one fateful day i was just enjoying myself. feeling some music and eating some chips. when i drove past a weird looking house. the sign nearby read ”oaks building” what the heck taht now means.
i kept following the house whit my eyes and i can swear i saw someone in the left upstairs window. he waved to em whit a creepy smile. but i pressed the gas pedal to the floor and went away as fast as possible.
I couldnt shake the house on Oak Street from of my mind, when I received a message on my ancient AOL account that day was cryptic and disturbing. The sender’s username was “SecretHouseWatcher,” and the message simply read, “You must visit the house on Oak Street. Go alone.”
I felt a shiver run down my spine as I read those words. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something ominous was at play. Curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself driving to Oak Street later that week.
The house was a decaying relic of the past, an imposing mansion that looked like it hadn’t seen life in decades. Overgrown weeds and vines had claimed the front yard, and the windows were all shattered. I hesitated but finally pushed the creaking front door open.
The interior was like a time capsule from the past, filled with dusty furniture covered in tattered sheets. An eerie silence hung heavy in the air, and the dim light filtering through the cracked windows cast long, unsettling shadows.
I cautiously made my way through the house, unable to shake the feeling that I was being watched. Every creak of the floorboards sent my heart racing. As I ascended a grand staircase, I noticed a room at the end of the hallway.
The door was ajar, and a faint, flickering light seeped through the opening. I approached slowly and peeked inside. The room was filled with old, antique mirrors lining the walls. Their reflections distorted and eerie. It felt like I was trapped in a hall of endless reflections.
The flickering light was coming from a single candle in the center of the room. A handwritten note lay next to it. I picked it up and read, “You have been chosen to witness the truth, to see the other side.”
As I gazed into the mirrors, my reflection began to change. It wasn’t me anymore but a shadowy figure with hollow eyes. Panic gripped me as I stumbled backward, tripping over my own feet.
Suddenly, I found myself in a room that wasn’t in the decrepit mansion. It was a small, windowless space, with cold, damp walls and an overpowering smell of decay. I had no idea how I got there.
My phone buzzed with a notification. I checked it, and to my horror, it was a message from “SecretHouseWatcher” once again: “You’re not alone now.”
The walls of the room seemed to close in on me as I realized that the house on Oak Street was a portal to something sinister. I had been lured there, and now I was trapped in a place where time and space seemed to have no meaning.
I don’t know how much time has passed since I entered that house, but one thing is certain: I am not alone, and I may never escape the house on Oak Street.