pages of twist

04 : the house

The House
[ horror ]

There’s an old house near you. What would you do?

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There is an old house.

It is near where I live, an old house that looks as if it could collapse at any moment. It leans precariously to one side, as though exhausted by the weight of time. The house is made of weathered wood, except for the porch, which is built from cemented bricks, now cracked and uneven. The house is so old that its walls have begun to splinter, revealing small holes that offer a glimpse into the shadowy interior.

The house stands just behind mine, only a few steps away from my bathroom. In my bathroom, there's a small window, perfectly positioned—not too high that I can't see out, but not so low that anyone passing by could see in. Whenever I take a shower, facing that window, my eyes are drawn to the roof of the old house. The roof is broken, with a gaping hole that exposes a dark attic.

I first noticed the house a few months after moving in. I was in the shower, massaging shampoo into my scalp as thick foam slid down my shoulders, the scent of flowers filling the air. My gaze wandered, and I caught sight of the roof through the window. I hadn't meant to look; it was just something to occupy my thoughts.

"I wonder if anyone lives there," I murmured to myself, not really expecting an answer. The thought of a homeless person seeking shelter crossed my mind—a fleeting image of someone huddled in the cold. Just as the words left my lips, something dark moved in the attic, a shadow slipping past the torn section of the roof.

I froze, my heart pounding. But before fear could take hold, I reminded myself of the wind—how it sometimes rustled the tattered edges of the roof—and reassured myself that it was nothing more than that. And of course, abandoned houses often attracted those looking for a place to stay.

The second time, I looked on purpose, half-expecting to see something—or someone—lurking in that dark space. Most of the time, nothing happened.

But then, one day, something moved in the attic. The room beneath the roof was pitch black, yet the shadow was somehow even darker, its form distinct against the void, and I could just make out the shape of a head amid the darkness.

I didn’t come into the bathroom to take a shower. Earlier today, the old woman at the cash register in the nearby convenience store shared a story with me. She spoke in hushed tones, her eyes darting nervously, as if the walls themselves were listening.

The house behind mine, she said, was completely abandoned, and its past was so dark that even the beggars would rather freeze to death than spend a single night inside. Her words echoed in my mind as I locked myself in the bathroom, staring out the small window at the decaying structure.

A shadow shifted within the house, but as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. I blew raspberries at it, trying to shake off the unease. "Looks like the ghost is shy," I muttered, "It doesn’t like being watched." I turned to leave, but then a knock echoed through the room.

I froze.

The first knock was so soft, it barely disturbed the air—a hesitant sound, as if the knocker was testing whether they’d been heard. I stood still, my heart pounding, straining to listen. Was it real? Or just a trick of my imagination?

The second knock was louder, more insistent, snapping me out of my daze. "Open the fucking door! Don’t close doors in my house!" The voice was sharp, familiar. My mother. I exhaled in relief.

I reached for the doorknob, my palm sweaty against the cold metal. As I unlocked the door, a thin hand with long, sharp nails crept around the edge of the frame. A sudden, chilling realization hit me—my mother had been dead for years. I was alone in the house.

Memories of the past flooded my mind, the twisted path that had led me here. All I wanted now was for someone to move into the new house across the street, where I had died, so I could finally pass on this curse. But that house was gone, torn down, leaving only this abandoned relic where my mother had once lived, and where she had died—in the middle of a dense forest.

Now, I’m trapped here, shackled to this place by the weight of my sins, burdened by regret. I became what killed me, the curse my mother had left behind. But unlike her, whom I killed with my own hands, I’m damned to this eternal torment.

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A/N:

its okay ig,, this story came to me while I was taking a bath. yes, there is a house behind us that you can see clearly from the bathroom window. it also has a hole near the roof, but i can’t see through it. the house is old, but there is a family living inside—our neighbors lol...