HELL IN PARADISE

Chapter One: The Silent Storm

The sun shone brightly over the sprawling estate, bathing the house in a warm, golden glow that gave the entire property an air of tranquility. It was a day so perfect that it could only be read in books, where everything was as it should be—calm, peaceful, unspoiled. The boys playing outside and chasing each other like space, time and matter had no burden on the shoulder of the planet.

The Harper family was, by all appearances, the picture of happiness. Their sprawling home sat on the edge of a small town, far enough from the city for privacy yet close for connection to the world. Thomas, the father—an imposing yet kind man in his early forties—had made sure everything was perfectly cared for to complete the joy of his family. Though Eleanor, was a few years younger than her husband, looked like she was in her late twenties. She was elegant and graceful, with an infectious smile that could melt the heart of everyone. Then there were the children—Emma, the oldest, a teenager who had a way of always being in control, and Luke, the younger of the two, who was only ten but already possessed a sharp wit and an adventurous spirit that kept his parents on their toes.

Life seems as though it had been woven with threads of pure luck. Nothing could spoil this idyllic world. Nothing, except for the silence that sometimes hung in the air, lingering like an unspoken word, waiting for the right moment to be unleashed.

It was a summer afternoon, one of those rare days when the entire family had no obligations, no commitments, just time to be together. All things were in it perfect place and nothing seemed to be wrong, but there was something in the air. Something that didn’t quite fit, something that would remain hidden until it was too late to stop.

As the evening wore on, the sun began to dip lower in the sky, painting the clouds with hues of purple and gold. The family gathered around the dinner table, the warmth of the day lingering in the house like a comforting embrace. The table was set for dinner, and the smell of roasted chicken and fresh vegetables filled the air. They ate, they laughed, they talked—small talk about the day’s events, Emma’s upcoming school year, Luke’s newfound obsession with exploring the woods behind the house. It was a typical family dinner, and yet, beneath the surface, was something strange and dark.

Thomas, though smiling, seemed distant, his eyes often drifting to the window as if something outside had caught his attention. Eleanor, who usually had an aura of warmth and serenity, looked slightly on edge, her fingers tapping nervously against the edge of her glass. Emma, usually the one who held the family together, kept glancing toward the back door, her brow furrowed in a way that suggested she was aware of something that the others weren’t.

But it was Luke, the youngest, who first noticed the oddities.

He was picking at his food, pushing peas around his plate, when a faint noise broke through the normal chatter of the dinner table. It was soft, almost imperceptible, but it made Luke freeze mid-motion. His eyes flicked toward the source of the sound—the corner of the room where the hallway met the staircase. He could hear it again—footsteps, slow and deliberate, though no one else seemed to notice.

Tap.. Tap.. Tap..

The sound of someone walking in the upper part of the house. His hand tightened around his fork, leaned slightly forward, his eyes darting from his father to his mother, searching for some reaction but seeing none. They were too absorbed in their conversation to notice

“Mom,” he said, his voice high and uncertain, “didn’t we close all the windows before dinner?”

Eleanor blinked, looking up from her plate as if she hadn’t quite registered the question. “What do you mean, sweetheart?” she asked softly.

“I thought I heard something… tapping, like someone walking upstairs. But no one’s up there, right?” Thomas, too, looked up, but his gaze was less concerned, more a mixture of curiosity and reassurance. “It’s probably the wind,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The house is old, you know, it creaks sometimes.” Luke wasn’t convinced. The footsteps hadn’t sounded like the wind. They had been too rhythmic, too purposeful. He opened his mouth to ask again, but then his gaze shifted toward the hallway.

There, standing just beyond the door, was a shadow. It lingered for a moment before quickly disappearing, as if it had never been there at all. But Luke had seen it. He had definitely seen it.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Did you see that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper with fear drawn all over his face. He felt his skeleton jump out of his skin. His eyes locked with Emma’s.

She looked startled for a moment but quickly masked it with a forced laugh. “It’s just a trick of the light, Luke. You’re imagining things.”

But Luke wasn’t so sure. The shadow had been real. He had seen it—just at the edge of his vision, lingering for a split second before vanishing. He looked back at the staircase, then at the window. The light outside was fading, and something about the way the shadows had fallen seemed wrong, as if they were stretching just a bit too far, too fast. Still, he didn’t say anything else. Left with only the heavy weight of unease in his chest.

The night carried on, and the atmosphere inside the house grew more oppressive, though none of the family members could put their finger on why. The laughter at the dinner table became quieter, more forced. Emma’s eyes darted toward the door again, her hand reaching for her water glass a little too quickly. Eleanor’s tapping grew faster, her eyes too bright, too alert, as if she was listening for something.

When dinner was over, they all gathered in the sitting room. Thomas settled into his favorite armchair, while Eleanor curled up beside him, wrapping herself in a blanket. The children sat on the floor, playing a board game, though Luke’s mind was elsewhere. He kept glancing up at the staircase, convinced that he wasn’t imagining the footsteps he had heard earlier. There was something strange in the air—something that felt out of place.

It wasn’t until the clock struck nine that the tension broke. The sound of a door opening upstairs echoed down through the hall. It was a subtle noise—just the faintest creak of hinges, but it was enough to make everyone pause.

Thomas was the first to break the silence, his voice low and reassuring. “It’s probably just one of the kids,” he said. “Emma? Luke? What are you doing upstairs?”

There was no response. Only silence. The room seemed to grow colder in an instant. Eleanor shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. The clock on the mantel ticked loudly in the stillness, each second feeling longer than the last. Something was wrong. The air was thick, heavy with a kind of dread that no one could explain. Thomas stood up, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll go check,” he said.

Before he could move, a loud crash echoed from upstairs—a door slamming open, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—someone—running. Thomas didn’t hesitate. He rushed for the stairs, with Luke and Emma close behind him, their faces pale with fear.

The upstairs hallway was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon through the windows. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the silence, but there was no one there. No one at all.

“Mom?” Luke called out, his voice trembling. Eleanor stood frozen at the foot of the stairs, her face ashen. The silence stretched, as thick as fog, and then—

A voice. Soft, barely a whisper, but unmistakable.

"Get out."

It came from behind the closed door at the end of the hallway.

The door was ajar.

And the storm was only just beginning.

Chapter Two: The Unseen

The oldest, a teenager who had a way of always being in control, and Luke, the younger of the two, who was only ten but already possessed a sharp wit and an adventurous spirit that kept his parents on their toes.

Life seems as though it had been woven with threads of pure luck. Nothing could spoil this idyllic world. Nothing, except for the silence that sometimes hung in the air, lingering like an unspoken word, waiting for the right moment to be unleashed.

It was a summer afternoon, one of those rare days when the entire family had no obligations, no commitments, just time to be together. All things were in it perfect place and nothing seemed to be wrong, but there was something in the air. Something that didn’t quite fit, something that would remain hidden until it was too late to stop.



As the evening wore on, the sun began to dip lower in the sky, painting the clouds with hues of purple and gold. The family gathered around the dinner table, the warmth of the day lingering in the house like a comforting embrace. The table was set for dinner, and the smell of roasted chicken and fresh vegetables filled the air. They ate, they laughed, they talked—small talk about the day’s events, Emma’s upcoming school year, Luke’s newfound obsession with exploring the woods behind the house. It was a typical family dinner, and yet, beneath the surface, was something strange and dark.

Thomas, though smiling, seemed distant, his eyes often drifting to the window as if something outside had caught his attention. Eleanor, who usually had an aura of warmth and serenity, looked slightly on edge, her fingers tapping nervously against the edge of her glass. Emma, usually the one who held the family together, kept glancing toward the back door, her brow furrowed in a way that suggested she was aware of something that the others weren’t.



But it was Luke, the youngest, who first noticed the oddities.



He was picking at his food, pushing peas around his plate, when a faint noise broke through the normal chatter of the dinner table. It was soft, almost imperceptible, but it made Luke freeze mid-motion. His eyes flicked toward the source of the sound—the corner of the room where the hallway met the staircase. He could hear it again—footsteps, slow and deliberate, though no one else seemed to notice.

Tap.. Tap.. Tap..

The sound of someone walking in the upper part of the house. His hand tightened around his fork, leaned slightly forward, his eyes darting from his father to his mother, searching for some reaction but seeing none. They were too absorbed in their conversation to notice



“Mom,” he said, his voice high and uncertain, “didn’t we close all the windows before dinner?”



Eleanor blinked, looking up from her plate as if she hadn’t quite registered the question. “What do you mean, sweetheart?” she asked softly.

“I thought I heard something… tapping, like someone walking upstairs. But no one’s up there, right?” Thomas, too, looked up, but his gaze was less concerned, more a mixture of curiosity and reassurance. “It’s probably the wind,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The house is old, you know, it creaks sometimes.” Luke wasn’t convinced. The footsteps hadn’t sounded like the wind. They had been too rhythmic, too purposeful. He opened his mouth to ask again, but then his gaze shifted toward the hallway.

There, standing just beyond the door, was a shadow. It lingered for a moment before quickly disappearing, as if it had never been there at all. But Luke had seen it. He had definitely seen it.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Did you see that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper with fear drawn all over his face. He felt his skeleton jump out of his skin. His eyes locked with Emma’s.

She looked startled for a moment but quickly masked it with a forced laugh. “It’s just a trick of the light, Luke. You’re imagining things.”

But Luke wasn’t so sure. The shadow had been real. He had seen it—just at the edge of his vision, lingering for a split second before vanishing. He looked back at the staircase, then at the window. The light outside was fading, and something about the way the shadows had fallen seemed wrong, as if they were stretching just a bit too far, too fast. Still, he didn’t say anything else. Left with only the heavy weight of unease in his chest.

The night carried on, and the atmosphere inside the house grew more oppressive, though none of the family members could put their finger on why. The laughter at the dinner table became quieter, more forced. Emma’s eyes darted toward the door again, her hand reaching for her water glass a little too quickly. Eleanor’s tapping grew faster, her eyes too bright, too alert, as if she was listening for something.

When dinner was over, they all gathered in the sitting room. Thomas settled into his favorite armchair, while Eleanor curled up beside him, wrapping herself in a blanket. The children sat on the floor, playing a board game, though Luke’s mind was elsewhere. He kept glancing up at the staircase, convinced that he wasn’t imagining the footsteps he had heard earlier. There was something strange in the air—something that felt out of place.

It wasn’t until the clock struck nine that the tension broke. The sound of a door opening upstairs echoed down through the hall. It was a subtle noise—just the faintest creak of hinges, but it was enough to make everyone pause.

Thomas was the first to break the silence, his voice low and reassuring. “It’s probably just one of the kids,” he said. “Emma? Luke? What are you doing upstairs?”

There was no response. Only silence. The room seemed to grow colder in an instant. Eleanor shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. The clock on the mantel ticked loudly in the stillness, each second feeling longer than the last. Something was wrong. The air was thick, heavy with a kind of dread that no one could explain. Thomas stood up, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll go check,” he said.

Before he could move, a loud crash echoed from upstairs—a door slamming open, followed by the unmistakable sound of something—someone—running. Thomas didn’t hesitate. He rushed for the stairs, with Luke and Emma close behind him, their faces pale with fear.

The upstairs hallway was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon through the windows. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the silence, but there was no one there. No one at all.

“Mom?” Luke called out, his voice trembling. Eleanor stood frozen at the foot of the stairs, her face ashen. The silence stretched, as thick as fog, and then—

A voice. Soft, barely a whisper, but unmistakable.

"Get out."

It came from behind the closed door at the end of the hallway.

The door was ajar.

And the storm was only just beginning.



Chapter Two: The Unseen

door at the end of the hallway stood ajar, its cracked frame casting a dark, impenetrable shadow across the floor. The soft, chilling whisper still echoed in the air, curling like smoke in the spaces between the family members. "Get out." It was a voice they didn’t recognize, but somehow it seemed... familiar. Thomas stood at the top of the stairs, his breath caught in his throat. His hand hovered over the banister, the wooden rails slick with sweat. Something was wrong—deeply wrong. But what?

“Did you hear that?” Emma’s voice broke the silence, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. She was standing just behind him, her face pale in the dim light from the upstairs window.

“Yes,” Thomas replied, though his voice sounded distant, as if he were speaking from far away. The words hung between them. Get out. Who had said it? And why had they heard it now?

“Mom...?” Luke’s voice trembled. He was standing behind Eleanor, who was frozen at the foot of the stairs, her eyes locked on the door, her body stiff as a board. She looked like she was holding her breath, but whether it was from fear or something else, no one could tell.

“I don’t know...” Eleanor whispered, her voice shaking. “I don’t know...”The air felt too thick. Too heavy. Something was closing in on them, something that they couldn’t see but could feel with every inch of their skin. And then, from the hallway, came another sound.

A soft creak, as though something—or someone—was shifting behind the door. Thomas’ heart pounded in his chest. Without a word, he stepped forward, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. But as he approached the door, something inside him hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to go near that door. It felt wrong. It felt dangerous. But there was no turning back now.

“Stay here,” he whispered over his shoulder to Eleanor. His eyes met hers, and for the first time, he saw something in her expression that sent a chill through his spine: a look of recognition. Of fear.

Eleanor’s lips trembled as she whispered, “Don’t open it.” His hand reached for the door. It creaked open, the faint sound of its hinges slicing through the thick silence. He stepped inside, his body tense, his eyes darting around the room, searching for any sign of movement.

It was a bedroom. A small, sparsely furnished one, with an old bed and a cracked window that let in a weak sliver of moonlight. But it wasn’t the room that caught his attention. It was the smell—the scent of damp earth, rot, and something that clung to the air, something foul and decayed. His stomach churned, but he forced himself to take another step forward.

And that’s when he saw it.

The mirror on the wall. It was cracked, the glass spider-webbed into a thousand pieces, yet still intact. The reflection, though, wasn’t quite right. At first, Thomas thought it was the broken glass distorting the image, but then his blood ran cold as he realized what he was seeing.

In the reflection of the mirror, standing behind him, was a figure. A figure that was not there in the room. It was a woman, cloaked in shadow, her face obscured, though Thomas could feel her eyes boring into his soul. He spun around, his heart pounding, but the room was empty. Nothing.

A laugh—low, guttural—bubbled up from somewhere deep within the walls. Thomas recoiled, his breath quickening. It wasn’t just a sound. It felt alive. As if the house itself was laughing at him.

“Dad?!” Luke’s voice rang out, and Thomas snapped his head toward the door, his eyes wide with panic. The room felt alive. Alive in a way that no house should. The very walls seemed to pulse, as if they were holding their breath, waiting for something—someone—to make a move.

“Dad?!” Luke’s voice came again, louder now, tinged with fear.

Thomas turned to leave, but the door slammed shut with a deafening bang. He stumbled backward, his hands reaching for the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. The sound of his breathing was the only thing he could hear now, and the laughter... that eerie, unholy laughter that seemed to emanate from the walls.

Get out. The voice whispered again, this time louder, as if it were right next to him, breathing down his neck.

“Thomas!” Eleanor screamed from the other side of the door. “Open the door! Thomas, open it now!” Thomas could hear the panic in her voice, could hear her banging against the door with her fists. But the door wouldn’t open. It was as though something was holding it shut from the other side—something stronger than him, something more powerful than any lock. He kicked the door, frantic now, but it didn’t give. Bang. Again. And again.

Then, as he stepped back, he noticed something that made his blood run cold. The reflection in the shattered mirror had changed.

Where he had stood moments ago, there was no longer a shadowed figure of a woman. Instead, there was a figure of a man—his own reflection, though it didn’t look like him.

His reflection in the mirror grinned at him—no, smirked—a cold, unfeeling grin that stretched too wide for his face. The eyes were hollow, empty, and yet alive. Alive with malice.

Thomas took a step back, his head spinning. His body felt heavy, as if the room were sucking the air from his lungs. He reached for the door again, but this time, something stopped him. A whisper, soft but growing clearer, wrapping around his mind like a vice.

"You shouldn’t have come."

It wasn’t Eleanor. It wasn’t anyone he knew.

The whisper came from the walls. It was coming from the mirror. And then, the floorboards creaked behind him.

Thomas whirled around just in time to see a shadow pass by the doorway. A tall, thin figure, its features obscured by the dim light. But this time, there was no mistaking it. This wasn’t just a shadow—it was moving. And it was coming toward him. His heart slammed against his ribs as he tried to take a step back, but his feet were rooted to the floor. Something was wrong. Something wrong in this room. The air was thickening, pressing against him from all sides, suffocating him. His mind raced, scrambling for an explanation, but it couldn’t find one.

The figure stepped forward. It was a woman. But not in any way he had ever seen before. Her skin was pale, almost ghostly white, and her hair hung in long, black strands that swayed unnaturally, as if caught in an invisible breeze. Her eyes, when they met his, were empty—hollow, like two dark pits, with no soul behind them. And her mouth, stretched wide in a smile that made his stomach churn, began to move.

“You shouldn’t have come...”

But before she could finish, Thomas heard something else. A soft, high-pitched sound, like a child’s giggle, and then—

The lights went out.

Everything was plunged into darkness.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound came from behind him. It was slow. Methodical

Then, the whisper again, right in his ear:

"Get out."

A faint, flickering light from the hallway revealed a shadow standing at the door—a tall, indistinct shape.

Thomas’ breath caught in his throat.

The giggling grew louder.

And then—

A sudden bang from upstairs. The house shook, rattling with the force. And in the silence that followed, the final question loomed in the air, hanging like a knife’s edge:

Had they been too late?

The door creaked open. And something—or someone—stepped through.