The Watcher in the Walls

There’s a house on the edge of town that everyone avoids. A place known to locals as the “Witch’s Hollow,” abandoned for as long as anyone can remember. The house stands ominously, with a roof caving in and windows staring like hollow eyes into the night. The stories surrounding it are the stuff of nightmares—tales of whispers in the walls, unseen eyes following your every move, and a curse that never lets go of those who dare to enter.

For years, no one dared approach the house. That is, until Lila moved to the town. Lila was different. She wasn’t frightened by ghost stories or curses. She was curious. As a child, she had always been drawn to abandoned places, to mysteries that others avoided. And so, when she found herself standing at the edge of Witch’s Hollow, the temptation was too strong to resist.

Her friends warned her. “It’s not just a house, Lila. It’s something more,” they’d said, their voices tinged with fear. “It’s cursed, haunted. People who go in... they don’t come back the same.” But Lila laughed them off. She had no interest in superstition.

One cold, moonless night, she decided to explore the house alone. Armed with only a flashlight, she made her way to the front door, which hung loosely on its hinges. As she stepped inside, the air grew thick and heavy, as though the house itself was exhaling a long-held breath. The floorboards groaned under her feet, sending a chill down her spine. Yet, she pressed on.

The house seemed frozen in time. Dust covered every surface, and old furniture was scattered throughout the rooms, abandoned in their final positions. But it wasn’t just the decay of the house that unsettled Lila—it was the feeling of being watched. Every step she took felt as though someone—or something—was following her, just out of sight. She turned around every few seconds, but the hallway was always empty.

She made her way to the back of the house, to what looked like a staircase leading to the basement. The air was colder here, and a strange hum filled the silence, vibrating through the walls. Something in her gut told her to leave, to turn around and forget everything she’d heard about the house. But her curiosity pushed her forward.

Lila descended into the basement, where the hum grew louder, vibrating in her chest. The flashlight flickered as she moved deeper, its beam slicing through the thick shadows. There, at the far end of the room, was a strange sight—a mirror, standing against the wall. It looked out of place, as if it didn’t belong. The mirror was old, its silver frame tarnished, the glass cloudy with age. And yet, when Lila looked into it, she saw her reflection clearly, staring back at her with wide eyes.

But there was something off about the reflection. It wasn’t just her face that stared back at her—there was a shape behind her. A shadow, dark and tall, standing perfectly still in the mirror. Lila spun around, but the room was empty. She felt her heart race as she turned back to the mirror, her breath visible in the cold air. The figure was still there, only now, it was closer, its presence pressing in on her.

Lila’s pulse quickened, but her curiosity was too strong. She reached out, her fingers brushing the cold surface of the mirror. As soon as her hand touched it, the room seemed to shift. The walls warped, and the shadows in the corners of the basement began to twist, pulling toward the mirror. The air grew suffocating, thick with a presence she couldn’t explain.

She yanked her hand back, but the shadow in the mirror followed, now looming over her. It was no longer just a shadow—it had shape, form, a face that was twisted and malformed, like something out of a nightmare. It smiled at her, its grin wide and sinister. And then, the voice came.

"You shouldn’t have come," it whispered, its voice a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Lila stumbled backward, her heart pounding in her chest. The mirror began to shake, its surface rippling like water. The shadow’s hand reached out from the glass, its fingers long and bony, and as it touched the edge of the mirror, the walls of the basement cracked.

Panicked, Lila turned and fled. She bolted up the stairs, her flashlight now dead, the dark house pressing in on her from all sides. She reached the front door, but it wouldn’t open. The lock had clicked shut, trapping her inside. The whispering grew louder, and the sound of footsteps echoed through the house, too heavy, too close.

As Lila screamed for help, she realized the truth: the house was alive. It wasn’t just haunted—it was waiting. Waiting for someone to come in, to feed the dark presence that had been trapped inside for generations. And now, it had her.

She turned to face the mirror again, her reflection no longer her own. The figure stood in the glass, grinning wider than before, its eyes filled with malice. It stepped forward, and Lila felt her own body move against her will, as if the house had claimed her soul.

The next morning, when the sun rose over the small town, the house stood silent. No one had heard Lila’s screams. The doors were locked tight, and the windows were dark. And when a few of her friends returned to look for her, all they found was an old mirror, standing in the basement, reflecting only the empty room.

But if you listen closely, just before the wind picks up, you might hear a whisper in the air: “You shouldn’t have come.”