I THINK I DID IT

CHAPTER 11

The street was eerily quiet. Too quiet, like the entire world had decided to hold its breath. I shivered, pulling my jacket tighter around me, even though the chill in the air seemed to seep straight through the fabric and into my bones. Something about this place felt wrong. Deeply wrong. I couldn't place it, but every instinct in me screamed that I didn't belong here. But I kept walking.

The houses that lined the street were old—decaying, even. The windows were black and empty, reflecting nothing, revealing nothing. Each house had this vacant, dead look, as if no one had lived there for decades. But it wasn't just their appearance. It was the way they felt. I didn't understand it, but it was like they were... watching me. Like I was being judged from every shadowed window. My footsteps echoed on the cobblestone, unnervingly loud, as if the street itself was amplifying the sound.

I quickened my pace. I needed to get out of here. I didn't know where I was headed, but anywhere was better than this. Yet, despite the fear gnawing at my insides, I felt something pulling me deeper into the street. I didn't want to follow it, but it was as if I had no choice. My legs carried me forward of their own accord, and before I knew it, I was standing in front of a house at the end of the road.

It towered above the others, taller, darker, and far more sinister. The windows were just as black as the others, but a faint light flickered behind the curtains, like someone—or something—was inside. My stomach twisted in knots. I didn't want to go in. Every fiber of my being told me to turn around and run. But I couldn't. My feet stayed planted, as if rooted to the spot. I swallowed, my throat dry, and took a shaky step forward.

The door was ajar, creaking slightly as it swayed in the faint breeze. It was inviting me in. Or was it warning me? I wasn't sure anymore. The weight of the decision pressed down on me, but in the end, it didn't feel like I had a choice. My hand reached out before I could stop myself, pushing the door open.

The moment I stepped inside, the air shifted. It was heavier in here, suffocating, like I had walked into a different world. The dim light barely illuminated the room, casting long, distorted shadows over the cracked walls and rotting furniture. The smell hit me next—damp and stale, mixed with something else. Something faintly metallic. My pulse quickened as I tried to ignore the scent, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had happened in this place.

I didn't want to move, but my body kept going, drawn deeper into the house by an unseen force. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet, each step louder than the last, like the house was protesting my presence. My hands grazed the walls as I walked, and they felt rough, like they had been clawed at. My fingertips brushed over deep grooves in the wood, and I pulled my hand back quickly, my skin crawling.

The hallway stretched out impossibly long in front of me, much longer than it should have been. It twisted and turned in ways that didn't make sense. But I kept going. Something was at the end of this hallway. I had to see what it was. The walls seemed to close in around me, the air growing thicker with each step. I could hear my own breathing now—shallow, rapid—and the pounding of my heart in my ears.

Then I heard it—a faint sound, like someone whispering just out of reach. I stopped dead in my tracks, straining to listen. The whisper was soft, too soft to make out the words, but it was there. And it was close. I turned around quickly, expecting to see someone behind me, but the hallway was empty. My breath caught in my throat. There was no one here. No one but me.

I forced myself to keep moving, my legs trembling with every step. The whisper grew louder, almost insistent now, like it was trying to tell me something. My heart raced. I couldn't understand it, but I felt the weight of its presence bearing down on me. It was coming from the end of the hall.