The old house on Ashwood Lane had been empty for nearly thirty years. The paint had peeled away like old skin, and the wooden porch groaned with every breath of wind. No one in town wanted to talk about the house, but everyone knew the stories.
They said the walls could see.
Rohan didn't believe in ghost stories. He was a freelance writer looking for inspiration, and when he heard about the abandoned house, he thought it would be the perfect place to stay for a few days and write a horror novel. What better way to write horror than to live inside it?
The moment he pushed open the front door, the house greeted him with a long, hollow creak.
Dust floated through the air like tiny ghosts. The furniture was covered with white sheets, and the smell of old wood and damp plaster filled the rooms. The place felt… wrong somehow, but Rohan shrugged it off.
"Perfect," he said to himself. "This place is going to make a great story."
He set up his laptop in the living room and began typing.
But as the evening fell and darkness wrapped around the house, strange things began to happen.
At first, it was just small sounds.
Soft scratching.
Faint tapping.
Like something moving inside the walls.
Rohan paused his typing and listened.
The scratching stopped.
"Probably rats," he muttered.
He went back to writing.
Hours passed. The only light in the room came from his laptop screen and a flickering lamp. Outside, the wind howled through the trees.
Then he heard it again.
Scratch… scratch… scratch.
This time it was closer.
Rohan stood up and walked toward the wall beside the staircase. The sound seemed to be coming from inside it.
"Hello?" he called out jokingly.
Silence.
He leaned closer.
And that's when he saw it.
A small crack in the wallpaper.
Inside the crack…
Something moved.
Rohan frowned and peeled the wallpaper back.
Behind it was not wood. Not insulation.
But an eye.
A real human eye.
It blinked.
Rohan screamed and stumbled backward, crashing into a chair.
"No… no… that's impossible," he whispered.
The eye stared at him silently from inside the wall.
Then another crack appeared nearby.
Another eye opened.
Then another.
And another.
Soon the wall was filled with eyes—dozens of them, blinking, watching, staring directly at him.
Rohan's heart pounded violently.
"What are you?!" he shouted.
The eyes blinked slowly.
And then…
They smiled.
Not with mouths.
But somehow Rohan felt it—like a horrible silent laughter echoing through the walls.
Suddenly the scratching began again.
All around the house.
Inside every wall.
Inside the ceiling.
Inside the floor.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Rohan grabbed his bag and ran for the door.
But the door slammed shut before he could reach it.
The lights flickered violently.
The eyes followed him wherever he moved.
Watching.
Always watching.
"LET ME OUT!" he screamed, pulling at the door.
Behind him, the scratching grew louder.
The wallpaper began to bulge.
Then tear.
From inside the walls, pale hands began pushing outward, stretching through the plaster like it was thin paper.
Dozens of hands.
Reaching.
Grabbing.
Rohan backed away slowly.
"What do you want from me?" he cried.
And for the first time, a voice answered.
It came from everywhere.
From the walls.
From the floor.
From inside the house itself.
A whisper.
"We were lonely."
The hands burst through the walls.
Cold fingers grabbed his arms.
His legs.
His shoulders.
Rohan fought and screamed, but there were too many.
The eyes blinked excitedly as the hands dragged him toward the wall.
"No! NO!" he screamed.
The plaster opened like a mouth.
And pulled him inside.
The house became silent again.
Days later, a young couple came to see the old property. They had heard it was cheap and were thinking of buying it.
As they walked through the dusty living room, the woman frowned.
"Did you hear something?" she asked.
Her husband shrugged. "Probably rats."
From inside the wall came a faint scratching sound.
Scratch… scratch… scratch…
The woman stepped closer.
There was a small crack in the wallpaper.
She leaned in.
And inside the crack…
An eye blinked.
It was Rohan's.
And now he was watching too.