I was scrolling through Reddit, looking for something to pass the time. It was late at night, and I was alone in my apartment. My roommate had gone out of town for the weekend, leaving me with nothing but my phone and a bag of chips.
As I scrolled through the various subreddits, something caught my eye. It was a post on r/creepypasta, titled “The House on the Hill.” The post was written by someone claiming to have lived in a haunted house, and it had over 1,000 upvotes.
I clicked on the post and started reading. The story was chilling, filled with descriptions of strange noises, ghostly apparitions, and unexplainable events. As I read on, I felt a sense of unease creep over me. The more I read, the more convinced I became that the story was true.
Suddenly, I heard a noise from the hallway. It sounded like a creaking floorboard, and my heart skipped a beat. I paused, listening intently, but the noise didn’t come again. I tried to tell myself that it was just the old building settling, but the fear wouldn’t go away.
I continued reading the post, my eyes glued to the screen. The author described a strange room at the top of the house, a room that had been sealed off for years. They claimed that strange noises could be heard coming from the room, and that no one who had ever entered it had ever come out.
Just as I reached the end of the post, I heard the noise again. This time, it was louder, and it sounded like it was coming from inside my apartment. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. I tried to convince myself that it was just my imagination, that I was being silly, but the fear was overwhelming.
I closed the Reddit app and put my phone down, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I told myself that I was being ridiculous, that there was no such thing as ghosts, and that the noise was probably just the wind.
But then, I heard another noise. This time, it was unmistakable. It was the sound of footsteps, coming closer and closer. I could hear them now, moving down the hallway toward my bedroom.
I sat there, frozen in terror, not knowing what to do. I wanted to scream, to run, to do anything to escape the horror that I knew was coming. But I was paralyzed with fear.
The footsteps stopped outside my door. I could feel them there, waiting, watching. I didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. I just sat there, waiting for the inevitable.
And then, with a sudden burst of courage, I leapt out of bed and flung open the door. But there was no one there. The hallway was empty, silent.
I searched the apartment, checking every room, every closet, every corner. But there was no sign of anyone or anything. I was alone.
I sat down on my bed, my heart still racing, my mind reeling. What had happened? Was it all in my head? Had I imagined everything?
But then, just as I was about to dismiss it all as a hallucination, I heard a faint whisper. It was coming from the other side of the wall, the wall that separated my apartment from the one next door.
At first, I couldn’t make out what it was saying, but then I heard it more clearly. It was a name, a name that I recognized. It was the name of the person who had lived in the apartment next door, the one who had moved out just a few weeks ago.
The whisper grew louder, more insistent. It was as if someone was trying to speak to me,