It was a rainy night in the small town of Blackwood. The sky grumbled as lightning cracked across the horizon, illuminating the twisted trees that lined the road leading to the old Miller house. The house had been abandoned for years after a family mysteriously vanished, leaving no trace except for rumors that swirled around the town like whispers in the dark.
The Miller house had a reputation. They said it was cursed, that something dark lingered inside. But as time passed, people moved on. That is until Sophie and her friends decided to visit.
Sophie had always been the daring one of the group, and the idea of spending a night in the house intrigued her. She convinced her friends—Tom, Clara, and Ethan—that it would be fun. A thrill. “It’s just an old house,” she laughed, brushing off the warnings from the townsfolk. They brought flashlights, a few snacks, and plenty of courage—or at least they thought so.
The night they arrived, the house stood tall, silent, and ominous against the stormy backdrop. The windows were black, like eyes watching them. The air was thick with dampness, the smell of rotting wood and something else…something metallic.
They entered.
Inside, the house felt even more unsettling. The air was cold, the walls creaked, and it was far too quiet. As they explored, they discovered old furniture covered in dust, family photos turned upside down, and strange marks scratched into the floorboards.
“Maybe we should leave,” Clara whispered, her voice shaky. But Sophie was determined. “No way. We’re staying. It’s just an old house, right?”
Hours passed. Nothing happened—until the clock struck midnight.
It began with footsteps.
Heavy, slow, deliberate. They echoed through the halls, coming from the second floor. The group froze, eyes wide. No one was upstairs. Or so they thought.
“Is someone here?” Tom called out nervously, but no one answered.
Suddenly, the door to the basement creaked open on its own, revealing a dark stairwell leading down. Cold air rushed up from below, carrying with it a faint whisper. Ethan’s flashlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
Against better judgment, they decided to investigate. They descended the stairs, the air growing colder with each step. The basement was cluttered with old, rusted tools and broken furniture. At the far end of the room, they found an old, wooden door—one they hadn’t noticed before. It was slightly ajar.
Sophie stepped forward and pushed it open.
Inside, they found a small room, and in the middle of it, an old chair. Tied to the chair was a rotting figure, dressed in tattered clothes. The smell of decay filled the air, but it wasn’t the body that made them scream—it was the message scratched into the walls, over and over again: “IT’S STILL HERE.”
The figure’s eyes snapped open.
The lights went out. Panic surged through them as they fumbled for the stairs, but the door to the basement slammed shut, trapping them inside. The footsteps returned, but this time they were everywhere—circling around them, drawing closer.
Ethan screamed as he was pulled into the darkness by unseen hands, his cries silenced within seconds. The others tried to run, but Clara was dragged next, her fingernails scraping the floor as she disappeared into the shadows.
Tom and Sophie were the last ones standing. Desperation clawed at them as they found another door and threw it open, revealing a small tunnel leading to the outside. They crawled through it, gasping for air as they burst out into the rain-soaked night.
They thought they were safe.
But as they turned to run, Sophie noticed something. Tom’s shadow wasn’t his own. Behind him, towering over his figure, was a tall, distorted shape—a creature with hollow eyes and a mouth stretched into an unnatural grin.
She screamed as Tom was yanked into the darkness, his body bending and snapping like a ragdoll before disappearing.
Sophie ran, her heart pounding in her chest. She could still hear the whispers, the footsteps, always just behind her. She reached her car, fumbling for the keys, when she saw it—a reflection in the rearview mirror.
A face. Pale, twisted, with eyes that bore into her soul.
Before she could react, the door flung open. Cold, bony hands wrapped around her throat, pulling her back into the dark, as the whispers grew louder, drowning out her final breath.
The next morning, the townsfolk found Sophie’s car, abandoned by the road, the driver’s door hanging open. There was no sign of her or her friends—just the whispering wind, carrying an eerie message.
“IT’S STILL HERE.”
And it always will be.
