The car engine fell silent, and the forest instantly reclaimed the stillness.
Emma stepped out slowly, leaning on the car roof as she looked around. The silhouette of the house, hidden deep in the woods, rose like a forgotten memory—one that should've stayed buried.
Its porch sagged under its own weight, paint flaking, windows staring blank and black. Weak sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting long shadows that crawled as if watching them.
"Classic horror movie vibe," Jessica said with a half-smile, though Emma caught the tension in her voice.
Greta shrugged defiantly. "Come on. It's just an old house. Don't freak out."
Nóra stood silently, the key clenched in her hand. Shadows played across her face, and for a moment, Emma thought she saw hesitation—like Nóra didn't want to go in.
"Let's go," Emma said softly, unsure if she was encouraging the others or herself.
Nóra stepped to the door, hand trembling as she slid the key into the rusted lock. The door gave way with a creak, and a burst of stale, cold air swept over them.
Emma entered first.
The dark, musty hallway seemed to swallow the light. Floorboards groaned beneath her feet, faded paintings hung on the walls—faces blurred by time. And somewhere deep within the house, beyond the walls… something moved.
Emma froze, her heart pounding.
The house was waiting for them.
The candle flame flickered suddenly.
Something had passed across the far side of the room—too fast to truly see.
Jessica snapped her head up.
"Did you see that?"
"What?" Greta asked.
Jessica hesitated.
"Nothing. Just a shadow, maybe."
But Emma knew it hadn't been just a shadow.
Later that night, when midnight came, each of them retreated to their rooms. The house fell silent again—but it wasn't a peaceful silence.
It was suffocating.
Emma sat at the edge of her bed, watching the candlelight dance on the walls.
Then she heard it.
Soft footsteps in the hallway—bare feet against wood.
She froze.
The steps stopped at her door.
The handle pressed down slowly…
It didn't open. It bounced back, as if something unseen had blocked it.
Emma held her breath.
In the stillness, she heard it: a sigh.
Not the wind. Not the night.
A real, low, painful sigh.
As if the house itself were grieving.
Emma didn't sleep that night.
The candle burned out, and darkness wrapped around her.
Somewhere out in the heart of the forest, something stirred.
And Emma was certain—this was only the beginning.