Collection of Horror Stories

The House at the End of the Street

For as long as I could remember, the house at the end of Maple Avenue was shrouded in mystery. Abandoned for years, everyone in the neighborhood knew the story of what had happened to its last occupants.

Back in 2006, a young couple moved into the house, eager to start their new life. One afternoon, the husband was outside, carrying boxes into the house when he rang the doorbell to get his wife's help. She was upstairs at the time and called out, "Be right there!" But as she hurried down, she tripped and fell, tumbling down the staircase. She broke her neck when she hit the front door at the bottom, dying instantly.

The husband, hearing the awful noise, dropped the boxes and rushed to her, but it was too late. He was devastated and never spent another night in the house, leaving behind some of their belongings.

Like any good ghost story, this one had its share of eerie follow-ups. A year later, a delivery driver, mistaking the house for the one next door, rang the doorbell to drop off a package. He heard a faint voice say, "Be right there," followed by a loud thud against the door. The house was dark and quiet, sending chills down his spine. He called out, but when he got no response, he realized he had the wrong house and moved next door. The neighbor, after hearing what happened, turned pale and told the driver that the house had been empty for years.

The story spread, adding to the house's legend. Every Halloween, we'd dare each other to ring the doorbell and stand there for two minutes without bolting. None of us ever made it—until Max moved into the neighborhood.

Max's dad was in the military, and Max was fearless. He was the kind of kid everyone looked up to, always ready for a challenge. That first Halloween in our neighborhood, Max confidently accepted the dare. We all watched nervously from across the street, huddled together in the cool October air.

Max strode up to the house, rang the bell, and waited. Nothing happened. But then, to our shock, he reached for the doorknob and stepped inside.

"Is he nuts?" I whispered, heart pounding.

From where we stood, we could see the faint beam of his flashlight bouncing around the second-floor windows. Max was exploring the house alone, in the dark, and we were too scared to join him. But then, in a burst of adrenaline-fueled bravery, we decided to cross the street and follow.

As soon as we pushed the door open, we saw Max tumbling down the stairs, narrowly missing us as we stood there holding the door.

We rushed to help him up, hearts racing. "What the hell happened, man?"

Max was pale, his voice shaky. "I rang the bell, and someone said 'Come in,' so I did."

"But you fell," one of us said.

Max's eyes darted to the staircase. "Something pushed me. But there was nobody up there. Not a single person."

We stood there, staring up the dark staircase, wondering if the house's secrets were better left alone.