Jul 13, 2025
It started the first night she moved into the old farmhouse on the hill.
At exactly 3:33 AM, she’d wake up in cold sweat. And every single time, she’d see it: a tall, unmoving shadow standing by the window.
At first, she thought it was the moonlight playing tricks. But when she blinked, it was still there. And when she closed her eyes—it moved closer.
One night, she whispered, trembling, “Who are you?”
A voice—not from the room, but from inside her head—whispered back: “I live here. You're the guest.”
The next morning, she packed and left. But the neighbor across the street says he still sees two silhouettes at that same window every single night.
The farmhouse is still empty.
Or at least, it should be.