Emma Connors stood at the gates of the old house, her fingers curled around the rusted iron bars. The air was thick with an unnatural stillness, the kind of quiet that only comes when something unsaid lingers in the atmosphere, heavy and unshakable. The house in front of her loomed like a relic from another time, its weathered façade sagging beneath the weight of years spent ignored. There was a part of her that wanted to turn back, to drive away from the town of Black Hollow and never look back. But there was another part, a deeper part, that called to her, compelling her to step forward.
She had never been here before. Her grandmother, the only family she had left, had never spoken much about the house—only vague warnings, cryptic advice, and hushed conversations that Emma had dismissed as the ramblings of an old woman. "Don't go near the woods after sunset," her grandmother had said, clutching Emma's hand as if afraid the words would slip away into the ether. "And stay far away from that house at the edge of town. It’s cursed, Emma. You don’t belong there."
But now, after her grandmother’s death, the house had come to her—by way of a lawyer’s letter that arrived on a brisk autumn morning, its contents stark and direct. The house was hers now, left to her in the will. No one else in the family had wanted it. No one else in the family had cared.
Emma took a deep breath and pushed the gate open with a reluctant creak. As she walked up the overgrown path, the feeling of being watched pressed down on her like an invisible weight. The trees around the house were dense, their branches twisted in unnatural shapes, and the ground was uneven, as if the earth itself were shifting beneath her feet.
The house seemed to be waiting.
Her footsteps echoed in the stillness as she made her way to the front door, which stood ajar, as if inviting her in. The porch was sagging, the wood warped with age, and the windows were dark—nothing but reflections of the heavy mist that hung low over the land.
Emma hesitated for a moment, the door in front of her a symbol of all the unknowns she had been pushing aside for years. She had told herself she’d come to Black Hollow to tie up loose ends, to sell the property and return to her life. But now, as she stood on the threshold, she wondered if she could really walk away. The house seemed to call to her, like a voice carried on the wind.
With a deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The air inside was thick with dust, as though the house had been abandoned for much longer than it had. The floors creaked under her weight, the old wood groaning in protest. Emma paused in the entryway, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light that filtered through the grime-coated windows. The walls were lined with faded wallpaper, peeling in some places, and the air was cold, far colder than it should have been for an early autumn day.
A staircase spiraled up in front of her, its bannister thick with dust and cobwebs. To the right, the living room was shrouded in darkness, the furniture draped in old sheets, ghostly shapes frozen in time. The house seemed abandoned, forgotten, and yet it still felt... alive, as if something were lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for her to discover it.
Emma shook her head. This was foolish. It was just an old house—nothing more. She had no reason to be afraid. But despite her attempts to push the unease aside, her skin prickled with the sensation of being watched. The silence was thick and heavy, pressing in on her from all sides.
She took a step forward, her footsteps muffled by the worn carpet. The air tasted stale, like years of secrets trapped in the walls. As she moved deeper into the house, the scratching sound began—soft at first, a faint rustling behind the walls. Emma froze, her breath catching in her throat.
It was a small sound, barely perceptible, but it was there. The unmistakable sound of something—or someone—scratching.
Scratch. Scratch.
She turned toward the sound, her eyes darting to the wall where the noise seemed to be coming from. Her heart began to race, and a chill swept over her. For a moment, she considered turning back, walking out of the house and never looking back. But the curiosity gnawed at her, urging her to investigate.
With trembling hands, she stepped toward the wall. She placed her ear against the cold, damp surface, listening intently. The scratching grew louder, more frantic, like nails digging into the wood. Emma pulled back, heart pounding in her chest. What in the world was making that noise?
Her first instinct was to dismiss it—to tell herself it was just an animal, a mouse or a raccoon, perhaps. But deep down, she knew that was not the case. This was something different. Something unnatural.
As the noise stopped, an unsettling silence filled the room. Emma’s breath came in shallow gasps as she backed away from the wall, her hands trembling. She glanced around the room, half-expecting something to leap from the shadows. But there was nothing—only the stillness, the heavy air, and the oppressive feeling of being alone.
Shaking her head, she turned away from the wall and began to walk deeper into the house. She knew she had to keep moving, to explore every corner of this place and face whatever lay inside. Her grandmother’s warnings echoed in her mind, but she was determined to unravel the mystery. There was no turning back now.
At the far end of the hallway, she noticed a door slightly ajar. Without thinking, Emma moved toward it, her footsteps silent on the worn carpet. She pushed the door open and stepped into a small room.
The air inside was thick with the scent of old wood and mildew. Dust floated in the sunlight that streamed through a crack in the curtains. The room was empty, save for an old rocking chair that sat in the corner, its dark wood polished by years of use. The chair creaked softly, as if someone had just been sitting in it.
Emma’s stomach twisted as she approached the chair. There was something deeply unsettling about the room, something that she couldn’t put her finger on. The rocking chair seemed to sway gently, though there was no breeze, no reason for it to move.
She stood frozen, watching the chair rock back and forth, back and forth.
And then it stopped.
And for the first time since stepping foot in Black Hollow, Emma realized she wasn’t alone.
