🎃 "The House That Waited"
Every Halloween night, the old Thorne House on Willow Street seemed to breathe.
It wasn’t just the creaking wood or the sighing wind that curled through its cracked shutters — no, the house truly waited. The townsfolk swore you could feel it watching as you passed, its empty windows glinting like eyes beneath the moonlight.
Children dared each other to run up and touch the door. Few made it all the way. Fewer still would talk about what they heard when they did.
This year, twelve-year-old Ivy decided she’d be the first to stay until midnight. She didn’t believe in haunted houses, or ghosts, or stories meant to scare kids away from adventure. Armed with a flashlight and a backpack full of candy, she slipped through the iron gate as the town clock struck nine.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and whispers. Portraits hung crooked on the walls — their painted eyes following her every step. The floorboards groaned underfoot like something deep beneath was stirring.
At ten o’clock, the whispering began to take shape.
At eleven, the front door slammed shut on its own.
At eleven-thirty, Ivy found a single lit candle at the end of a hallway that hadn’t been there before.
It flickered beside a dusty mirror.
When she looked into it, she didn’t see herself — not exactly. Her reflection smiled before she did, then reached out a hand, pressing against the glass. “Stay,” it whispered in her voice. “We’ve been waiting.”
The candle went out.
The next morning, the townspeople found the Thorne House quieter than ever. The windows no longer glinted in the sun. But if you looked closely, you might have noticed one new portrait on the wall — a little girl with a flashlight and a nervous smile — watching the next curious soul approach.
And if you listen just right on Halloween night, when the wind curls through Willow Street, you can still hear a voice calling softly from inside:
"We’re still waiting."
Stake username - shannusunny
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