Isolated House and The Girl (AI edition)

The road stretched before me like an empty invitation, leading to the lonely house perched at the edge of the woods. Its silhouette was jagged against the indigo sky, its windows gaping like dark eyes. As I approached, the faint flicker of a light caught my attention, twinkling through the cracked door like an artificial star. The sight was enough to make my heart pound. My steps slowed, my breathing shallow. I tried to tell myself it was curiosity that pulled me closer, not the irresistible chill of fear.

The door swayed open on its hinges as though beckoning me. A draft escaped from within, carrying with it a metallic tang that made me shiver. I hesitated. Then, a shadow shifted inside. It was subtle but unmistakable. My throat tightened as I stepped closer. The porch creaked under my weight, and suddenly, the shadow was gone. Swallowing hard, I reached for the doorbell – an oddly modern touch for such a forsaken place. The chime rang out, unnervingly cheerful in the dead silence.

And then, darkness.

The house swallowed the light, plunging everything into black. My chest tightened as the air seemed to thicken. Then it began: the whispers, the cries, the dissonant cacophony of voices. They weren’t coming from outside. They were inside – inside my head. My hands shot to my temples, but the noise didn’t stop. It grew louder, faster, unbearable.

I fumbled for my side bag, fingers trembling as they searched for my phone. Just as I touched its smooth edge, something cold and solid struck my hand. My phone clattered to the floor, its screen shattering with a sickening crack. My heart thundered in my chest. Who was there? How could they see in this darkness?

Frantic now, my other hand found my flashlight. I clicked it on. The beam cut through the black, illuminating dust particles that hung in the air like tiny ghosts. The house came into focus, every detail sharp and too real. A figure stood at the end of the hallway, a girl with long hair cascading over her shoulders. She didn’t look like a ghost. She looked… normal. Too normal. Her pale face broke into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“You’ve come to my house,” she said, her voice soft but unsettlingly clear. “It’s been so long since I had a guest.”

My mouth opened to speak, but no words came. She stepped closer, her bare feet soundless on the floorboards. She was beautiful in an otherworldly way, her features delicate, almost fragile. But there was something in her eyes – something ancient, something wrong.

“Come,” she said, her smile widening. “You must be hungry.”

Before I could protest, she took my hand. Her touch was ice, numbing my skin, but her grip was firm. She led me to the dining room, where a table was set with a gray tray holding two glasses of thick, red liquid and plates of something… unrecognizable. The meat glistened under the light, raw and dark.

“I can’t stay,” I stammered. “I need to go. My friend is waiting for me.”

Her head tilted, and for a moment, she looked genuinely hurt. “Why would you leave?” she asked. “Don’t you feel it? This house has chosen you.”

Her words sent a chill down my spine. I tried to back away, but the door behind me was closed. When had it closed? The girl’s gaze pinned me in place. She sighed, almost wistfully, and turned toward the room at the end of the hall – the one that had been glowing earlier. As she walked, the faint light returned, this time a sinister red. She disappeared into the room, leaving me alone with the oppressive silence.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours. Then she reappeared, her face shadowed with sorrow. She floated toward me, feet no longer touching the ground. In her hands, she held a small, thin parcel wrapped in paper that seemed older than time. She extended it to me, her expression unreadable.

“Take this,” she said, her voice a whisper now. “But remember… if you don’t return, I will come for you. And I will bring the darkness with me.”

Her words hung in the air like a curse. She turned and opened the front door, the light of the outside world spilling in. I didn’t need a second invitation. I bolted, the parcel clutched tightly in my hand. I didn’t stop running until I was back in the safety of my own home.

Only then did I dare to look at what she had given me. It was a necklace, a delicate chain holding a pendant in the shape of a heart. Inside the pendant was a note, written in spidery handwriting:

Come again. If you don’t, I’ll come and find you. And your loved ones will suffer.

My hands shook as I read the final line:

Good luck. I wish you.