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It was a cold, moonless night when I decided to visit the old abandoned house at the end of our street. Locals called it the Haunted House , a place cursed for decades. They said people who entered either never came out or returned... changed.
Ravi (my friend): "Are you sure about this? That house isn’t safe."
Me: "I need to know if the stories are true. You can wait outside."
I pushed open the rusty iron gate, its screech echoing in the silent night. The air inside felt heavier, as if the house itself was breathing. Dust and cobwebs clung to every corner.
The main door creaked open on its own. My heart thumped loudly.
Me (whispering): "Is anyone here?"
A faint sound answered — not a voice, but footsteps from the floor above. I climbed the old wooden staircase slowly, my flashlight trembling in my hand.
Suddenly, the light flickered and went out. Total darkness.
A chilling female voice: "You shouldn’t be here…"
My breath caught in my throat. I turned to run, but before I could, the floor beneath me… vanished.
For a moment, I felt weightless, like falling into an endless pit. My mind screamed, but no sound escaped my lips. When I landed, it wasn’t on wood or concrete… it was soft, damp soil.
The smell was overpowering — wet earth mixed with something rotten. My eyes adjusted, revealing what looked like dozens of old, broken coffins around me.
Me (panicked): "Where am I?!"
One of the coffin lids moved. A pale hand emerged, followed by a face — hollow eyes, stretched grin.
The figure: "Welcome home."
I stumbled back, tripping over something. It was another body, lifeless, but warm… as if it had just died.
Me (screaming): "No! Let me out!"
Suddenly, whispers filled the air — dozens of voices overlapping. Some laughed, some cried, others just kept repeating my name.
Voice: "Stay… stay with us forever…"
I ran aimlessly in the underground darkness, my flashlight flickering back on just long enough to reveal a staircase in the far corner. Without thinking, I bolted toward it, climbing faster than I ever had in my life.
I slammed into a door and burst through — straight back into the house’s living room. But something was different. The furniture was no longer covered in dust. It was fresh, as if the house was still alive… and waiting.
An old woman sitting in a rocking chair: "Leaving so soon, dear?"
Her eyes glowed a faint red. The chair stopped rocking. She stood up — without moving her feet — and drifted toward me.
I didn’t look back. I sprinted out of the house, through the gate, and didn’t stop running until I was back on the main road.
When I turned to look, the house was gone. In its place… an empty, grassy field.
Even now, I don’t know if I ever truly left that house… or if it followed me home.
Moral of the Story
Some places hold memories — and some… hold you.
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