The House That Was Never Empty
Mark never expected to inherit anything, let alone a beautiful, storybook-like cottage in the woods. When the letter arrived, he thought it was a scam.
“You are the last living heir to the Holmwood estate,” it read.
An estate? That was an exaggeration. What he found was a single, small house surrounded by dense forest, isolated from everything. Still, it was beautiful—stone walls, wooden beams, a chimney that had long gone cold. It was the kind of place you’d see in a fairy tale.
But fairy tales always have a dark side.
The Door That Wouldn’t Stay Shut
Mark spent the first night settling in, unpacking what little he had brought. The house had been abandoned for decades, yet it was eerily well-kept. No dust. No cobwebs. Almost as if… someone had been taking care of it.
He shook off the thought and locked the front door before heading to bed.
By morning, the door was open.
Not wide open—just slightly ajar, like someone had peeked inside.
Mark frowned. Maybe he had forgotten to latch it properly. He double-checked the lock and went about his day.
But the next morning, it was open again.
And this time, there were footprints in the dirt outside.
Bare. Human.
The Journal Beneath the Floor
Determined to find answers, Mark began searching the house for clues.
That’s when he found it.
Under a loose floorboard in the bedroom was an old, tattered journal. The name on the inside cover was unreadable, smudged with age.
The first few pages were normal—daily notes about the weather, the garden, small repairs. But then, the tone changed.
“I hear them at night. Soft footsteps. Whispers just outside my door.”
“They never enter. They only wait.”
“Do not let them in.”
The entries stopped abruptly, the last page torn out.
Mark’s blood ran cold.
The Figures in the Forest
That night, he didn’t sleep. He sat by the window, waiting. Watching.
And then he saw them.
Figures.
Standing just beyond the tree line.
Not moving. Not speaking. Just watching the house.
Their silhouettes were barely visible in the moonlight—thin, unmoving, featureless.
Mark gripped the journal tighter, his breath shallow.
The words on the torn-out page whispered in his mind.
“Do not let them in.”
Then—
A knock at the door.
Slow. Gentle.
His heart pounded in his chest.
Another knock.
He backed away from the window, refusing to look at the door.
And then… the doorknob turned.
Rattling softly.
Mark grabbed his keys and ran, never looking back.
The House Remains
He left that night, never returning for his belongings.
The house still stands, hidden in the woods, waiting for the next heir.
And every night, just before dawn, the door opens slightly.
Because the figures in the forest?
They are still waiting.
Would you stay in a house like this? Or leave before the door opens for good? Let me know in the comments! ⬇️
