The House That Watches
Some houses are haunted by ghosts. This one is haunted by silence… and something worse.
Chapter 1: The Letter
It arrived on a Thursday, tucked between a phone bill and a pizza flyer. No stamp, no return address, just a plain gray envelope with my name on it—handwritten in ink too black to be natural.
Inside was a single sheet of paper. It read:
“Don’t go back to the house.”
That was it. No signature. No explanation.
But I knew exactly which house it meant.
Chapter 2: Inheritance
When Aunt Helena died, I inherited her house on Wren Hollow Road. She’d always been the strange one in the family—spoke to mirrors, slept during the day, and once told me the attic door only opened if it liked you.
I hadn’t been back since the funeral. That was eight years ago.
Now, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The letter had opened something. Or awakened something. Curiosity, maybe.
Or guilt.
Chapter 3: The Key
I found it in a box of old things—dusty books, cracked porcelain, and an iron key with a feather carved into the handle. It was cold, even in my palm.
Something about it felt… familiar.
As if it had been waiting.
Chapter 4: Wren Hollow Road
The house stood crooked at the end of the lane, as though trying to lean away from the world. Shutters hung like broken teeth, and the porch creaked before I stepped on it.
But the door opened before I touched it.
The house had remembered me.
Chapter 5: The Mirror Room
Most of the furniture was covered in white sheets, but the mirror in the hallway was clean. Impossibly clean.
It was tall, old, and framed with silver ivy. I didn’t remember it. But when I looked into it, I didn’t see myself.
I saw someone else.
He looked like me. But he smiled when I didn’t.
Chapter 6: Sam
That night, I dreamed of him. Standing in the attic. Whispering. Smiling.
When I woke, my window was open. I lived on the second floor.
And someone had written “SAM” in the dust on the mirror.
Chapter 7: The Attic Door
I tried opening it. The key didn’t work. It didn’t even fit.
Then I remembered what Aunt Helena used to say.
“The attic door only opens if it likes you.”
At 3:17 a.m., I heard it click open by itself.
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