The House That Knew Too Much
It started with a single knock.
Not loud. Not urgent. But intentional.
Ethan froze in the middle of his kitchen, the steam from his coffee curling in the air. It was nearly midnight. Nobody ever came here. Nobody was supposed to know where he lived.
The knock came again. Three times.
He set the mug down slowly, heart pounding. The security lights outside flickered once—twice—before steadying again. He took a deep breath and walked toward the door, his bare feet silent against the wooden floor.
He hesitated before pulling it open.
No one was there.
Just the wind stirring the leaves, the soft hum of night insects, and the dim glow of the streetlamp in the distance.
But then—
A whisper. From inside the house.
“You shouldn’t have come back, Ethan.”
His breath hitched. The voice wasn’t deep. It wasn’t menacing.
It was familiar.
Too familiar.
His blood ran cold as he turned slowly—because the voice had come from the bedroom he had kept locked for two years.
And he was no longer alone.
