The Last Visit

The old Victorian house sat at the edge of a forgotten road, veiled in shadows cast by towering oaks that swayed under a dim, cloudy sky. Elena had inherited it from her grandmother, a woman she barely remembered but who, according to her family, adored her. Tonight, though, it felt less like an inheritance and more like an unwelcome reminder of a life Elena wanted to forget.

The storm outside had just started, raindrops tapping against the windows as she fumbled with the keys to unlock the heavy, timeworn front door. The instant she stepped inside, a chill crept over her skin. The air inside was colder than she expected, thick with the scent of dust and lavender, her grandmother’s favorite fragrance.

A strange feeling settled over her as she moved through the hallway. It was as though the walls themselves were watching, leaning in to hear her every move. She shook it off as nerves, whispering to herself, “It’s just an old house. Nothing to be afraid of.”

But as she ascended the stairs, the old floorboards groaning underfoot, Elena noticed something odd: every room she passed seemed slightly different than she remembered from her childhood. The wallpaper in the hallway appeared to have faces, twisted and forlorn, hidden within the faded patterns. She blinked, and they vanished, leaving her unsure if they were ever there at all.

Finally, she reached the bedroom. The door creaked open to reveal a room she hadn’t entered in years. The furniture lay shrouded in pale, dust-covered sheets, and in the corner sat her grandmother’s old rocking chair, its dark wood gleaming in the dim light.

As she stepped into the room, the chair rocked. Just a soft, slow movement, like someone had just stood up from it. Elena froze, her breath catching. The room was silent, save for the faint ticking of a clock that she couldn't locate. Her hand trembled as she flicked on the light, but the overhead bulb only gave off a faint glow, casting more shadows than it dispelled.

“Hello, Elena.”

The voice was unmistakably her grandmother’s, warm but frail, tinged with an unsettling familiarity that made her skin prickle. She spun around, expecting to see someone, anyone—but the room was empty. She took a shaky step back, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Gr-Grandma?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

The chair rocked again, the soft creak echoing in the silence. Shadows shifted in the corners of the room, forming shapes she could almost recognize but were gone too fast to make sense of.

“I knew you’d come back to me,” the voice said, fainter this time, almost as if it were coming from somewhere deep within the walls.

The air grew heavier, pressing against her chest as a chilling realization washed over her: she wasn’t alone. There was something here—something beyond her understanding, beyond life itself. The shadows around her coalesced, drawing closer, and she could almost make out faces within them: her grandmother’s, twisted and pale, but others too, faces she didn’t recognize, faces she didn’t want to recognize.

“I waited so long, Elena,” the voice whispered again, but now it sounded different—closer, darker, tinged with something otherworldly. Her grandmother’s rocking chair stopped, its last creak fading into a dreadful silence.

Elena felt a presence behind her, a cold hand grazing her shoulder. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. The lights flickered, and in the flash, she caught a glimpse of her grandmother’s reflection in the dusty old mirror beside her. But it wasn’t the gentle woman she remembered. This face was hollow, with dark, empty eyes and a smile that was all teeth, sharp and gleaming.

In the mirror, her grandmother raised a hand and waved, the movements jerky and unnatural, like a puppet’s. Elena stumbled back, her knees buckling as she hit the floor. The shadowed figures loomed around her, murmuring, whispering words she couldn’t understand, voices from beyond the grave.

Her vision blurred as the room seemed to stretch and spin, the shadows melting together, consuming the walls, the furniture, and finally, her grandmother’s rocking chair.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the room fell silent. The lights returned, the shadows retreated, and the rocking chair stood still.

But Elena wasn’t alone.

She could feel something deep within her, a lingering presence that clung to her skin, a voice that whispered in her mind. It was her grandmother—or perhaps, whatever was left of her.

As she stumbled out of the house, feeling the chill of that unseen hand still on her shoulder, she realized she’d never truly leave her grandmother behind.

She had, after all, made her one final promise—to stay, forever.

Thank you for joining The Last Visit. If you felt the chill of something sinister, please hit like and share this tale with friends who might brave the shadows. Remember, some places—and people—leave marks that last forever.