It all started with a simple housewarming. Sarah and her husband, Mark, moved into an old Victorian house on the outskirts of town. The house had been empty for years, but it was charming—big windows, a sprawling yard, and rooms full of character. They couldn’t pass it up.
On their first night, they heard faint sounds—creaking floorboards, a distant whisper, like someone was just out of reach. Mark dismissed it, saying the house was just settling. But Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t alone.
The next night, Sarah woke up at 2:00 AM to hear soft whispers coming from the attic. Thinking it was the wind, she tried to ignore it. But the whispers seemed to come closer, more distinct. It was as if someone was talking directly above her, in a language she didn’t understand.
Mark was skeptical but agreed to check it out the next day. They climbed up to the attic, and to their surprise, it was completely empty—no wind, no drafts, just silence. But as they were leaving, Sarah saw something out of the corner of her eye: an old wooden box, slightly ajar. They didn’t remember seeing it there before.
When Sarah opened the box, she found a collection of old photographs. One photo, in particular, caught her attention: it was a picture of the house, but there was someone in the window—a man she didn’t recognize, standing in the exact same spot Sarah had been sleeping just hours before.
She was rattled but kept quiet, not wanting to scare Mark. That night, though, the whispers were louder, and now, they sounded more urgent—like someone was begging for help. As Sarah tossed and turned, she saw something move in the corner of the room—a shadow. It was tall, thin, and had no face.
She gasped and turned to Mark, but he was still asleep. When she looked back at the shadow, it was gone.
The next day, Sarah tried to look into the history of the house. She found an old newspaper clipping from the 1920s, detailing a murder. A man named Thomas Havens had been found dead in the house under mysterious circumstances. His wife was never found, and the case was never solved.
Terrified, Sarah couldn’t shake the feeling that something in the house was watching her. Every time she passed the attic door, she heard soft tapping—like someone was knocking from the inside.
That night, Sarah woke up to find the attic door wide open. A chill ran through her spine. She tried to wake Mark, but he was frozen in place, staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open, not blinking. His mouth was moving, but no words came out.
Sarah screamed, shaking him awake. When he finally snapped out of it, he said, “I don’t know what happened… but I saw him. The man in the window. He’s here.”
In a panic, they ran out of the house, but as they reached the front door, the whispers turned to screams—screams that echoed in their ears, pleading, warning them to never come back.
They left, and the house was abandoned once again. To this day, no one dares to move in. They say that on certain nights, you can still hear the whispers, growing louder until they are deafening. And if you look closely enough, you might just see the faint outline of a man in the window… waiting.
The more Sarah discovered, the more she realized that some stories are never truly finished. The past lingers in the walls, waiting for the next person to uncover it—and the horrors that come with it.