The House That Never Slept

The villagers never went near the Blackridge House after sundown.

Perched at the edge of a dying forest, with rotting shutters and ivy choking its bricks, the house had been empty for decades. Yet every night, without fail, lights flickered in the upstairs windows. Some claimed to hear piano music drifting through the trees. Others swore they saw figures watching from the attic.

They said the house had a heartbeat — and it never slept.

People who entered Blackridge at night were never the same. If they returned at all, they came back silent, their hair streaked with gray, their eyes always darting to dark corners, as if expecting something to follow.

Still, some stories beg to be tested.

Alex was a freelance videographer known for exploring “haunted” places and debunking their legends. Armed with cameras, EMF detectors, and bravado, he came to Blackridge with one goal: to stay a full night and prove it was all myth.

He arrived just before dusk.

The house loomed before him like a warning, its door slightly ajar as though waiting for him. The air around it was colder — unnaturally so — and even the birds avoided flying overhead.

"Perfect atmosphere," he muttered, adjusting his headlamp. He placed motion-sensor cameras at the entry points and walked inside.

The floor groaned beneath him. Cobwebs hung like curtains, and the smell of mold and decay pressed against his lungs. Still, he pressed on, narrating for his vlog.

“Okay, entering the main hallway. Nothing here but dust and… wait, is that—?”

A whisper. Soft, drawn out, like someone exhaling his name:

“Aaaalex...”

He froze. The house was supposed to be empty.

He spun toward the sound — but saw nothing. No wind. No animals. Just stillness.

“Probably the floorboards settling,” he said aloud, trying to convince himself. He pushed deeper into the house.

10:37 PM.

Alex sat in the parlor, reviewing footage. The cameras showed flickers — quick blurs darting past the lens. At first, he thought it was dust, until one paused, just long enough, revealing the outline of a face without eyes.

Suddenly, the parlor lights — which had been off when he entered — flickered to life. A cold gust swept through, and the piano in the corner let out a low, trembling note.

Alex turned slowly.

There was no one near the piano.

He walked over cautiously, camera in hand. “This is wild. Could be residual energy or even faulty wiring.”

As he reached for the keys, they pressed down on their own, playing a slow, broken lullaby. The melody twisted in the air like something half-remembered, half-dreamt — and entirely wrong.

He backed away. “Okay… maybe something’s here.”

Behind him, footsteps echoed from the second floor.

Alex’s blood ran cold.

11:45 PM.

Driven by both fear and determination, Alex climbed the stairs. Every step groaned louder than the last, and the temperature dropped with each level. He reached the hallway and found the source of the light — a bedroom with a cracked door.

Inside was a child’s room, untouched by time. Toys lay scattered across the floor. A mobile spun slowly above a broken crib. On the wall, written in faded crayon, were the words:

"We never sleep."

A soft giggle came from the closet.

Alex turned, the camera shaking in his hands.

The closet creaked open by itself, revealing a gaping void, far too deep for any normal closet. It stretched into darkness that felt alive. Something moved inside — not crawling, not walking, but sliding.

And then he saw them.

Children. Dozens of them. Pale, translucent, eyeless — with mouths sewn shut. They reached out, moaning without sound, clawing toward him.

Alex ran.

12:03 AM.

The house shook with a deep, pulsing rhythm — like a heart beating from under the floorboards.

Alex stumbled into the foyer, trying to escape, but the front door was gone. Not locked. Gone. In its place was solid wall.

From every hallway, shadows poured in, crawling like smoke, whispering his name over and over:

“Alex… Alex… stay… never sleep…”

He screamed, smashing at the walls, the floor, the air — but it was no use. The house had closed around him like a mouth snapping shut.

The Next Morning.

The villagers found his van still parked outside, equipment untouched. But the house was silent.

Alex was never seen again.

Yet each night, another window lit up — and from time to time, a new face could be seen watching from the attic.

The house never slept.

And now… neither did he.