The fog hung like a thick blanket over the road leading to the
old house. Clara drove carefully, her white hands on the
steering wheel, and every curve in the road seemed to make
the world shrink, the trees lean toward her as if wanting to
whisper secrets. The air smelled of damp earth, decaying
leaves, and something else, something she couldn't quite put
her finger on, but it sent shivers down her spine.
Beside her, the car radio emitted a heavy silence, broken only
by the faint roar of the engine. Clara sighed and remembered
the words of Marta, the neighbor who had warned her weeks
before:
"Don't look at her at night... don't let yourself hear her," she had
said in a trembling voice, as if a recent memory still haunted
her.
Clara hadn't quite understood what Marta meant, and had
thought it was just superstition. But now, as the road
disappeared into the fog, she felt a knot of unease in her
stomach. The road became narrower, more winding, and every
tree seemed to cast a shadow that moved independently.
Finally, the silhouette of the house appeared through the mist.
It was old, imposing, and neglected, with dust-covered windows
and a porch that creaked in the wind. The dark facade seemed
to watch her, and a shiver ran down her spine.
Translated from Spanish to English - www.onlinedoctranslator.comClara parked the car carefully, noticing how the silence around
her seemed to intensify, as if nature itself were holding its
breath. Each step toward the front door seemed to resonate
louder than usual, amplified by the walls of the house that
seemed to absorb and reflect the sound.
She took a deep breath and reached up to touch the doorknob.
An intense chill immediately coursed through her, a chill that
didn't belong to winter but to something ancient, something that
existed before she was born and was now awake. She
withdrew her hand and placed it over her heart, feeling her
heartbeat quicken.
"Come on, Clara," she whispered to herself. "There's no going
back."
She pushed open the door carefully. The wood creaked a long,
deep groan, a sound that echoed throughout the house and
seemed to draw a sigh from the very walls. As she stepped
inside, a heavy, damp air enveloped her, heavy with dust,
moisture, and something else—something she couldn't quite
place. It was an old, metallic smell that made her wrinkle her
nose.
The light from her flashlight barely illuminated the hallway.
Furniture draped in white sheets resembled shadows of
sleeping figures, and antique paintings hung crooked, their
painted eyes staring intently at her. Clara swallowed and took a
step forward, noticing how the air seemed to grow thicker with
each movement.
The sound of a creak made her stop. She turned slowly, but
saw nothing. Only shadows writhing in the corners and a
silence that now seemed to weigh tons.She decided to head for the staircase that led to the second
floor. Each step creaked under her weight, and for a moment,
the sound seemed like a muffled scream piercing the air. She
took a deep breath, remembering Marta's warning again: "Don't
look at her at night... don't let yourself hear her." Now she
understood that it wasn't superstition. There was something in
that house she could see, feel, and hear.
Upon reaching the first floor, the moonlight filtering through the
windows illuminated dust particles that danced like tiny flames.
Each shadow lengthened until it blended into the darkness of
the corners, making it impossible to distinguish where reality
ended and terror began.
Suddenly, a whisper brushed against his ear, soft and icy:
—Clara…
She took a step back, her heart pounding, and tried to convince
herself it was her imagination. But it wasn't. The feeling of being
watched, of something invisible being there, was too intense.
Every muscle in her body tensed.
The thud of something falling from the floor above made her
jump. Adrenaline coursed through her body, and her eyes
searched for the source of the sound. Nothing visible was
moving, but she knew she wasn't alone. Fear gripped her, and
yet, an uncontrollable curiosity compelled her to investigate.
She descended carefully into the basement, each step echoing
like a drum, marking her descent into the unknown. The
flashlight illuminated only fragments of the floor, revealing
damp patches, cobwebs hanging like black curtains, and
shadows that seemed to vibrate with a life of their own.Upon reaching the bottom, the temperature dropped sharply.
He tried to turn on the basement light, but the switches didn't
respond. The darkness was complete, broken only by the beam
of his flashlight. It was then that he saw the first clear markings:
words and symbols etched into the wall, as if someone had
scratched warning messages with their fingernails.
He approached carefully and read, holding his breath:
"Don't come back… they're listening."
Terror gripped her. The flashlight trembled in her hands, and
her heart pounded. But before she could react, another loud
bang echoed from the stairs. She turned slowly and saw a
shadow impossible to describe. It wasn't human, at least not
entirely. Indistinct, vast, as if darkness itself had taken shape.
"Who...?" he whispered, but his voice broke off.
An icy chill enveloped her, and she felt a presence behind her,
breathing on her neck. On impulse, she took a step back,
tripping over an old trunk. She fell to the ground, hitting her
shoulder, but there was no time to lament: the shadow
advanced slowly, as if measuring her every move.
With a stifled scream, she ran for the stairs, climbing quickly as
the feeling of being pursued consumed her. Reaching the first
floor, leaning against the wall, she tried to catch her breath. But
a new whisper made her tremble:
—Clara… come back…
It was a voice that didn't belong to any human. Melancholy,
desperate, captivating. She covered her ears, but the sound
pierced her mind, striking directly into her thoughts.She knew she couldn't escape. The house had begun to trap
her, to mark her. And as the night wore on, she understood
something she hadn't been able to accept until then: the house
wasn't just a building. It was alive. And now she was part of its
dark secret.
Carefully, she went up to her room and closed the door, trying
to put distance between herself and the invisible presence.
Leaning against the cold wood, tears began to stream down her
cheeks. She knew she wasn't alone, that something was
watching her, and that this first night had been nothing more
than a glimpse of what was to come.
The house whispered, and Clara had heard it.