The Hollow Street House

They said that the house on Hollow Street was cursed. No one had lived there for nearly thirty years. Its porch sagged with age, and its windows were empty, watching eyes. The locals told tales of screams at night, lights that flickered by themselves, and shadows that moved without anyone being there. However, Daniel, then seventeen, was against ghost stories. When his family moved to town, the old Hollow house was the only one they could afford. The rumors were laughed off by his parents. His father stated, "Just old wood creaking." "Houses do not spook people." However, as soon as they moved in, Daniel realized that something was wrong. On the first night, as he unpacked boxes in his room, he felt cold air against his neck, though the windows were shut. He turned quickly, but no one was there. Then he heard it—a faint tapping sound from inside the walls.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He pressed his ear against the plaster. Silence. However, he could swear that he heard someone whisper his name as he backed away. “Daniel…”

He told them, but they laughed it off. Stress, they asserted. Imagination.

The next day, things got stranger.

Mirrors in the house fogged up without reason, even when it wasn’t cold. Daniel’s phone refused to take pictures inside the house—every image came out blurred, warped, or pitch black. The family's dog refused to ascend the stairs at night, and the doors opened and closed by themselves. Daniel was unable to sleep one night, so he wandered the halls. The house was deathly quiet, but as he passed the staircase, he saw it—just for a moment.

A woman, dressed in white, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

She looked straight at him with hollow eyes, her face pale, her mouth sewn shut with black thread.

Daniel stumbled back. When he looked again, she was gone.

The next morning, he searched the local library for answers. In a dusty old record book, he found a newspaper clipping:

“Family of Four Vanishes Without a Trace – Hollow Street Home Abandoned After Investigation Yields No Leads.”

A white woman with a smile was depicted in the image. the same woman who was on the stairs. He dug deeper. The article was published in 1987. The family's mother, according to town legend, had become irrational and vanished one stormy night with her husband and two children. Their bodies were never found. Locals said their spirits never left.

That night, Daniel felt something shift.

The air in the house grew thick, heavy. He tried to go to sleep, but the tapping came back, this time more clearly. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Then came the whispers. Dozens of them. children's crying voices. A man screaming. A woman singing softly—off key.

The door to his bedroom squeaked open. Standing there were the shadows of a family—four figures, silhouetted in the moonlight. Their faces were blurry and their movements were jerky, like broken puppets. Daniel backed away, but the room changed around him. The walls melted into darkness. The floor vanished. He was standing in what felt like a void.

A voice boomed—low and wet, as if underwater.

“Stay. Join us.”

Daniel cried out. He felt a strong pull as something wrapped around his leg. Just as he was being dragged into the darkness, he saw the woman in white again. She was weeping silently, pointing toward the closet in his room.

Daniel pulled the doorknob open with one last burst of strength, and everything stopped. He was back in his room. The shadows gone. The voices silenced.

Inside the closet, beneath the floorboards, he found them: bones. Four skeletons. Buried and forgotten.

the entire family The police were called. The family that went missing in 1987 had never left their home, according to forensics. They’d been murdered and hidden beneath the very floor Daniel had slept on.

The house became quiet after the bodies were removed and buried appropriately. Even peaceful. Daniel’s family moved out shortly after, unable to shake the memory of what had happened.

There is still a house on Hollow Street, but no one lives there. Some say it’s finally at peace.

But on certain nights, if you walk past the gate and the wind is just right… you might still hear the sound:

Tap. Tap. Tap.

And a soft voice whispering your name.