Do Not Look Out the Window After Midnight

Everyone thinks the scariest things happen inside the house.

But let me tell you something I learned the hard way:
Sometimes, the real horror is outside—watching.

And if you ever look out your window after midnight…
You might see something that doesn’t go away.

I Moved to a New Town
It was the end of January 2025.
I had just moved to a small town called Hollow Pines. I got a cheap rental house on the edge of a forest. Peaceful. Quiet. A little too quiet.

My closest neighbor, Mr. Langley, was an old man with a limp. He met me on my first day with a handshake and a strange warning:

“Don’t look out the window after midnight. Especially the one in the hallway.”

I laughed it off. Small towns are full of weird stories, right?

The Hallway Window
The house had one long hallway with a narrow window at the far end.

I didn’t think much of it until my second night.

At 12:03 a.m., I was walking to the kitchen when I noticed something weird.

That hallway window?

It was open.

I didn’t remember opening it.

I went to close it, but as I reached for the frame—I felt something.

Not wind.

Not cold.

Something like… breath.

The Girl
The next night, I stayed up. Just to see.

At 12:01 a.m., I turned off all the lights and watched from my bedroom.

At 12:07, she appeared.

A girl.

Standing outside the hallway window.

She was barefoot. Pale. Wearing a long white nightgown.

Her face was tilted sideways… like she didn’t know how to hold her head up.

And her eyes?

They weren’t looking into the house.

They were looking directly at me.

I Asked My Neighbor
The next morning, I went to Mr. Langley.

He looked at me like he already knew what I was going to say.

“You looked, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

He sighed.

“It started with the family before you. Their daughter sleepwalked. One night, she walked into the forest and never came back. Now she comes to the window.”

“If you ignore her, she stays outside. If you see her… she notices. And if you acknowledge her…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

The Whispering
That night, I tried to ignore her.

But at exactly 12:04 a.m., I heard it.

A soft knock on the window.

Then… whispering.

I couldn’t make out the words. But it sounded like a little girl repeating the same thing over and over.

I didn’t look.

But I recorded the audio on my phone.

When I played it back the next day, I nearly dropped my phone.

It said:

“I saw you. I saw you. I saw you.”

Over and over again. In my own voice.

The Scratches
Things got worse after that.

I found scratches on the inside of the hallway window.
Three long lines—like fingernails on glass.

Every morning, they got deeper.

I stopped walking near that part of the house.

I even taped a blanket over the window.

But the scratching sound kept happening… louder and louder.

She Got Closer
On the seventh night, I made a mistake.

I looked again.

I didn’t mean to—I just passed the hallway and caught a glimpse through the side of the blanket.

She was still there.

But now, her head was upside down. And she was smiling.

Her hand reached up.

And from the other side of the window, she pulled back the blanket—from the inside.

The Forest
Mr. Langley knocked on my door the next morning.

His hands were shaking.

“You need to go to the edge of the forest,” he said.
“Find her name. Carve it out of the tree. She’s tied to it.”

I didn’t understand.

But that night, I went.

There was one tree near the back, covered in carvings. One stood out:

"EMILY. 2018."

I took my pocket knife. Scratched through it.

The moment I finished, the wind howled like a scream.

When I turned around, the girl was there.

No window this time.

The Last Knock
I ran. Got home. Locked every door.

But at 12:00 a.m., she came anyway.

Not to the hallway window.

To my bedroom one.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I didn’t move.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I started crying.

Then the whisper:

“If you won’t look at me… I’ll come closer.”

The doorknob twisted.

Now I Know
It’s been three nights.

No knocks.

No girl.

But now every mirror in my house fogs up around midnight.

And in the center of the fog, the same word appears:

“Look.”

I think I’m still being watched.

And if I ever look again…

I don’t think I’ll be able to look away.