I recently moved to a small town, a peaceful village near the mountains. For security reasons (and I believe you’ll understand why later), I prefer not to disclose the location, but it’s in Europe. I live in a two-story wooden townhouse. It has everything I’ve always wanted: a fireplace, a not-so-uncomfortable cold, and a breathtaking view of nature. Our town is nestled at the foot of a small rocky mountain, and in the valley, we have a dense forest. With this scenery, it’s hard to believe that anything could disturb your peace, but apparently, it did.
Since I arrived, something has always intrigued me: an abandoned house at the end of the street. It was an imposing building, with heavy windows and an air of desolation that hung over it like a fog. I remember when I passed by there the first time. The air seemed colder than usual, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I know this sounds like something out of a horror movie, but there was definitely something wrong with that house, it had “bad vibes,” so to speak. I avoided passing by there whenever possible, especially at night. I don’t know if it was the scarce lighting or the unconscious fear of the dark, but it seemed even stranger when the sun wasn’t in the sky, as if it had “awakened,” and I felt watched, as if eyes inside were following me as I passed by. It took about two weeks for me to decide to do something, and there was a reason for it.
Gradually, I began to realize that there was something real there. If I went to bed a little later (around 11 to midnight), as I lay on my pillow and my ears gradually adjusted to the stillness and silence, I could hear in the distance, a sound, something like music perhaps, but very muffled, in the distance. It didn’t take long for me to decide to investigate where the noise was coming from. One weekend, from Friday to Saturday, I decided to stay awake, watching through the curtains of my room, trying to see any movement. Nothing. The streets were deserted. But I saw a slight movement in that house at the end of the street. Gradually, the noise became clearer, and it was obvious where it was coming from. I also began to notice that the lights inside would come on around that time, flickering and dim, like candles.
As the weeks went by, my curiosity only grew. I knew I should avoid that house, that it was better to keep my distance and mind my own business, but something inside me was deeply intrigued. Who could be inside? What were they doing there? I tried, as I got to know the neighbors, to talk to them about it, but any mention was fruitless, and they quickly changed the subject to how the weather was or something similar. They seemed to be hiding something indeed, and never mentioned it directly until in a conversation with Mrs. Gertrude, my neighbor and one of the oldest residents of the place, she turned to me, grabbed my wrist tightly, a force that I didn’t think an 80-year-old lady could have, and said:
“You shouldn’t get involved with that house, young man. No one should. Stop asking around, they’re starting to suspect your interest.”
After that, she let go of me, returning to normal and bidding farewell. And I know it’s foolish of me, reckless after that, but I decided I needed to find out more. I carefully planned my foray. I waited until today, a particularly dark night, when the moon is hidden by its own shadow, providing me with the perfect cover to move unnoticed. With my heart pounding in my chest, I quietly descended the stairs and walked out the front door. The cold night air enveloped my body, but it wasn’t just the cold that made me tremble. A mixture of fear and excitement pulsed through my veins as I approached the eerie house.
Every step I took seemed to echo in the quiet of the night. The shadows of the few yellow streetlights danced around me, creating sinister illusions that made me question my own sanity. I considered turning back home about 3 or 4 times while on the way, but I couldn’t go back. I reached the house and hesitated for a moment. What would I find inside? What was causing those strange noises and lights? I decided to peek through the dusty window at the back, pressing my face against the cold glass. My breathing was quick and shallow, and I struggled to keep my nerves under control. Inside the house, shadows danced in the dim light of the candles, creating a surreal and disturbing atmosphere. A soft, but distorted, music floated through the air, filling me with a sense of discomfort.
I saw some people moving slowly inside, the candlelight not enough to illuminate them clearly. Not that proper lighting would help identify anything. I noticed that their faces looked strange and, when my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, I realized they were wearing masks. Their formal attire, with suits and dresses, matched the golden adornments covering their faces.
As I watched, I felt a thread of fear run down my spine. Those people seemed to move slowly and erratically. The sound of the music was hypnotic, but also disturbing, as if it were coming from a broken music box. There was a continuous noise, like from a phonograph, but I didn’t see the machine anywhere. The music now reached a climax with its violins and tambourines, now in sync with my pounding heart, hammering in my chest as I tried to process what I was seeing. Who were those people? They could be anyone, any neighbor, maybe someone I had mentioned the house to before… that thought filled me with agony.
My instinct told me to flee as fast as possible, but my curiosity overcame fear. I needed to know more. Careful not to make any noise, I continued to observe, hoping for any clue that could help me understand what was happening in that eerie house. It was then that I noticed something even more disturbing, which made me choke as I moved away from the glass, my hands trembling. In the center of the room, I saw a tall, slender figure, dressed in a dark cloak that almost blended with the shadows around it. His movements were fluid and calculated, as if conducting a macabre dance, a kind of maestro of the dancers. He wore a golden mask, displaying a grimace.
Terror surged within me as I realized that figure was watching me. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, fixed on me as if he could see me through the shadows, the glass, and flesh, staring into my soul. It was as if my presence there had not only been discovered but expected. A chill ran down my spine, and I knew it was time to get out of there. With quick and silent steps, I moved away from the house and ran back to my townhouse, my heart still pounding uncontrollably.
I arrived home breathless, locking the door behind me and collapsing on the sofa, trying to process what had just happened. As I tried to calm my rapid breathing, my mind spun with the disturbing images and sounds I had witnessed in that sinister house.
A shiver ran down my spine as I realized that those events were beyond my understanding. It wasn’t just a strange party or an unusual social gathering. There was something deeply sinister happening in that house, something that probably had been going on long before I arrived here. As I tried to regain my composure, a sense of paranoia began to creep over me. Did everyone know I was watching them? And most importantly: Were they following me?
I trembled at this last thought, checking if all the doors and windows were securely closed at least 3 times. I tried to sleep, going to bed, but my mind wouldn’t calm down. About 15 minutes ago, however, I heard a crack at my window. I gave a small startle in bed, but suspected it was the glass expanding with the night’s temperature. However, the crack repeated. This time I saw it, a small object, which I suppose was a stone, hitting the surface. With my heart beating harder than ever, I got out of bed and approached the window, feeling overwhelmed by primal instincts. Each step felt heavy and impossible to walk. My hands trembled as I carefully pulled the curtains aside, revealing the darkness outside. And my mind went wild.
Standing there, looking at the window, was the maestro. His eyes shining from beneath the mask, which now displayed a disturbing smile. I know he saw me because after I looked at him, he didn’t throw any more stones, just stood there. I’m terrified now as I type. I keep checking the doors and windows constantly, but he’s still there, motionless. I don’t know what the hell this is, if it’s a bizarre custom, a ritual, or whatever, but I just want it to stop. And as I finish writing here, I realize that the maestro is now, slightly, albeit only a step, closer to my door. I’ve never wanted the sun to rise so much, and I hope I remain intact when it does…