Someone Is Walking Around In My House

The water hit my shoulders like a warm blanket, washing away the stress of a long, lonely evening. I was home alone—something I had never minded before. The house was quiet, calm, and perfectly still. The kind of stillness that lets your mind relax… until it doesn’t.

Halfway through my shower, I heard it—

a slow, deliberate creak.

At first, I froze. The pipes? The flooring? Maybe the wind pushing against the old wooden frame of the house.

But then came footsteps.

Soft. Slow.

One…

two…

three…

My breath caught. My hands went numb. I turned off the shower, and the sudden silence made the footsteps clearer, louder, closer.

Someone was inside.

My heart pounded so loud it drowned out every thought. I listened again, praying it was my imagination. But then the footsteps shifted direction—walking toward the hallway that led to the bathroom.

I reached for the towel with shaking hands and wrapped it around myself, every muscle stiff with fear. The small droplets of water sliding off my hair felt like ice. I tiptoed toward the bathroom door and pressed my ear against it.

Nothing.

Just silence.

A dangerous silence.

I slowly turned the lock on the door. It clicked louder than I wanted. And then—

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three knocks.

On my bathroom door.

Knuckles dragging slowly… deliberately.

I stumbled backward, my breath hitching. I wanted to scream, but my voice was trapped, buried under a mountain of fear.

The knocks turned into scratching, a slow drag of fingernails across the wooden surface. Whoever was out there wasn’t in a hurry. They wanted me to know they were there.

I reached for my phone—

But it wasn’t there.

I had left it charging in my bedroom.

Panic surged through me like fire.

“Who’s there?” I whispered, instantly regretting it.

Silence.

Then a voice… a whisper… right next to the door:

“I know you’re in there.”

My blood ran cold.

I backed into the shower, clutching the metal rod like a weapon. Every instinct screamed at me to run, hide, escape—but I was trapped in a tiled box with only one way out.

The shadow moved beneath the door.

Slow.

Gliding like something not entirely human.

The footsteps began again, walking away this time… deeper into the house.

This was my chance.

I opened the door a crack, just enough to slip out. The hallway was dim, lit only by the distant glow of the nightlight. Water dripped from my skin onto the wooden floor, marking a trail behind me.

I needed my phone. I needed to call someone.

My bedroom was only two doors away.

I tiptoed forward, every step a prayer.

Then—

From the darkness behind the living room—

came the unmistakable sound of breathing.

Heavy. Slow. Wet breathing.

Not mine.

It grew louder, as if whatever it was had just realized I had left the bathroom.

I ran.

My bare feet slapped the floor as I sprinted into my bedroom and slammed the door. I locked it, grabbed my phone from the charger, and dialed emergency services with trembling hands.

Before the call connected, something hit the door.

THUD.

Then again.

THUD.

The wood cracked.

I pressed my back to the dresser, pushing it with all my strength to barricade the door. The operator answered, and I barely managed to explain what was happening.

The pounding grew violent, shaking the hinges.

Suddenly, it stopped.

Silence fell again—dangerous, suffocating silence.

The police sirens screamed in the distance like a lifeline.

And then, just as the sirens reached the house,

I heard the final sound—

A single whisper, right outside my door,

soft but clear:

“Next time… don’t shower alone.”

The door handle slowly turned once…

then let go.

By the time the police broke in,

the house was empty.

No footprints.

No forced entry.

No intruder.

But I know what I heard.

Someone was walking around in my house that night.

And they knew I was home.