Some homes never forget the pain they've witnessed—and some never forgive.

They say every house has a story.

But some stories are buried so deep, even the bricks seem to weep. The house on Wicker Street was never listed. Never advertised. Yet it found its next owner—like it always did—when the time was right.

And when Melanie Greaves walked into that Victorian ruin, she thought she’d found a fixer-upper. What she really found was something... ancient. Watching. Waiting.

This is her story.

And if you ever find yourself on Wicker Street… don’t listen when it calls your name.


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Chapter 1: The Move-In

Melanie had just ended a toxic marriage. Newly divorced, with her mother recently passed and no siblings to speak of, she decided to move from Brooklyn to a quieter life in a small Pennsylvania town.

She stumbled upon the house through a strange listing in a Facebook group called Forgotten Foundations. The price? Unbelievably low. $17,000 for a five-bedroom Victorian. “Needs work. Structurally sound. Must see to believe.”

A fixer-upper was exactly what Melanie needed. Something to distract her from the echo of heartbreak. Something to fill her time and silence the inner noise.

But the house… had other plans.


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Chapter 2: The Welcome

From the moment she arrived, something felt off.

The trees surrounding the property were tall, blackened at the base as if scorched, though there was no sign of fire. The paint was peeled like dead skin, and the windows, though intact, seemed unnaturally dark from the outside.

Still, Melanie felt drawn in.

When the realtor, an older man with shaking hands and deep eye bags, gave her the keys, he avoided eye contact.

“You sure you want it?” he muttered.

“Of course. It's perfect,” she smiled.

He hesitated. “Just… don’t stay upstairs at night. Not at first.”

She laughed. He didn’t.


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Chapter 3: The First Night

Melanie slept downstairs on a blow-up mattress. The rooms above her groaned like they held their breath too long. At exactly 3:12 a.m., a soft tapping began. First on the window. Then, somehow, behind her headboard. And finally, under the floorboards.

She thought it was animals.

Until she heard her name.

Soft. Drawn out. Childlike.

“Melaaaaniiieee…”

She shot up. Silence.

She didn't sleep again that night.


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Chapter 4: The Mirror Room

The next day, Melanie explored the second floor. One door stuck tightly, sealed with old furniture jammed against it.

Of course, she forced it open.

The room inside was filled with mirrors—dozens, maybe more. Some were cracked. Some fogged. All different sizes and styles. None covered.

And the strangest thing?

In none of them could she see herself.

She touched her face. Moved her hand.

Nothing.

As she backed out slowly, one mirror flickered. A shadow passed across it.

And for just a second, the reflection stared back at her. But it wasn’t her.


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Chapter 5: The Whispers Begin

At first, the whispers came only at night.

They whispered secrets she never told anyone.

“You shouldn’t have left him…”

“You let your mother die alone…”

“You’re not enough…”

The house wasn’t haunted by ghosts.

It was haunted by guilt.

And somehow, it knew hers intimately.

By the end of the week, Melanie stopped sleeping entirely. But exhaustion only made the voices louder.


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Chapter 6: The Woman in the Corner

One night, Melanie saw her.

Not clearly—just a shape.

A tall woman standing in the corner of the mirror room. Veiled in black. Still.

At first, Melanie thought she was dreaming.

But when she screamed, the woman turned.

Her face was featureless. Just skin stretched tight. But her mouth moved.

Whispers. Unending. Inhuman.

Melanie ran. And when she looked back—the woman was standing at the top of the stairs.

Watching.


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Chapter 7: History Repeats

Melanie started researching the house.

She found scattered records: A family in 1912—gone without a trace. A child who drowned in the upstairs tub in 1938. A woman who burned her husband alive in the living room in 1957.

Every 21 years… someone moved in.

Every 21 years… they never left.

Melanie was the sixth.

And this was year 126.


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Chapter 8: Scratches in the Walls

Desperate, Melanie began tearing apart the house.

She found symbols behind the wallpaper. Circles. Spirals. Marks carved in languages she couldn’t read.

Beneath the floorboards of the mirror room, she found bones.

Small. Fragile. Children’s bones.

And a name written in dried blood under them:

Lillian.

The whispers changed after that.

Now, they weren’t cruel.

They were begging.

“Let us go…”

“She won’t let us rest…”

“Burn it…”


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Chapter 9: The Entity

On the 21st night, Melanie saw it.

Not a ghost.

Not a demon.

A presence.

Formless, but massive. Like the air thickened into something that watched. It hovered above her while she lay paralyzed. Whispering… then screaming.

It fed off pain.

And the house was its trap.

Every 21 years, it needed a new soul.


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Chapter 10: The Last Fire

Melanie made her choice.

She soaked the house in gasoline. Her hands trembled. Her breath came in sobs.

Before lighting the match, she said one thing:

“To those who never escaped—I’m sorry. I’ll finish it.”

The flame caught instantly.

As she ran into the street, she heard the house scream.

Not the fire. The house itself.

A deep, guttural howl that split the air.

Windows shattered. Black smoke poured out.

And then silence.


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Chapter 11: The Ashes

The fire department called it spontaneous combustion. No foul play. No arson charges.

Melanie left town the next day.

But she took one thing with her:

A shard of mirror that hadn’t burned.

In it, she sometimes still sees the woman.

Just… watching.

And sometimes, just before sleep, she hears a voice from behind the glass.

“Not yet…”


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[OUTRO: The House Waits]

They rebuilt the house on Wicker Street. Some developer saw “potential” in the lot.

A new couple moved in. Young. Excited. Naïve.

The neighbors say they often hear whispers coming from the top floor at night.

Sometimes, a woman’s voice.


Chapter 12: Not All Fires Cleanse

Three weeks after the fire, Melanie was living in a motel in a nearby town. The dreams never stopped.

She saw Lillian, the child whose bones she had found, standing in flames… not screaming, not afraid—just staring.

Each night, the same words came through her dreams:

> “You freed us… but not her.”



Melanie thought she ended the horror. But that was just a chapter.

The real curse wasn’t the house.

It was her.


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Chapter 13: Return to Wicker Street

One rainy morning, Melanie couldn’t help herself. She returned to Wicker Street.

The house was already rebuilt—shockingly fast. Sleek, modern, soulless. But the land was the same.

As she stepped closer, a little girl stood in the driveway.

She looked… familiar.

“Do you live here?” Melanie asked.

The girl smiled, wide and empty. “Not yet. She’s still in the walls.”

Then the girl vanished.

No footprints. No door open. Nothing.


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Chapter 14: Interviews with the Doomed

Melanie contacted families of past residents—if she could find them.

One man, James Daltrey, the grandson of the 1938 family, agreed to speak. He was in a care home, barely coherent.

But when she said “Wicker Street,” his eyes locked onto hers with terrifying clarity.

He whispered:

> “The house is just her body. She lives in the guilt. The shame. The things we never speak of.”



Melanie asked who “she” was.

He replied, “You’ll know. When she wears your face.”


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Chapter 15: The Whispers Inside

Melanie started hearing voices… not from around her.

From inside.

Whispers behind her eyes. Screams when she tried to sleep. Laughs when she looked in the mirror. Her reflection began to move just a second after she did.

One night, she smashed every mirror in the room. But their shards all pointed toward her bed.

She stopped sleeping. Eating. Thinking clearly.

She wasn’t sure anymore… if she was alone inside her own body.


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Chapter 16: Lillian’s Diary

She dug again—through police archives and local museum logs.

Hidden in the archive was a diary. Cracked leather. Smelled like smoke.

It belonged to Lillian Harper, the first victim of the house.

Pages were torn, words faded, but one section stood out:

> “She came in the night. Mama said not to speak. But I couldn’t help it. She wears your skin and speaks your shame. If you listen, she grows stronger. If you cry… she enters.”



> “She lives in the house, but also in the hearts that hurt.”



Melanie closed the diary, her hands trembling.

That meant… she brought it with her.


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Chapter 17: The Mirror in the Motel

In her motel bathroom, Melanie saw something in the mirror.

A crack had appeared. Not across the glass—across her reflection’s face.

And then… her reflection smiled. She didn’t.

The whisper came again. But not behind her this time.

It came from her own mouth.

> “Your pain is delicious.”




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Chapter 18: The Real Curse

Melanie thought she was the savior.

She thought the fire ended it.

But what if the fire was part of the ritual?

A new cycle. A sacrifice. A fresh vessel.

And she had walked right into it.

She was no longer herself. She was now the new Wicker Street.

Wherever she went… it followed.


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Chapter 19: She’s Online Now

Melanie began posting online anonymously.

Sharing her dreams. Her visions. Trying to warn people.

But something strange started happening.

Others began commenting: “I dreamed of her too.”

One post went viral.

Within days, people across the world started sharing their own nightmares.

Same woman.

Same whisper.

Same mirror smile.

She wasn’t trapped to one house anymore.

The curse had gone digital.


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Chapter 20: Final Entry

Melanie's last known message was posted to an obscure Reddit thread titled The Woman Without a Face.

It read:

> “If you see her, do not speak. Do not cry. And whatever you do… never look in the mirror after 3:12 a.m.”



> “She’s not in the house anymore.”



> “She’s in me.”



> “And I’m coming home.”


As you finish this story, take a look around.

Are you alone?

Do you hear anything?

Feel anything watching?

Check your mirror—but not for too long.

Because if you start hearing whispers in your own voice…

…it’s already too late.