Home
It started with a letter, left on Ethan’s doorstep with no stamp, no return address—just his name, scribbled in a jagged scrawl.
“Welcome home, Ethan,” it read. That was all.
After years of traveling, he had finally decided to settle back into his family’s old house, alone, on the edge of town. His parents had passed away there, years apart. Though the house was old, there was no reason to feel afraid—so why did it feel so unsettling? Why did he feel like something was watching him from the very walls?
Shrugging it off, he unpacked and tried to rest, but that night, he heard it.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
A slow, rhythmic knocking from somewhere inside the house. It was faint at first, but it grew louder, insistent, like it was calling to him. As the noise echoed through the halls, he followed it to his bedroom closet, his heart pounding with an unknown dread.
He opened the closet door to find it empty. Just a pitch-black darkness that felt unnervingly alive.
Then, he heard a whisper, faint but unmistakable.
“Welcome home, Ethan.”
He recoiled, slamming the closet shut, but the dread in his chest grew. The house felt colder, darker. Shadows seemed to linger a little too long in the corners of his vision. They followed him from room to room, never quite in focus, but always there. And the whispers—they were everywhere, soft at first, but growing louder each night, calling his name.
“Welcome home, Ethan.”
One night, he awoke to find himself paralyzed, unable to move as shadows closed in around him. The walls seemed to breathe, pressing closer, the ceiling lowering, and those creeping shadows seemed to reach for him. The silence was suffocating, yet he could feel a presence above him, breathing, watching.
A voice filled the room, low and distorted, each word carrying a hatred that made his blood freeze.
“You left me here. Alone. Abandoned.”
Ethan’s heart pounded as he recognized the voice—it was his father’s, twisted and broken. Then, another voice joined in, his mother’s, soft and accusing, her tone drenched in bitterness.
“You can never leave, Ethan. You’re… home.”
Ethan tried to move, to escape, but he was trapped. Cold, claw-like fingers wrapped around his ankles, pulling him down into the mattress, like the bed itself was swallowing him. He struggled, desperate to free himself, but the hands only gripped tighter, dragging him deeper into the darkness.
The air thickened with the smell of decay, and shadows writhed around him, taking shape—a twisted figure with hollow, empty eyes and a sinister grin.
“Welcome home, Ethan,” it whispered, just inches from his face. “You’ll never leave again.”
The last thing he saw was its mouth opening far too wide, darkness spilling forth as it swallowed him whole.
---
No one ever saw Ethan again. The house remains empty, but on quiet nights, neighbors swear they hear whispers inside, voices echoing through the empty rooms.
“Welcome home.”
Home
It started with a letter, left on Ethan’s doorstep with no stamp, no return address—just his name, scribbled in a jagged scrawl.
“Welcome home, Ethan,” it read. That was all.
After years of traveling, he had finally decided to settle back into his family’s old house, alone, on the edge of town. His parents had passed away there, years apart. Though the house was old, there was no reason to feel afraid—so why did it feel so unsettling? Why did he feel like something was watching him from the very walls?
Shrugging it off, he unpacked and tried to rest, but that night, he heard it.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
A slow, rhythmic knocking from somewhere inside the house. It was faint at first, but it grew louder, insistent, like it was calling to him. As the noise echoed through the halls, he followed it to his bedroom closet, his heart pounding with an unknown dread.
He opened the closet door to find it empty. Just a pitch-black darkness that felt unnervingly alive.
Then, he heard a whisper, faint but unmistakable.
“Welcome home, Ethan.”
He recoiled, slamming the closet shut, but the dread in his chest grew. The house felt colder, darker. Shadows seemed to linger a little too long in the corners of his vision. They followed him from room to room, never quite in focus, but always there. And the whispers—they were everywhere, soft at first, but growing louder each night, calling his name.
“Welcome home, Ethan.”
One night, he awoke to find himself paralyzed, unable to move as shadows closed in around him. The walls seemed to breathe, pressing closer, the ceiling lowering, and those creeping shadows seemed to reach for him. The silence was suffocating, yet he could feel a presence above him, breathing, watching.
A voice filled the room, low and distorted, each word carrying a hatred that made his blood freeze.
“You left me here. Alone. Abandoned.”
Ethan’s heart pounded as he recognized the voice—it was his father’s, twisted and broken. Then, another voice joined in, his mother’s, soft and accusing, her tone drenched in bitterness.
“You can never leave, Ethan. You’re… home.”
Ethan tried to move, to escape, but he was trapped. Cold, claw-like fingers wrapped around his ankles, pulling him down into the mattress, like the bed itself was swallowing him. He struggled, desperate to free himself, but the hands only gripped tighter, dragging him deeper into the darkness.
The air thickened with the smell of decay, and shadows writhed around him, taking shape—a twisted figure with hollow, empty eyes and a sinister grin.
“Welcome home, Ethan,” it whispered, just inches from his face. “You’ll never leave again.”
The last thing he saw was its mouth opening far too wide, darkness spilling forth as it swallowed him whole.
---
No one ever saw Ethan again. The house remains empty, but on quiet nights, neighbors swear they hear whispers inside, voices echoing through the empty rooms.
“Welcome home.”
