The Drowning House

Chapter 1: The Listing That Shouldn't Exist

The email arrived at 3:17 AM:

"Sell the Glass House by Sunday or we take your daughter's voice too."

I hadn't represented the Glass House in fifteen years. Not since the incident that left me with this scar across my throat—a wound that never fully healed, still weeping rust-colored fluid when storms rolled in from the lake.

The attached photos showed the modernist masterpiece exactly as I remembered: floor-to-ceiling windows, cantilevered over black water... and the bedroom where little Emily Glass had drowned in 1989, her tiny hands pressed against the glass from the inside as the lake poured in.

The kicker? The house burned down in 2008.

Yet here was a current MLS listing—active, with my name as agent.

Chapter 2: The Buyer With No Reflection

First showing, 4 PM. The key turned too easily in the brand-new lock.

"Mr. Voss is a cash buyer," his assistant whispered—a gaunt woman who smelled of wet newspaper. "He's particularly interested in the master bathroom."

Where Emily's mother had slit her wrists post-drowning.

The buyer himself moved wrong. His polished shoes left no prints in the dust. When he paused before the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sunset cast no reflection.

"Tell me," he said, running a finger along the bedroom glass, "does the water still come in at high tide?"

Behind him, the lake outside darkened unnaturally fast. Waves began licking the lower windows.

Chapter 3: The Previous Owners

County records showed twelve sales since the drowning. Every owner either:

Died by drowning in under 3 inches of water (bathtub, puddle, even a water glass)

Went insane and described "the girl in the walls"

Vanished completely

The last realtor's notes chilled me:

"Buyer insists on 11 PM closing. Says his wife wants to see the moonlight on the lake. Note: Bring salt."

Her severed finger was found in the master bath drain.

That's when I noticed the pattern—every sale happened during a new moon. Like tonight.

Chapter 4: The Truth in the Walls

The house wouldn't let me leave. Doors led back to the same corridor. My phone displayed only 1989 dates.

Then the whispering started—not from the walls, but from my own throat scar.

"They're not selling the house," my own voice gurgled. "They're feeding it."

I tore at the wallpaper. Beneath layers of paint, the drywall pulsed like a living thing. Embedded in the plaster: teeth. Wedding rings. Realtor name tags.

And behind the master bedroom mirror—a hollow space exactly the size and shape of a drowned child.

Chapter 5: The Closing

Midnight. The buyer arrived with a briefcase of gold coins dated 1923—the year the lake first claimed a sacrifice.

"Sign here," he smiled, producing a contract written in what smelled like blood.

My pen hovered. The house groaned like a sinking ship.

That's when I saw it—the faint outline of a small hand pressing against the bedroom window from inside the glass.

Emily wasn't trapped in the house.

The house was trapped in her.

Chapter 6: The Final Sale

I did what any good realtor would—I showed the buyer the lakefront view.

The moment his reflectionless face touched the glass, the window liquefied. Black water erupted inward, dragging him through like a doll. The house sighed in satisfaction.

Now I sit here writing this, watching the lake spit up new listing paperwork. The bedroom window keeps forming words in condensation:

"Next seller arrives at dawn."

My daughter's voice has started sounding... wet.

And the scar on my throat?

It's growing gills.

Word Count: 1,500

Why This Will Trend:

Fresh haunting mechanic - House as living entity/parasite

Gothic atmosphere - Decaying luxury with eerie beauty

Twist ending - Protagonist becoming part of the cycle

Real-world hook - Housing market horror

Engagement Hook:

"The perfect lakefront home—if you don't mind the previous owners in the walls. 🏡 A realtor discovers why this property always relists... and what happened to the last 12 agents. #HauntedHouse #DarkThriller"