🩸 The Last House on Riverbend Street

🏚️ Chapter 1: Welcome to Riverbend

Riverbend Street wasn’t on the GPS.

It existed like a forgotten secret — a neighborhood trapped between tall trees and thicker silence. In the town of Marlow, Ohio, people didn’t talk about it. And those who did didn’t say much.

When Lily and Mark moved into House No. 39, they thought they were escaping the noise of the city — a fresh start after losing their unborn child in a tragic miscarriage. They wanted peace. Healing.

But Riverbend didn’t offer peace.

It offered something else.

The house was old, built in 1896. Creaky floors, stained glass windows, an attic that hadn’t been opened in decades.

The real estate agent had called it a heritage home with character.

What she didn’t say was that the house had been vacant for 18 years, and before that, someone had died inside it.

💀 Chapter 2: Nails in the Attic

On their second night, Lily heard it.

Knocking. Three soft knocks from the attic. Always at 3:17 AM.

She woke Mark, but he laughed it off — Old wood shifting, he said.

But every night, the knocks returned. Same time. Same rhythm. Until one night, the attic door creaked on its own. The rusty nails, which were once sealed into the wood, now lay scattered on the hallway floor.

That night, Lily had her first dream.

A little girl — drenched, barefoot, standing at the foot of her bed.

She whispered,

Have you seen my mother?

When Lily woke up, the bedsheets were wet.

🪞 Chapter 3: The Mirror People

Lily stopped sleeping.

Every night, she’d walk around the house with a flashlight.

Once, in the bathroom, she turned and saw her reflection blink twice — when she didn’t.

In the guest room, the mirror reflected the room with an extra person in it — a woman in a white dress, staring directly into the glass, but invisible in reality.

One night, the woman in the mirror raised her hand and traced words onto the glass. It fogged up slowly, spelling:

My daughter is not at peace.

And below that:

She’s still in the basement.

🕳️ Chapter 4: What Lies Below

The basement had always been off-limits. The door was stiff, almost swollen shut with age. But that night, it was wide open.

Mark, curious and annoyed, went down with a flashlight.

Ten minutes later, Lily heard a scream

And the light went out.

She rushed downstairs and found Mark sitting in the dark.

Frozen. Silent. Shaking.

He wouldn't talk for two days.

When he finally spoke, his voice cracked:

There’s a child in the corner. She asked me to play hide and seek. And when I turned, she was crawling on the ceiling.

They tried to leave the house the next morning.

But their car wouldn’t start.

The road out of Riverbend was blocked by fog.

The neighbors? Gone. No response. No cars. Just dead silence.

🕯️ Chapter 5: The Truth About Riverbend

Lily dug deeper.

She found an old news article in the town’s archive library:

9-Year-Old Evelyn Blackridge Drowns in Bathtub — No Water Found.

She also found something else —

A case file never published.

Evelyn had claimed her mother tried to drown her.

But before Child Services could investigate, Evelyn vanished.

A week later, Margaret Blackridge — the mother — was found hanging in the attic.

Nails hammered around her body. Like a coffin.

No signs of intrusion.

And her last note?

She keeps crying. I just wanted silence.

🧨 Chapter 6: Mark’s Last Night

That night, Mark stood in front of the attic.

I heard her, he said. “She’s in pain. We need to open it.”

Lily begged him not to.

He smiled and whispered, It’s not your voice I’m listening to anymore.

He walked inside.

The door slammed shut.

Inside, Lily heard scratching. Screaming.

Then silence.

When the door finally creaked open hours later, the attic was empty — except for a red ribbon, a child’s music box, and the words on the wall:

He belongs to me now.

Mark was never seen again.

🔚 Chapter 7: The Ending That Never Ends

Lily left Riverbend the next morning, alone.

But even now, years later, every 3:17 AM, wherever she is — the lights flicker. The mirrors fog. And in one hotel, she saw it again.

A child’s footprint on the ceiling.

A whisper behind the curtain:

Have you seen my mother?

🩸 THE END

Or maybe… it never really ends.

Some houses don't haunt you.

They keep you.