wanted to get up, but my body felt paralyzed, caught between fear and disbelief. Finally, I managed to sit up and glance at the window, the curtains slightly swaying as if someone had just brushed against them.
I stood up slowly, every step toward the window feeling like an eternity. With trembling hands, I reached out and pulled the curtain aside. My breath caught in my throat. A pale figure stood in the backyard, illuminated faintly by the moonlight. It was a woman, standing motionless, her face turned toward the house. Her features were obscured by the darkness, but there was something deeply unsettling about the way she stood there, silent and unblinking.
Panic surged through me, and I let the curtain fall back into place, stumbling backward. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. I stood there, frozen, trying to make sense of what I had just seen. After what felt like hours, I gathered enough courage to peek out again, my heart hammering in my chest. This time, she was gone.
My mind raced. Was I hallucinating? Had I really seen her? I had to check. I had to know. I grabbed a flashlight from the bedside drawer and crept toward the back door, every step echoing in the silence of the house. Slowly, I turned the handle and pushed the door open. The night air was cold against my skin as I stepped out onto the porch.
The yard was empty, the shadows stretching long and menacing across the lawn. I scanned the area, sweeping the flashlight beam over every corner. Nothing. I let out a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm of fear inside me. Maybe I was just imagining things, I told myself. Maybe it was a trick of the light, or my mind playing games with me.
With reluctance, I went back inside, closing and locking the door behind me. I poured myself a glass of water, my hands still trembling. “It’s nothing,” I whispered to myself. “You’re just tired. Moving is stressful. That’s all.” But deep down, I knew that I had seen something, or someone, out there.
I went back to bed, pulling the covers up to my chin like a child afraid of the monsters under the bed. Sleep did not come easily that night, and when it finally did, it was filled with restless dreams and shadowy figures that whispered in the dark.
The next morning, I awoke late, feeling groggy and out of sorts. The memories of the previous night came rushing back as soon as I opened my eyes. For a moment, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to rationalize what I had seen. I had to convince myself it was nothing, a hallucination brought on by exhaustion from the move. Yet, no matter how I framed it, I couldn't shake the unease that had settled deep within me.
I finally dragged myself out of bed and got ready for the day. I brewed a pot of coffee, hoping it would clear the fog in my head. I wandered around the house aimlessly, trying to busy myself with minor tasks. I cleaned the kitchen, swept the floors, and reorganized a few shelves, but all the while, the unsettling image of the pale woman standing in my backyard stayed with me.
By the time I made something to eat, the sun was already beginning its descent. I had spent most of the day trying to shake off the lingering fear, but it clung to me like a shadow. I decided to spend the evening relaxing on the couch, hoping a mindless TV show could provide some distraction. I flipped through channels until I found something tolerable and settled in, pulling a throw blanket around me. Eventually, the dull droning of the TV began to lull me into a light sleep.
I woke with a start, the room now dimly lit by the glow of the TV. It was completely dark outside, and I squinted at the clock. It was a little past nine. I rubbed my eyes and got up, deciding to fix myself something to drink to fully wake up. I had just poured a glass of orange juice when I heard it, knocking coming from the front door.
The sound was crisp, clear, and deliberate. My body stiffened, a cold sensation running down my spine. Who could possibly be at the door at this hour? I cautiously approached the hallway that led to the front entrance, the knocks still echoing in my ears. As I got closer, I felt a strange pressure in the air, almost like the house itself was holding its breath.
The knocking continued.
I stopped in my tracks and took a deep breath. It could be Phil, I thought. Maybe he needed something or wanted to hang out. Still, an uneasy feeling gnawed at me as I peered out the small side window next to the door. The front porch light was on, casting a circle of brightness onto the steps, but they were empty. No one was there.
My heartbeat quickened. I hadn’t heard any footsteps, nothing indicating that someone had walked away. I cautiously unlocked the door and cracked it open, peeking out into the chilly night air. There was no one. Just the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of the city. My breath fogged up in the cool air as I looked around, scanning the front yard an...
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