The Night Nobody Died — But Everyone Screamed

At the very end of a forgotten, winding road — beneath the crooked, skeleton-like arms of black oak trees — stood a lonely house. Its roof sagged like it had a secret, and the windows reflected nothing but the empty, cold .

Inside that eerie snighttructure lived Ellen, a soft-spoken, tea-loving woman who found more joy in dusty books than in people. She preferred the company of her cat, Poet, and the reliable silence of isolation.

On one particularly bitter winter night, Ellen curled up in her favorite armchair beside the fireplace. Steam rose from her teacup. Her book lay open in her lap, but her eyes were growing heavy. Sleep was winning.

Then the phone rang.

The sound sliced through the silence like a scream. Startled, Ellen reached for the old landline — a relic from the past, much like her home.

The screen showed an unfamiliar number.

“H-Hello?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

A deep, cold voice replied:

> “I’m going to kill you.”



Ellen blinked. “Excuse me?”

Silence.

She frowned and immediately called the police. Within moments, an officer answered.

“Ma’am,” he said. “We traced the number. The call… it’s coming from inside your house.”

Ellen gasped. “That can’t be!”

Then the first voice returned — same tone, same menace:

> “Oh, and by the way? I’m not the police. Still me. Still gonna kill you.”




---

Meet Douglas: The Confused Killer

Apparently, the killer — who called himself Douglas — had never actually hung up. He’d made a fake click sound with his mouth to sound dramatic.

> “Click. Like that,” he said proudly.
“Wow, that’s pretty realistic,” Ellen replied.



And somehow… instead of murder, a conversation started.

Douglas admitted he was hiding somewhere in the house. He complimented Ellen’s hair. He described her outfit — a floral blouse and soft gray skirt — with creepy precision.

But then he went quiet again.

> “Wait… what’s that near your couch?” he whispered.
“A ghost?” Ellen said, heart thumping.



> “Looks like a little boy. Holding… a kite?”




---

Enter the Ghost Boy: Just Wants to Play

Sure enough, out from the shadows drifted a pale, glowing figure. A child. He hovered a few inches above the floor, his wide eyes unblinking.

> “Play with meeeee,” the ghost moaned softly.



Ellen put Douglas on speakerphone.

> “Sorry, we don’t want to play with you!” Douglas yelled from wherever he was.



The ghost pouted like a scolded toddler.

> “Playing is fun,” he muttered.



Then the ghost looked directly at the phone and asked:

> “You’re scared of a dead kid with a kite? That’s sad.”



Douglas muttered, “I mean, kinda.”

Ellen sighed. “This night is insane.”


---

And Then Came the Drifter

The doorbell rang.

Ellen opened it (because clearly, boundaries were broken tonight). Standing outside was a hulking man with wild eyes and a bloody machete.

> “Car broke down. Can I charge my phone?” he asked politely.



She blinked. “No.”

He barged in anyway.

So now, in Ellen’s living room, we had:

Douglas (hidden somewhere)

Ellen (regretting her life choices)

A ghost boy with a kite

A blood-covered machete guy


They all began to argue like housemates on a cursed reality show.

> “He’s in the closet!” the ghost boy shouted.



> “You’re a killer too!” Ellen accused Douglas.



> “Well… I never said I wasn’t,” Douglas admitted.



> “Nobody ever plays with me!” the ghost cried, floating in angry circles.




---

The Box on the Porch

Ding-dong.

Again.

Another ring. This time, no person. Just a box.

Ellen opened it. Inside: a clown doll, dirty and cracked, with a grin that could ruin childhoods.

> “Put it back,” the drifter begged, backing away.



Ellen noticed a pull string on the clown’s back.

> “I’m pulling it,” she said.



> “Don’t—”



Too late.

The clown doll sang in a broken, cheerful voice:

> 🎵 Welcome to my circus,
My circus of fun.
There’s nowhere to hide,
There’s nowhere to run.
I’m going to kill you all, basically. 🎵



They all screamed at once.


---

Lights Out. Chaos In.

The lights flickered. Then, total darkness.

> “Who turned off the lights?” someone yelled.



> “It was the clown!” said Douglas.



> “We’re all gonna die!” the drifter cried.



But when the lights came back… Ellen was just poking her own eye.

> “My contact lens slipped,” she said calmly.



Everyone recoiled in disgust.

> “She’s touching her eyeball!” Douglas shouted.



The ghost boy shook his head. > “I’m out,” he said, and faded through the wall.

> “I hate this house,” the drifter muttered, dropped his machete, and walked out the door.



Douglas finally hung up the phone — for real this time.


---

Back to Normal (Sort of)

Ellen stood alone again.

The house was quiet. The fire still crackled softly. No blood. No bodies. Just an uneaten cookie and some leftover weirdness in the air.

She picked up her book.

Sipped her now-lukewarm tea.

And said aloud to no one in particular:

> “Next time, I’m unplugging the phone.”




---

Moral of the Story:

Don’t answer unknown calls after midnight.
Don’t open your door to strangers with machetes.
And never — ever — pull the string on a creepy clown doll.
But most importantly…

Sometimes, horror stories don’t need death — just an awkward cast of characters and a very, very bad night.