The evening had a calm stillness as I sat in my room, bathed in the pale glow of my computer screen. The dense forest behind my house seemed to breathe with a life of its own, every rustle and creak amplified in the silence. I had always found the woods unsettling, especially at night, but tonight felt different.

 

A tapping noise at my window shattered the peace. I turned sharply, my heart pounding in my chest. There, against the darkness, a pale, distorted face pressed against the glass. Its eyes were hollow, black voids that seemed to swallow the light.

 

Frozen in terror, I couldn’t move. The figure outside lifted a skeletal finger to its lips, signaling for silence. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished into the night.

 

I scrambled for my phone, dialing 911 with trembling hands. As the operator’s voice crackled through the speaker, I could only manage to whisper, “There’s someone watching me.”

It was supposed to be a simple weekend getaway at an old cabin in the woods, just me and a few friends. We arrived in high spirits, laughing and joking as we unloaded our gear. The cabin was rustic but cosy, a perfect escape from our lives.

 

That first night, as we gathered around the fireplace, we heard it, a faint knocking at the door. We exchanged puzzled glances; no one was expected. Jake, the brave one, opened the door, but there was no one there. Just the dark, empty forest.

 

We shrugged it off as an animal or the wind, but the knocking returned, louder this time. I felt a chill run down my spine. “Maybe we should check around the cabin,” I suggested, trying to keep my voice steady.

 

As we stepped outside with our flashlights, the beams cut through the darkness, revealing nothing but trees and shadows. But then we saw them, footprints leading up to the door and then disappearing into the woods. Footprints that hadn’t been there before.

Moving into the old house on Maple Street was supposed to be a fresh start for my family. The neighbours were friendly, the garden was spacious, and the house itself had a nice charm. But from the first night, I felt it, a presence that seemed to lurk in the corners of every room.

 

The whispers started soon after. At first, I thought it was just the house settling, but then I began to hear distinct voices, soft, coming from the shadows. They seemed to be calling my name, begging for attention.

 

One evening, I decided to follow the whispers, hoping to find a logical explanation. They led me to the basement, a place I had always avoided. With a deep breath, I descended the creaky stairs, my flashlight flickering.

 

In the dim light, I saw them, figures, barely visible, their forms shifting and wavering. They moved closer, their whispers growing louder, more frantic. I stumbled back, desperate to escape, but the door slammed shut, trapping me with the shadows.

 

“Why won’t you leave us alone?” I screamed, but the only response was the sound of chilling whispers, echoing through the darkness.