Chapter 1 – The House That Waited
The moment we arrived, I knew something was wrong.
The house stood at the edge of the town, taller than the trees, its windows staring back like blackened eyes. Moss crawled up the walls, and the iron gates creaked as if whispering a warning.
Father smiled, pretending this was a dream come true.
Mother held my little sister tighter, her eyes darting around as if expecting someone to step out of the shadows.
"This is ours now," Father said proudly. "The ancestral house of the Drevans."
But I felt it.
The chill that lingered in the air.
The silence that wasn't empty—but listening.
That night, as I unpacked, the clock struck midnight.
And the walls whispered.
---
Chapter 2 – The First Night
I woke to the sound of footsteps.
At first, I thought it was Father, checking the house. But when I peeked into the hall, it was empty. The wooden floor creaked on its own, as if someone invisible walked past me.
"Who's there?" My voice was barely a whisper.
No reply.
Only the faint toll of a bell, coming from nowhere inside the house.
I followed it. Down the staircase. Past the portraits of long-dead ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow me.
And then—
At the bottom of the stairs, I saw her.
A girl. Pale. Draped in white. Her hair covered her face, but I could see her lips move. She was counting.
"One…" she whispered.
I blinked, and she was gone.
The next morning, I found something carved into the dining table:
Night 1.
---
Chapter 3 – The Warning
Breakfast was quiet. Father ignored the scratches on the table, claiming "old wood cracks." Mother looked pale, and my sister kept asking who I was talking to last night.
"I saw her," I whispered to Mother when Father wasn't listening. "A girl. She said—'One.'"
Mother froze. Her spoon clattered.
Her lips trembled before she forced a smile. "Don't… don't say that again."
That night, I couldn't sleep.
The air grew colder, as if the walls were breathing frost.
At exactly midnight, the bell tolled again.
And she returned.
Standing in my room this time, her head tilted unnaturally, her voice a broken lullaby.
"Two…" she whispered.
I screamed.
Father barged in, furious. "Enough of your stories! This house is ours—stop imagining things!"
But when he turned, I saw his face pale.
Behind him, in the mirror, the girl stood smiling.
Carved into the wall above my bed was a fresh mark:
Night 2.
Chapter 4 – Shadows on the Walls
The third night was worse.
The bell didn't just toll once—it rang twice, loud and mournful.
Each sound seemed to pull me out of bed against my will.
The hallway stretched longer than it should, doors warped and breathing. Shadows ran along the walls, darting from one corner to another like living creatures.
"Three…" a whisper trailed behind me.
I spun. Nothing.
But when I turned back, the girl was standing inches from my face. Her hair parted slightly, revealing a pale, eyeless socket.
"Three…" she said again.
My little sister began screaming from her room. By the time we reached her, she was standing on her bed, pointing at the window.
"She's outside," she cried.
We looked—nothing. Just the garden, dark and endless.
But the glass was wet. As though something pressed its face there, breathing.
In the morning, carved into my sister's toy chest:
Night 3.
---
Chapter 5 – Night of Blood
The house grew hungrier.
Doors slammed without wind. Plates cracked by themselves. We woke to find muddy footprints leading across the living room though no one had been outside.
Father stopped denying it.
He drank whiskey in silence, eyes darting to every shadow.
That night, the bell tolled again. Four times.
And then came the screams.
It wasn't from us—it was from outside.
We rushed to the gate, and there we saw it.
The neighbor's dog. Mangled. Torn open as if by invisible claws. Its blood painted the stones in grotesque patterns that almost looked like… letters.
Mother sobbed, dragging my sister away. Father cursed, whispering prayers under his breath.
I stared, trembling.
Because carved deep into the iron gate, dripping fresh blood, were two words:
Night 4.
And below it, faint but unmistakable:
You are next.