chodidenhanlai

Stake : Chodidenhanlai

Short Story: THE HURRICANING HOUSE 🕯️
The road leading to the Greystone house was covered in a white mist. No one dared to go near it, because every year on Halloween night, the house hummed — a low sound, like someone breathing in the walls.I am Mia, seventeen years old. I don’t believe in ghosts, only in evidence.
This year, I decided to find out the truth. My best friend, Jonah, reluctantly followed.We brought flashlights, a tape recorder, and a little bit of courage and stupidity.When the rusty iron gate swung open, the murmuring grew louder — steady, rhythmic, and cold.The house was dark, save for a lone moonlight shining through the broken window.The air smelled of dampness, cold, and old.In the living room, an old record player was spinning by itself, though there was no music playing. It hummed, steady as a heartbeat.Jonah reached over, trying to unplug it, but the cord went straight into the wall, as if it were digging into the brick.He touched it — and all the sound disappeared.The house sighed.
The flashlight flickered. The door closed.Then a hoarse voice, as light as a breath, rang out behind me:
“It’s late… the song is still waiting.”
With trembling hands, I turned on the record player. The red light flashed twice.Then it went off.Everything was plunged into total darkness.They found only the tape recorder in front of the door. No one could find Jonah or me.When the police turned it on, they heard a murmur… then my voice, faint, echoed through the speaker:
“It’s not the wind… it’s breathing.”
Every year since then, at exactly 11:47 p.m. on October 31, the Greystone house murmured again—the rhythm of two lost hearts.
Five years later – October 31, 11:40 p.m.
My name is Evan, an intern at the Hollow Creek Police Department.
While cleaning out old files, I found a tape recorder with a faded sticker: “Greystone Case – 2020.”
It still had batteries. I turned it on out of curiosity.At first, there was only a murmur. Then a woman’s voice rang out, so soft it was creepy:
“Evan… don’t listen anymore.”
I was startled. No one in the storage room knew my name.I tried to turn it off, but my hand felt like it was being held.The sound on the recorder changed to the sound of slow footsteps approaching. Then another voice, deeper, whispered right next to my ear:
“This time… there are three of us.”
I threw the recorder down and ran from the room. But before the door closed, I heard it — three breaths mingling, rhythmic and slow, then silence.The next morning, the recorder was found lying in the middle of the floor, the red light still flashing.In the latest recording, there were only three breaths.
A year later, the authorities decided to demolish the house. When the excavator reached the basement, workers discovered three wooden chairs arranged in a circle around an old record player.
The chair still had traces of rope on it… and three handprints on the wall behind it.
The police confiscated the record player. In the cartridge, they found a small human bone the size of a fingernail.
When they tried to play it, it hummed again.
The sound was exactly like three heartbeats —
still beating.
(Legend has it that if you listen closely at exactly 11:47 on Halloween night, you can still hear their whispers — even if you're not near the house.)


Stake : Chodidenhanlai

Chodidenhanlai

Chodidenhanlai

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Volcano goddess 

Stake : Chodidenhanlai

Kính gửi ông già Noel,
Cháu là Vũ. Cháu biết là cháu đã lớn rồi nhưng cháu vẫn thích viết thư cho ông vào mỗi dịp Giáng sinh.
Năm nay, cháu mong ông già Noel mang đến cho cháu là một cô người yêu. Cháu nghĩ món quà này sẽ giúp cháu không cảm thấy cô đơn nữa và mong mọi người cũng sẽ có người ấm áp bên mình.
Cảm ơn ông đã luôn lắng nghe những điều ước của cháu. Chúc ông một mùa Giáng sinh an lành và hạnh phúc.
Trân trọng,
Stake : Chodidenhanlai

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Essentially you're hoping that I draw your page number on live stream & that the person assigned your page picks you as a winner! I will also draw 7 random post numbers. If your post number is drawn you will also win. 

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