The House That Laughed Last

Chapter 1: The Moving Van

The Jensen family had just moved into 13 Hawthorn Lane, a crooked, peeling house with a lawn that seemed allergic to life. Dad was excited, Mom was wary, and Timmy, nine and already plotting to become the neighborhood mischief legend was suspicious of everything. The first night, the creaks started. Not the normal “old house settling” creaks. These were rhythmic, like someone tiptoeing… in clown shoes. Timmy, armed with a flashlight and a bowl of cereal, tiptoed into the hallway. The beam landed on… nothing. The cereal bowl was gone. A tiny, giggling voice echoed from the kitchen:

“Thanks for the snack!”

Mom didn’t hear it. Dad muttered something about unpacking boxes. Timmy wasn’t convinced, he could hear tiny footsteps patting across the floor, coming from the vents. Someone, or rather something, was enjoying itself in the walls. Before he could scream, a shadow slid across the ceiling like a drunken bat. Timmy blinked. The shadow winked. The living room TV turned on by itself, static filling the screen. Amid the fuzz, a cartoon skeleton danced, perfectly in sync with the floor’s creaks. Timmy’s flashlight flickered as the skeleton saluted him before vanishing. Leaving an eerie feeling.

Chapter 2: Dinner With Ghosts

A week later, the Jensens attempted a normal dinner—spaghetti. Mom insisted it was “good for the soul,” but the spaghetti had other plans.As they sat, each forkful wriggled like it had a mind of its own. Dad tried to scoop noodles onto his plate and screamed—the spaghetti slapped him back.

“Not funny!” he yelled.

From the chandelier, a voice echoed.

“That’s funny!” The chandelier had twisted, swinging like a lonely swing in the wind. Crystals rattled like teeth gnashing. Timmy laughed so hard that he couldn’t stop. The walls weren’t just walls—they were watching, listening, tasting. Suddenly, the front door slammed shut. Lights flickered off. In the darkness, something dripped onto the floor. Timmy froze. A sentence formed on the wall in dripping ketchup:

“WELCOME TO THE FAMILY.”

Mom gasped. Dad’s jaw hung open. Timmy laughed nervously. The house wasn’t just alive—it had a sense of humor, and its favorite joke? Them.

Chapter 3: The Backyard Paradox

A month later, the Jensens discovered the backyard wasn’t fixed. One step past the garden gnome and the world warped. Grass screamed when stepped on. Trees whispered gossip. The sky alternated between neon green and deep violet. Timmy hopped the fence and landed on the surreal lawn. A monocled unicorn sipped tea on a floating lily pad. “Don’t mind me. Just keeping time,” it said. Timmy blinked. He could hear the house’s laughter echoing faintly from somewhere behind the dimension. Back inside, Mom and Dad debated if this was a dream or a shared hallucination. Every surface quivered slightly, like the house itself was breathing. The laughter grew louder, echoing in their heads, bouncing off the walls, through the pipes, over the floorboards. Then the front door slammed open. A normal-looking mailman stepped in, waving. “Hey! Package for the Jensens…”. The house laughed. Timmy froze. Mom gasped. Dad dropped his lasagna mid-bite. The mailman smiled oddly:).

The house? It just kept laughing.

Chapter 4: Echoes in the Walls

Weeks passed, and the Jensens tried to pretend things were normal. Mom started humming to drown out the giggles from the vents. Dad worked long hours just to avoid coming home before dark. Timmy stopped bringing friends over after one of them vanished mid-hide & seek and reappeared three days later speaking backward. One night, Timmy decided to record the laughter. He first set his phone on the dresser, pressed record, and then whispered, “Let’s see what’s really funny.” At 3:13 a.m., the house began laughing again. Slow, deep, deliberate. When Timmy checked the recording the next morning, the laughter was there—but underneath it was a second voice. His own, whispering things he never said. When he showed Mom the recording, her phone screen cracked in half. “Timmy,” she whispered, “we’re leaving tonight.”. They packed fast, every floorboard groaning like it disapproved. As they reached the door, the lights dimmed, and a soft voice said,

“Leaving already? But we haven’t even gotten to the punchline.”

The door swung open by itself. The mailman stood outside, smiling that same crooked smile. In his hand was the same unopened package.

“We never got to deliver this,” he said. “It’s gotcha name written all over it.”

Mom screamed. Dad froze. Timmy reached for it, and that’s where the story fractures. Either the family escaped, driving into the night while the house’s laughter echoed behind them… or they never left at all, trapped inside the joke forever. No one on Hawthorn Lane has seen the Jensens since. But on quiet nights, the house still laughs—and sometimes, if you stand close enough to the door, you can hear a kid’s voice laughing back.

The End… or maybe not..