HOUSE AT END OF THE STREET by Creative Boy In Spring

Feature Writer: creativeboyinspring

Feature Title: HOUSE AT END OF THE STREET

Published: 02.07.2024

Story Codes: Erotic Horror

Synopsis: A woman moves into a new street and finds a bad house.

House At End Of The Street

“Well Rebecca, I think you’ll find this place is much different than Houston,” the friendly elderly man says with a smile that is very heartwarming. It’s the sort of smile where you can tell the person is being honest and they have no ill will at all in their hearts. As sad as this sounds, it’s been a while since I’ve seen a smile like that.

I happily return his smile, agreeing with him with all my heart. This small town in the middle of no where Washington state is about as different as you can get from where I’m from. It’s as different as night is to day.

“That’s what I’m counting on,” I tell him, brushing my long black hair behind my ear as I tend to do when I get nervous. When I do this, I notice how different my hair feels here. After living my 30 years in Texas, I’ve gotten used to humidity messing with my hair on a daily basis. But here? Here my hair feels smooth and fine, almost like a model’s.

I know my smile shows that I’m very much glad for a change. If I never have to go back to high heat, right-wing extremists, humidity, tornados, gang members, hurricanes or any of the other bad crap that you live through in Houston, I’ll be happy. If my life becomes as boring as a snail is slow, I will never complain.

“Oh, look at me trying to talk your ear off,” the kindly old man says after checking his wristwatch. I’m not sure how long it’s been but I would guess we’ve been talking for at least 20 minutes here on my front porch.

“I know you have to unpack, so I’ll let you be,” the elderly man says, giving me that smile again. I have to admit, I do like that he’s my new neighbor. I’m not used to knowing my neighbors so to have one that seems as nice as he is, is a nice blessing.

This man, whose name is Charles, lives across the street from me. When I arrived yesterday with the moving truck, he was raking his yard. Even though he had no clue who I was and that I was his new neighbor, he still gave a friendly wave as we approached. Then today he walked over and introduced himself, wanting to welcome me to the neighborhood.

As I had hoped, he gave me the general rundown of the neighborhood and said how calm and peaceful it is. That the most trouble they ever get is that sometimes the kids will ride ATVs down the streets, which I can live with. I’m so used to idiot children getting drunk and firing guns in their homes that I’ll take ATV’s on the street any day.

I was also so impressed that he didn’t gossip or talk bad about anyone on the street. There was no, “watch out for this person,” or “I heard that they were in jail,” or anything like that. All he did was mention the people that are my neighbors, saying their names and what they did for work.

“Thank you so much for stopping by. Sounds silly I know, but you really have made my day,” I tell Charles, hating how much of a girl I sound like when I say this. My voice can get so high pitched when I get happy.

“Oh, it was my pleasure, clearly,” Charles responds as he turns to start walking. His steps are slow but steady as he walks across my new porch. When he reaches the small set of stairs, he grabs hold of the banister.

“Just…one last thing,” Charles says, his demeanor changing somewhat. He looks back at me where the nice and kind old man expression is still there, only now it seems changed. It almost seems like he doesn’t want to say this next part. Like he doesn’t want to have to tell me whatever it is that he’s about to tell me.

I brace myself for what I think he’s going to say, but am hopeful I’ll be wrong. As a somewhat attractive woman, I get hit on all the time by older men. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I mean we are all human and have urges, it’s just, I’m not interested. I’m 30 years old and like to date around my own age.

When older men hit on me, they always try the father figure route. Where they claim they can support me and make sure I am cared for, but I’m capable of supporting myself just fine. That’s why I was able to make this trip. I have a decent job and I don’t buy tons of stuff I don’t need. Unlike most of the other women I know, I barely have that many clothes. Maybe like half what most others do.

“You are going to think this is silly, and I know I’m just going to embarrass myself,” Charles starts, looking towards the ground to show his embarrassment. At this I nearly groan as I know what’s about to happen. As he’s a very nice and sweet guy, I try and search for the right words to decline his offer. I do find it sort of messed up that he would pretend to be the nice and kind neighbor if all he was wanting was a date.

“There’s a house, it’s at the end of the street,” Charles then says, surprising me. I was so sure he was about to ask me out I nearly said out loud “thank you but I want to focus on myself right now.” When he clearly is talking about something else, I get stunned for a moment and can’t say anything.

Charles then walks down the stairs of my porch and points down the road. Following him but staying on the porch, I look to where he points, to a small house that sits on the corner.

There’s no doubt which house he’s pointing to. The houses on the street have a lot of land attached to them, so they sort of sit by themselves. I know my place has a half-acre backyard.

Looking at the house I see it’s normal looking house. Maybe a bit small compared to the other laces here. One story, cookie-cutter build, bland landscaping. Nothing special. Nothing even unique. Just a house.

“What, a pedophile live there? Or is it a meth lab? A drunk sex offender?” I ask seeing how grave Charles expression has become. Charles smiles at this then shakes his head softly, letting me know that it’s nothing as serious as that. It does help to quell the concern that was building as it felt like Houston had followed me here.

“No, no,” Charles says, waving my concern away. But his face stays darkens all the same. It lets me know that he really is concerned about that house. This confuses me. If an aggressive asshole doesn’t live there, what could be so bad about it?

“Like I said, I know this will make me sound like a senile old man, and maybe I am one, but…I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t tell you,” Charles says, but says it more to himself.

Becoming more interested, I take another look at the house, wondering what could be so special about it. Upon a second look, I do notice it doesn’t have a garage. Every house here has one attached to the main house, but not that one. Instead it has a metal car park, giving the impression that it’s much older than all the other houses here.

“There’s something wrong in that house. Don’t know what, and don’t know how. Never wanted to know. It’s empty as my son’s head, but there’s something bad about it. Very bad. Bad enough that everyone knows to stay away from it,” Charles finally tells me, looking me directly in the eye. When he does this, I see how serious he is and that he believes this fully.

“I…I don’t get you. What do you mean? You saying it’s haunted?” I question, wanting to know exactly what he’s talking about. To my ears, it sure sounds like he’s stating it is haunted.

“Well now, I hesitate to use those words, but if that’s what you want to say it is, that’s fine with me,” Charles responds. The way he says this is sort of like saying it without saying it.

I check Charles’ eyes again to see if this is a joke. Being from where I’m from, I am used to trying to get scammed. It’s just something you deal with when you work in downtown. So I know this would be a great way to mess with me. Tell the new girl to the street a ghost story to scare her. Like I’m the new kid in school.

“Funny stuff happens there. Weird stuff. And things go missing that get too close,” Charles informs me while staring at the house. His brow furrows as he says this, as if speaking from personal memory.

“Things? Like…people?” I question, my face making a frown as I don’t understand. What else would get close to a house?

Charles nods a single nod while still looking at the house, making it seem like he’s lost in thought. Staring at him, I decide that if this is a joke or rib, then he’s a damn good actor. He really looks like he believes what he’s saying. But I mean, come on, he’s saying there’s a haunted house on my street.

“Now you have to tell me more Charles. That’s like dropping a grenade in a room and walking off. Tell me some details,” I say rather excitedly to try and break up his bleak mood. Only it doesn’t help at all. He gives an expression that seems to say he rather be kicked in the balls than talk about it more as he stares at the house.

“Just funny stuff,” Charles finally says after snapping out of it. He then looks at me, his expression lighting up some, but still staying serious.

“People seeing things that aren’t really there. Seeing stuff that don’t exist, like spotting weird furniture inside. Or seeing figures watching them from the window, even if the place is locked up tight and no one has lived there in 20 years,” Charles explains.

I am again taken aback as I thought he would stay the typical haunted house stuff. Books flying about, flickering lights, shadow men floating about. Maybe even the Devil with his pitchfork laughing every night at midnight. But what he’s described is rather, well, boring sounding.

“Weird furniture?” I question. Out of all he just said, that’s the part that sticks out the most. How can furniture be weird? And of all the things a haunted house to do, why would it make weird furniture and not something scary?

“Yeah. Miss Cindy that lives a street over said that she was walking by one night,” Charles begins, motioning to the street behind us. When he says this, his voice does get a bit faster, showing either he’s getting excited about what he’s about to say, or scared.

“She takes a walk every night, and when she started to pass the house, it was normal-like with all the lights off. Then she looked again and saw every light was on, even if it doesn’t have a single light fixture,” Charles explains his voice still fast.

“This concerned her cause it’s not supposed to have any power. That’s when she takes a good look at the house, right in that bay window there, and saw a wooden table with legs that had to have been nine feet tall. No chairs, mind you. Just a table so tall it nearly hit the ceiling. Oh…it gave her a fright something bad,” Charles tells me. Right after saying this, his eyes reveal the intense fear that he’s feeling.

I don’t say anything after he finishes. Instead I look at the house and see the bay window. It’s a large window that stretches nearly from the ground to the ceiling of the small house. From here I can’t really see anything as the sun is shining off it, reflecting the brightness at me.

“Anyone else see the table?” I question, without thinking. It comes out as a reflex. As is normal for me, I assume whomever Cindy is, made it up. But of all things to make up, it is a rather odd lie. Creative though.

“Nah. Like always with that house, it disappears. That’s the way the house is. Things that are there, aren’t. And when they are, they only there to drive you mad and make others think you crazy,” Charles proclaims. There’s no denying with this statement that he’s had interactions with the house as well. That something personal happened to him.

It’s at this moment I know I have a choice. One, I could tell him that I know this is bullshit. But I don’t think I will do this because he believes what he’s saying. I think he really does believe that house is haunted. Or I can do the opposite and go along with what he is saying. Basically play along but be on the look out to see if this is some set up to another scam.

“Alright Charles, you have convinced me. I will stay away from that house,” I say in an upbeat manner, again trying to make light of the situation. His mood has gotten so serious and dark that it’s starting to make the bright sunny day seem cloudy.

“I sure hopes you do. If I was you, I cross the street if you even get near it. For some reason, it seems to like women the most,” Charles states, staring hard at the house again. This conveys that he is again reliving some horrible memory in his head, only now I think it involves a woman and that house. He then shakes his head as if coming out of a trance.

“Well, that’s enough out of me. I know you have a lot of unpacking and don’t need me with my old man ghost stories to bug you,” Charles states, his friendly demeanor returning. Like dirt falling off during a shower, the grim mood that just held him slips away, making that friendly smile return.

“Not at all. I love ghost stories. Could hear them all day long,” I say in an effort to comfort him, which is very true. I’ve always been a horror fan. Not that I really believe such stuff exists, but it is very fun to get yourself scared. Especially with things that people claim are true.

Charles says his goodbye greeting and then walks across the street to his house. As he does, he makes sure not to look at the haunted house. He does this in such a way that I can tell it’s what he’s doing. But a couple of minutes later, he’s in his own house and safe from the sight of the evil, haunted house.

Alone again, I take a moment to look around at my new neighborhood. I really do like it here. The houses all have a great big yard so they are not on top of each other, which is what I am used to. Where I used to live, you could go between the house next to you and touch both by stretching out your arms.

The houses here all have personality. They have charm. It really feels like the small town that it is supposed to be. It makes me feel that I really am home. That this is where I belong.

After Charles’ visit, I go back inside my own house, preparing to unpack more. So far the unpacking has been going slow as I can’t seem to make up my mind about what I want each room to be. I have four, nice large rooms to customize and set up, and can’t seem to decide on what I want them to be.

For several hours I unpack by myself. With music playing and me moving about, I feel very good about myself. Like I finally made the right choice for myself. That everything is going to come together for me and all will fall into place.

Once dusk begins to fall, I decide to stop unpacking. This is because I decide I need to go out and celebrate my move. That I need to find out all I can about this new town. To see what stores it has, what type of people, and what type of bars.

So I take my first official shower in my new house, and prepare to go out. This alerts me that I’ll need to replace the shower head, but overall I am very happy with my new bathroom. In fact, I am very happy with myself. So much so that I look at my naked form in the mirror.

Normally I frown when I see my breasts as I wish they were bigger, but not this time. When I look at myself, I think how my B cup boobs look perfect on my frame. I’m only 110 pounds and five foot, so if they were any larger, I would no doubt look funny. Overall I am very happy with my body, which I haven’t felt in a long time. Sure there are parts that I wish I could improve, but those are parts that happen due to age. Otherwise I am in very good shape as I work out 30 minutes each day.

My sexuality is one thing that I worry about in this place. You see, I’m bisexual. Do I mean that I get drunk and sleep with other women? No. I mean that I’ve dated both sexes in stable long term relationships. I can be attracted to either gender, which I know some people find to be strange or even weird.

If I do go on a date with a woman around here, would people react badly? Or would it be the sort of thing we would have to keep in secret, which I probably wouldn’t do. Would there be anyone to scream that we are going to go to hell? I would like to say no. That the people here so far seem like normal human beings. That even if they don’t agree, they wouldn’t do anything violent.

Where I came from? Oh yes. There is a large percent of the population that loves to hate. I remember one date I was on, a drunk asshole actually followed us the entire night when he saw my girlfriend and I holding hands. He followed behind us, yelling and saying how we are what is wrong with America. That we were groomers and going to hell. But by the end of the night he broke down sobbing, admitting he was gay himself and begging us if we would watch him suck a cock. Needless to say the cops were called as the man had issues he needed to work through and wouldn’t stop following us.

Happy, I get dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a nice white top for a very casual look. After putting on a bit of makeup and dying my hair, I go to the closest bar according to google. Closest being a weird choice of word as the place is nearly 20 minutes away. Well, that’s another difference from where I’m from, there’s a bar on every corner almost.

Several hours later, I drive back home. With several cocktails in me, I feel very excited and very happy. Not because I met anyone or am about to hook up, but because I’m going to have my first night in this new house. In fact, I barely talked to anyone tonight. Instead I just sat and listened to music.

After parking in my garage, I walk down my driveway. I walk all the way until I am at the street, where I can see a clear view of my new street. Standing here and taking deep breaths, I notice just how quiet it is. It’s deathly quiet. No sounds of cars, or sirens or even people yelling. There’s no honking or the zooming sounds of the freeway or the occasional sound of what you hope is a car backfiring and not a gunshot.

For a while, I stand here, enjoying the first night in my new home. The night is nice and I just love how there’s no humidity. It makes me want to sleep out here. It’s just so nice and mild. It won’t take me long to adjust to this weather as where I came from could be labeled as Hell. I just hope I never take it for granted.

Scanning my neighbor’s houses, I land on the house at the end of street. The house that Charles said was haunted. The one I’ve taken to call The Haunted House.

Looking at it, it’s like any small house you would find anywhere. There is absolutely nothing strange about it. It’s the sort of house everyone has seen a million times. The type that is hard to remember because it’s so bland.

I then notice that the more I look at the house, the more I notice. More details seem to pop out which I didn’t notice before. Sort of like when you blow up a balloon you can see the writing that’s on it much better.

The first new thing I notice is how close the small house is to the street. All the other houses here seem to sit right in the middle of their plot, with tons of space between the house and the street. My house has a walkway from the street that has to be at least 30-40 feet until you reach the steps of the porch. But the Haunted House is maybe 5 feet from the sidewalk, making it really close. That’s is rather odd the more I think about it.

Also, the bricks on the Haunted House are blue while all the other houses here have red. But that’s not the only weird thing about the bricks. They seem different from normal bricks somehow. All the other houses have normal sized bricks, the type you spot all the time. But the Haunted House has bricks that look, I don’t know, bigger somehow. Like their size is somewhere between a normal brick and a cinderblock.

And is it just me, or is the grass at the Haunted House yellower than all the other houses? Sure looks that way. Like the grass is slowly dying, such as when you don’t water it at all. But that could be just how it looks at night. Afterall, it is pretty dark out.

The roof looks slanted too. Not that it’s caving in or anything, but like the walls of the house are different sizes. Reminds me of when I made gingerbread houses as a kid. I could never get the walls to be the exact size so the roof sat weird on top.

The more I look at the Haunted House, the more curious I get about it. This causes all that Charles told me to repeat over and over again. The weird furniture. The stuff that goes missing. That it likes women.

Powered by the drinks I had, I decide to get a closer look at the house. I won’t go up to it or anything, but I would like to examine it closer. I’ll stay in the street and just get a closer look. And that’s to make sure that all that I see about it is real. Like the grass looking like it’s dying.

Enjoying the brief walk on the cool night, I cross the street and go to the sidewalk. With a casual and calm stroll, I walk down the sidewalk, my focus on the haunted House. For some reason I get the weird feeling that Charles is about to run out and tell me to stop. But this is silly as he’s probably long gone to bed.

Reaching the Haunted House, I stay on the sidewalk but turn to face the house. Despite what Charles said, I don’t know if someone really lives there. And where I’m from, people have no trouble shooting you just for stepping on their property. Since I’m not looking to die over a Haunted House, I decide to stay right where I am.

Again, it’s just a house. A smaller house, but a normal house. A small house with a metal car port. To make it seem even more normal, I notice that there’s nothing weird about it at all. All the things I thought I saw all look normal. The bricks are a normal size, the grass looks healthy, even the position of the ceiling looks fine. The only thing that remains odd is how close it is to the sidewalk.

I hear a car honk in the distance, and it knocks me out of my trance of staring at the house. I didn’t even know I was staring until I hear the car, as it occurs to me someone might think I’m a crook. That I’m casing this house to rob it or do something else that’s stupid.

Thinking that having the cops called on me on my first night wouldn’t be a good start to living here, I turn to walk back home. I did what I said I was going to do, which is to get a closer look at the house. That’s all.

I turn to walk back home, when a light suddenly flips on, but to my side. My first thought is that someone is shining a low battery flashlight at me. A flashlight with a battery so low that the light is an amber color.

In reaction I look towards the light to see that the lights in the Haunted House are on. A bit dumbfounded by this, I stare at the house, my eyes going window to window to see that every light indeed seems to be on. Every room of the house seems to have light coming from the windows, but it’s a weird sort of light.

For only a spilt second I panic, thinking that someone is living there and has seen me. That they are about to burst out with a shotgun and gun me down. But this feeling passes extremely fast. That’s why I don’t take off running.

Charles said that this happened to his friend. That the lights come on when the power to the place is off? I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. Sure, it makes sense that the lights would be on because someone living there just turned them on, but I don’t think that’s what’s happening. Why would they turn every light on at once so late?

I know my mind is a bit of a pulsing mess at the moment, which the adrenaline isn’t helping. Nor is the pounding of my heart for that matter. So I am not thinking clearly when faced with proof that I’m dealing with the supernatural.

That’s just it. This isn’t supernatural. Supernatural is things floating in midair, or cold spots or people made of mist with glowing eyes. This is just a house with the lights turned on. And it’s not even that late. For all I know, this could be a test done by the power company.

Come to think of it, I’m just going off what the old man said. He could have been lying. Or maybe he was messing with the new girl to the neighborhood. I could be walking straight into one huge prank.

“Oh shit,” I grunt when I spot something in the bay window of the Haunted House. It’s the clear outline of a person. A person that must be looking outside and directly at me. No doubt wondering what the fuck I’m doing. If I’m some criminal here to try and rob them. Or in this day and age, if I’m going to gun them all down.

Feeling rather stupid, I begin to walk towards the Haunted House. I need to apologize and explain myself. To let them know I’m a neighbor and was just duked by a mean old man. That I was told their house was a Haunted House and I was curious to get a look. But for them not to worry as I’m going to make sure I get my revenge on the old fucker that tricked me.

I walk the short walkway to the house, where I arrive on the small front porch. As I walk, I try to think up what I’m going to say so I don’t make myself sound even stupider than what I feel. I don’t want to start some new routine of tricking the dumb new girl, you know? That whenever they see me they can laugh and snicker.

My knuckles rap on the front door several times in what I hope is a polite and friendly manner instead of a harsh and angry sound. I was expecting the knocking to sound extra loud and echo about, but it doesn’t. It actually sounds very muffled, like something is sucking the sound out of the air.

I make sure to put a smile on, but not too big of a smile so if they look out they can see a normal human instead of someone that’s here to hurt or trick them. I also try to make my face look apologetic, so they know why I’m here. But more than anything, I hope they don’t open the door and instead talk from behind the door so I don’t have to look them in the eye when I admit how dumb I’ve been.

“Ummm, hi. I’m really sorry. I know you saw me staring at you in the street,” I say after when no one opens the door upon knocking twice more. Come to think of it, if I was them I wouldn’t answer or say anything either if someone came this late.

“I’m Rebecca, your neighbor a few houses down. I’m sorry, this old man named Charles told me this was a haunted house. That’s why I was staring at it. I didn’t mean to scare you or anything,” I apologize the best I can to the front door hoping the occupants can hear me. I mean, they should be able to hear me, there’s no TV or music playing that I can hear.

After several long moments in which nothing happens, I take a step back. I make sure not to move too fast or do anything stupid like jump in front of the bay window when someone might be aiming a gun at me right this very moment. But I know someone is watching me because I can clearly feel it. In fact, I can feel multiple eyes on me. Where they are looking at me from, I don’t know since there doesn’t appear to be a peephole in the door.

There’s still no sounds. There’s no movement at all. No sounds of walking, or of TV, or even the house settling. Just quiet as quiet can be. Come to think of it, I don’t even hear any bugs doing their nighttime noises. It’s just…quiet.

“Oh!” I gasp when I notice there’s someone at the bay window. The large bay window is to my left where I see there’s someone behind the closed blinds that covers them. The shadow from the person is cast over the blinds thanks to the light shining behind them. Only…I didn’t see the shadow walk up there. It just sort of appeared.

“Sorry, you scared me,” I tell the person after I take a few more steps back. This really does scare me. It hits so hard that I actually put a hand to my heart for a moment, feeling like I may have a heart attack.

I stare at the shadow, wondering why they aren’t saying anything. They clearly heard me. But yet they haven’t said anything nor moved. All they are doing is just standing there.

A cold tingle moves down my spine as I examine the figure, which has to be a guy based on the body build. He’s facing away. Like he’s put his back almost against the window and is looking at the inside of his house instead. He’s giving me his back for some reason.

For some reason seeing this sends a shiver up my spine. It’s just so weird to look at. It’s something a mentally ill person would do. Especially since they are not acknowledging me in any way. Whoever they are, they can hear me, I mean, I’m what, four, five feet away? On purpose they haven’t they said something. Nor have they moved?

Unnerved, I lean over a little bit to see if I can look between the blinds to get a look at the person. With my heart pounding, I lean more and more, trying to find some tiny bit of gap to look inside. Yet when I do, the person still doesn’t move, to the point I don’t think it’s really a person. I think it is some sort of mannequin. I mean, it’s not moving, like at all. Not even breathing or swaying like a human would.

Another tickle of cold fear goes up my spine as I notice something else I hadn’t before, but I don’t know how I missed it. There’s a shadow of a table behind the guy in the window. Not just that, but there are people sitting at the table.

I stare at the table, not really understanding what I’m seeing. Rather how I’m seeing this. Lights are normally on the ceiling, so it makes sense I can see the guy by the window. The light from the light fixture shines on him, and casts his shadow.

The table, chairs and people though, they are under the light. There should be no shadow from them. Only way I should be seeing a shadow from them is if there’s a really bright light shining behind them. But if that’s true, it would be shining right in their eyes.

The more I look, the more I feel unnerved. I can clearly see the dining table beyond the bay window, in which four people are sitting, but all on one side. They sit right next to each other, barely an inch between them, their backs to me as well. Like the standing person, they too don’t move. They just sit there, their arms on the table as if posed

No way these are people. No one could stay that still for so long, especially with light shined right in your eyes. But if they aren’t people, what the fuck is going on? Is this some sort of experiment? Or game?

My head begins to pulse very badly. The combination of drinking and fear doesn’t do me any good as I start to get a very bad feeling. Much like the feeling you get when you know you are going to throw up, I get a bad feeling that I need to leave. Especially as I’ve been staring for minutes at the shadows, demanding one of them to move in my mind.

Finally I snap out of it and back up off the porch, not wanting to show my back to whatever those things are. I mean, I know they have to be mannequins or life-sized dolls, but why are they there? Who posed them? For what purpose?

I think what scares me the most is that they are unlike any mannequins I’ve ever seen. All the ones I’ve seen you can tell they are mannequins, even if you don’t see any of the body. These seem like people. Real people. Their shape and positions seem real and not out of place like most mannequins.

More unnerved than I’ve ever been, I happily walk out of the Haunted House’s yard. This time I walk past the sidewalk and stand in the middle of the street. Something tells me to not even be on that side of the street to that place.

Once I reach the middle of the street I feel much more comfortable. The cold fear inside me begins to fade, making my heart and head stop the intense pounding. Something about being this far away makes me feel safe. Safe enough that I can turn my back on the house now. Like I’m out of range of it doing something.

Wanting to go home, I begin to walk away, but something inside me makes me get one last look at the Haunted House. Now the lights are off, and there’s clearly no one inside. I know this because the bay window no longer has any blinds. It’s just a blank window showing the inside of the house with no blinds, no furniture, no nothing. Just an empty, dark house.

“What the fuck?!” I mutter, very freaked out. At this, I quickly walk back home, not sure what to make of any of it. All I know is I’m not going back to investigate. I’ll never go back there, even if my life depends on it.

The next thing I know, I wake up in my bed with the bright sun shining on my face. My eyes pop open, where I feel the tiniest bit of grogginess from the drinking I did the night before. But otherwise I feel rather good, not to mention rested. It serves to confirm I made the right choice in moving here as I hope every night is like last night.

I wake up and begin the actions that I’m sure will become my routine. I brush my teeth, take a shower, get dressed, even eat a little bit of breakfast. I do this all rather slowly, not feeling the rush that I normally do of having to go, go, go, go.

It is only when I look out one of my front windows that the memory of last night returns. One look at the sight of the Haunted House and it all comes flooding back. It comes back fast and hard, like having to swallow your own sick, where it burns going down.

It had to have been someone messing with me, right? Or someones? There’s no other explanation that makes sense.

Charles had to have been in on it. He laid the story, knowing it would make me want to investigate. It would have made anyone want to investigate. And so they waited for me to go over. Probably Charles and someone that lives in a nearby house. Spied on me and waited until I went there so they could pull their complex prank.

How they do it? How they make it all move so fast? I guess it could have been a few people moving the stuff room to room really fast. Like they do in plays on Broadway. The lights can be controlled remotely these days too. But if that’s what they did, they would have been waiting in that house for a really, really long time. They would have had no clue when I would visit.

Then again, maybe they were there for a different reason and decided to mess with me. That it wasn’t all planned out, but was a few assholes fixing the place up to sell deciding they wanted to mess with me. They just happened to be there and decided to do that stupid prank and move everything like they did. It would explain how they could remove the blinds and light fixture so fast.

Or…that bay window isn’t really a window. Maybe it’s a smart screen or something that they can project stuff onto. A friend of mine had something like that for her bathroom window. She could stream stuff on it as well as project different places for ambiance when she was taking a bath.

Staring at the house, I get more and more upset. Only, I don’t get upset at the bastards that just pranked me, but at myself. How stupid can I be? That the old man set me up, and like a mark I went over there and let them play me. They all got a good laugh at the new woman from the big city.

I try to push last night as well as my anger out of my head as I resume setting up my new rooms. Each box I unload does relax me more and more as my new house starts to take shape. The more of my items I put out, the more personality the house begins to get. It quickly starts to feel like an old friend that I haven’t seen in a long time.

Only, like a splinter in my finger, the Haunted House keeps poking me. Making me think about it over and over again. Images of the shadow man against the window pop in my head, as well as the blank, dark house when I left. It seems too far out there to be real. Like it was really a dream I had and not something that happened to me.

To try and take my mind off the Haunted House, I decide to listen to a book. Listening to books always takes my mind off whatever I am working on because I have to focus on the book to understand what’s happening.

“Where the hell are you?” I ask out loud as if my lost cell can hear me. It’s not in my bedroom, which is where I had it plugged in when I went to sleep. I thought maybe I had left it in there even if I remember grabbing it after my shower. I know for sure I had my cell because the alarm on it is what woke me up.

I must have put my cell somewhere in the house and can’t find it. Since I’ve been going room to room, there’s no telling where it might be. I no doubt absentmindedly put it down somewhere while doing something else, making it go into the phantom zone of my mind.

Without the internet, which is to be set up tomorrow, I can’t use GPS to find it nor use the textMe app to ping it. Just will have to wait for someone to reach out to me. It’s not on silent, so the moment someone calls, I will be able to hear it.

My frustration at losing my cell reaches a point that after I have a little lunch, I walk outside. Even after searching everywhere several times, I still can’t find my cell. I thought maybe if I unpacked more I would spot it, but no. It’s just disappeared.

From my porch I take in the clean air, which makes me feel so much better. I take in the view, allowing my frustration to flee. I calm to the point that the thought of the old man coming back to share more ghost stories doesn’t bother me. Let him come and tell me more BS.

I look down the street, taking in all the houses again. In my mind, I start thinking up ways to meet the other people that live here. Being where I’m from, I’m not used to just walking up and introducing myself. Is that all you need to do? Or do you bring a small gift, like wine or something? Charles just came right up and introduced himself, but that could be because he was in on the prank.

The final house that I look over is the Haunted House. It still is there, looking like a normal small house, but this time there is a very small changed. From here I can spot what looks like a piece of trash in the yard. A black piece of trash that’s right in front of the small porch.

“There’s no way,” I remind myself, knowing it’s not possible. What I see over there is some random piece of trash. There’s no way it can be my cell. My house has been locked up tight since last night. And the locks are ones I purchased. No one else has the keys. Not to mention I put in Door Locks, which you would have to literally kick in. And I made sure to check each and every window last night to make sure the locks on them worked.

But damn, whatever it is in front of the Haunted House sure looks like a cell. And if I was to pull a prank, putting the mark’s cell back at the haunted locale is exactly what I would do. It’s too perfect of an action to do to scare the victim.

“Damn it,” I curse, I walk down my porch. Acting as if I’m taking a fun, mid-day walk, I walk down the sidewalk, slowly. As I walk, I look around to see if I spot anything strange or out of place. Maybe a camera that the house so people could see what happens? Or a neighbor crotched down and trying to hide somewhere? Or maybe a mannequin stuffed behind a tree so they can try to pull the prank again but in a different place.

But it’s a normal day on a normal looking street. The sun is shining, making everything look bright and beautiful, which is one of the many reasons why I came here. It’s just a beautiful area. There’s no graffiti, or broken down meth-houses or abandoned cars or anything like that. Just a living bright neighborhood.

And then I’m in front of the Haunted House again, only this time I’m across the street. But whatever was in the yard is now gone. I know the exact place it was, but it’s not there. Nor do I see it anywhere nearby, such as the wind kicking it down the street. It’s just gone.

Glaring at the house as I don’t like feeling like a mark, I see the house looks normal. The bay window is clear with no blinds or anything else to stop people from looking in at the empty interior. There’s no table, no chairs, no nothing. There’s not even a lighting fixture hanging.

“Let it go girl. It’s not worth it,” I tell myself as I want nothing more than to ruin this prank. To make sure the people doing this know not to fuck with me.

I make up my mind about what is really going on. That bay window isn’t really a window at all. It’s some sort of smart screen. It has to be. It makes too much sense. Even seeing my cell in the yard could be from it. It could have some projector attached to it somewhere.

“Oh, fuck it,” I grunt and begin to cross the street. All I’m going to do is examine the glass of the bay window. That’s it. Won’t do anything other than that. Once I take a good look at the window, I’ll know if it was a prank and will be able to drop it.

I walk right up to the porch without anything happening. For some reason I thought something would happen once I stepped on the property. Like I would get a jolt or a bad feeling, but I don’t. Don’t feel anything. I don’t even feel any dread.

Moving to the bay window, I take a quick look inside to again see nothing but an empty house. Then I proceed to put my face inches away from the window, wanting to look as closely as I can at it. After I put my finger to it, rubbing it and even tapping away, trying to test what it is made of.

“Huh. You are glass alright,” I tell the glass in the window after several minutes of examining it. I even look for anywhere the glass could have power supplied to it, but can’t see any. There’s no screen or anything that could make the glass change that I see. Unless this is some super-secret-brand-new type of technology, the type no one has ever seen before, it’s just a bay window. And if it was some new technology, why would it be in a random house in the middle of nowhere?

Looking inside the house, I keep expecting to see something spooky or horrible, like blood coming from the tops of the walls or something, but I don’t. Everywhere my eyes look, I just see an empty house. A clean empty house. There’s no stains, or broken sheetrock or dust that I see. Just a blank house hoping to be sold one day.

I’m actually impressed by this. There’s no signs that someone has been living here or squatting, like where I’m from. If a house sits vacant too long, it’s like certain people can smell it so they’ll break it and use it as a free pad for a while. Just goes to show how good of an area this place is that they don’t do that.

I then spot something on the floor, something I know wasn’t there before. It’s partly hidden as half of the object is blocked by the wall going into the kitchen. It’s a small black object, the same as what I saw in the front yard. Although it is impossible, it sure does look like a cell phone facing down.

For a while I stare at the object, knowing there’s no way it could be my cell phone. Mine is lost somewhere in my house. I know that. There’s not even a chance someone broken in and took it, not unless they can pass through solid walls. So there’s no way it could be my missing cell. But damn, the sticker that I see on it sure looks like the Bluey sticker my friend’s daughter put on it.

Again I can only see part of the object as most of it is blocked by the wall, but it’s a unique sticker. It was custom made so there’s not many things that could look like it. It really makes what I’m looking at seem like my phone. Only I know it’s not. That would be impossible.

“I’m not falling for this. I’m not,” I state out loud, talking to…someone. It feels like someone is messing with me, and I refuse to take it. I’m not a mark.

Turning around, I decide to just go home and find my cell. That’ll prove that I’m right. Once I find it, I’ll know I’m not crazy nor is there anything weird going on.

With that, I turn and begin to walk off the porch, fully expecting the front door to be wide open or something to invite me in like what would happen in a horror movie. But the front door is closed. The door has a chain wrapped around a hook that’s been drilled in to make sure no one can open it, even if they kicked the door in. The door is as secure as it gets, with the chains looking very heavy.

“Oh fuck, man,” I cry out as I hear the very familiar sound of my boss’s ringtone play on my cell. The notes rings out muffled, but clear enough that I know it’s from my cell. I picked that tone for him because I knew no one else would ever use it. It’s the Exorcist theme funny enough.

As I know there’s only one place it could be coming from, I race back to the window. Cupping my hands around my eyes, I look in. There on the floor is what looks like my cell, in the exact same place. And I hear the muffled horror theme repeating as it rings all over again, signaling that my boss is trying to call again.

I have two weeks off to move, but my manager did say he might reach out if there’s an issue only I can deal with. A sort of “when it hits the fan” type call. As I know I handle a lot of action-items that no one else can, I told him I would be available. Basically, I know he wouldn’t call unless it was serious. Like emergency serious as he knows how much this move means to me.

“Damn it,” I say, upset. Throwing caution to the wind, I begin to walk around the small house, looking for a way in. As my eyes scan every inch, I think of how I’m going to remove the person who took my cell’s spine, Kano-style once I find them.

Walking around the house, I find that I don’t really care if someone sees me or calls the cops. Let them! In fact, that would only help me. Once the cops know why I’m here, they can break in for me and get my damn cell. Then hopefully they can arrest whatever asshole stole my stuff.

Deciding I better check the back door, I walk all the way around the house to the back. I walk fast, knowing my boss is probably going to non-stop call until I pick up. That’s the sort of man he is.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask out loud as if someone is going to answer me when I reach the back of the house. There’s two doors on the back porch, right next to each other. Two doors going into the house, smack dap in the midst of the back porch, looking really out of place.

One of the doors is much like the front door, same style, same color. It’s shut and has a chain around it as well, just like the front door. Only this door has the hook that the chain goes through over the top of the door, making the chain do a sort of triangle shape.

Next to that door is an almost identical door, only it’s cracked open. It too has a chain, or should I say had a chain. The remains of it hang limp from the hook, allowing the kicked-in door to creak with the wind. From the looks of it, someone kicked and kicked at this door until the cheap lock on it smashed apart.

The thought that someone could be inside does occur to me. That they kicked in the door to put my cell in as some sort of trap. These are very good thoughts and I do consider them, only something else keeps pushing its way into my head.

Why are there two doors next to each other? That doesn’t make any sense at all. Why have the same exact door, twice? Even if the door broke, it would be easier to replace it than to put a complete new door next to it. So why would they do it? It doesn’t make any sense at all!

The Exorcist theme plays again, making my emotions overtake my thoughts. Dear me, is that the fifth time he’s called? The eighth? Oh man. I wonder what’s happened.

Concerned only with my boss, but prepared to bite, I move up on the porch. On purpose I don’t say anything as I find that to be stupid. If someone put my cell in there, they know it would be me coming, so why announce it? Why give them any help?

Peering through the cracked open door, I try to see inside the house. When I do, I see it’s the same as when I looked in the bay window. It’s just an empty house. An empty house with nothing in it, nor any other sounds that I can hear.

Deciding I’m just going to reach in, grab my cell and dart out, I open the door. I quickly take a few steps in the direction of my face down cell while bending. My boss’s theme still plays out, which must mean this is the tenth or eleventh time he’s calling.

I do look around as I do this, expecting to see someone charging at me, but don’t. Again, the place looks empty, even if it doesn’t feel like it is. But as no one is coming to attack me, I move into the house, becoming inches away from my cell which is halfway in the kitchen.

“Oh holy hell!” I gasp as I spot someone in the kitchen. The shock of this is so much that I stand straight up, my body tensing. I nearly go into fight or flight mode, only stop when I get a clear look at the person.

Standing at the sink, facing away, is a woman. A woman just standing there as if she was doing the dishes but had to stop now that I’ve arrived. Only there’s no dishes at all, nor any water running. She’s just standing there, perfectly still.

What makes her even odder is that she’s wearing the same outfit my mom used to wear when I was a kid. My mom called it her “house clothes,” and always wore them when doing the dishes or cooking; a long tan skirt and red top, as well as a floral apron with plenty of strains on them. The apron even has the red straps to tie it around you.

“S-S-Sorry! But that’s my c-c-cell!” I declare in a somewhat aggressive tone while pointing down. It’s the sort of tone that says sorry for doing this, but I’m ready for a fight if that’s what you want.

The woman doesn’t move. Nor does she say anything to this. She doesn’t react at all. All she does is stand at the sink and face away…much like a mannequin. Just like what I saw last night.

“W-What….what…” I stammer, finding this situation to be extremely odd and getting worse by the second. It all just doesn’t make sense.

“Screw this,” I grunt and bend over to grab my cell while making sure to look at this creepy woman in case she does something. But my fingers run over the hard wood floor, not grabbing anything at all. I repeat this, thinking I just missed it, but after the third time trying to get it, I look down.

NO! No damn it no! The cell is gone. It’s not there. It’s fucking gone!

Freaked, I look around, acting as if my cell phone has feet and walked off like a bug. Frantic, I look all around, hoping to see that I accidentally kicked it or something. But I don’t. Only…my boss’s ringtone keeps playing. It plays as if it is right there, by my feet, only I don’t see it.

This time my fight or flight does kick in, to which I stand and run for the door. Moving faster than I think I ever have, I spin on the spot and prepare to leap to the door. I don’t even care if I have to break through it like the damn Incredible Hulk.

“Oh fuck me,” I gasp when I see the back door is gone. Completely gone. There’s now just the one door, which has somehow been chained on the inside as well.

Where the other open back door was, is a man. A large man standing there, his nose against the wall as he faces the other way. This guy appears to be wearing a very nice designer suit and has a very tightly combed haircut. From the type of hair, the guy looks to be white, but I can’t tell as his arms are folded in front of him, hiding them.

“O-O-Ok. I think I just might have just…f-fucked myself,” I tell the man as I notice yet another person, this one in the living room. Like the others, he’s facing away so I am unable to see his face. This guy is looking out the bay window, much like I saw last night but the opposite direction.

“Screw it, AHHHHHHH!” I scream and charge towards the new man by the bay window. Throwing all common sense and caution to the wind, I do what I know they wouldn’t expect, and ATTACK.

I’ve been through a lot in my life. Never have I just laid back and took it. Even when I’ve been mugged, I fought and fought hard. To me, this is no different.

I picked this guy to run at because of the window. If there is a way out of here, it’s that bay window. It’s the most likely place to escape as I can throw myself out of it, breaking the glass. Otherwise the doors are not possible since they are both chained up. Therefore, the windows have to be my way out.

When I get close enough, I launch the hardest kick I can muster, right between the man’s legs from behind. I let the toe section of my shoe connect firmly with his genitals, where I feel the fleshly nature of the human body give underneath my force. The kick lands true too, landing perfectly on his balls.

I thought for sure my foot would come into contact with hard plastic or maybe steel, but no. It’s a human body alright. I feel the way it gives under the blow and the sound it makes from the blow.

Nothing happens. The man doesn’t react to getting kicked in the balls at all. He doesn’t move at all. No reaction, no noise, no nothing. Not giving up, I respond to this by punching him right in the back of the head as hard as I can.

As he is taller than me, I have to throw my punch upward, but I still make contact. Solid contact. My fist slams against his head where I feel the too familiar feeling of someone’s skull connecting with my fist.

Again, the guy doesn’t move. His head doesn’t even bob from the force. His hair doesn’t even get messed up. Nor does he say anything about it. All he does is stand there, as if looking out the window. Not understanding, I back up, my fist and foot hurting.

“Oh hell,” I gasp as I back into something. Spinning around I see the man and woman from the kitchen and backdoor are right behind me, facing away. They moved all the way from where they were to right next to me, without making a noise. And they have also grown as all three tower over me by at least two feet.

Not sure what these things are or what they want, I do the only thing I can think to do, and that’s to try and get to one of the rooms and shut the door behind me. If the doors still have locks on it, I might be able to secure myself in the room. From there, I might be able to climb out a window.

Screaming, I lean over and run. I run right past the three of them, sure that they are reaching out to grab me. In my mind they reach out while facing the other way, their arms bending unnaturally and extending. And their fingers would have no fingernails or winkles at all.

If they are reaching for me, they don’t grab me, allowing me to run down the small hallway. I proceed to run to the last room that’s open. Moving as fast as I can, I run into the room and immediately grab the door to slam it. When I do, I get a glance of the now four figures at the beginning of the hallway, crowded together all facing away as if slowly following me.

I slam the door hard and quickly lock it. To protect myself, I place my back up against it to brace for them trying to break in. Hunching my knees down for more leverage, I then look around to see what room I’m in and how I can get out.

“What…I’m n-naked?” I stammer out, noticing for the first time I have no clothes on. That somehow, all my clothes were removed, leaving me as naked as a new born baby.

Looking down, I see my firm breasts jiggling hard as my breathing is fast and hard. In a sort of daze I stare at them, surprised to see them and my hard nipples. It’s such a shocking sight that I can’t help but grab my breasts to hide them, even if no one can see them.

Dumbfounded, I look around as if expecting to see that I merely slipped out of my clothes somehow. But no. There’s nothing in this room, including my clothes. And when I say I’m naked, I’m completely naked. A quick touch between my legs proves that as I grab my shaved womanhood. I don’t even have my socks.

“Women….it likes women,” I think in my head, recalling what Charles had said. He mentioned that the house liked women for some reason. I thought he meant like, it called to women or something, but no. I think he meant…sexually. Now the stunned look Charles had when he looked at the house makes sense.

Not sticking around to find out what the house plans to do to me, even though I can guess, I run at the only window in the room. Reaching it, I paw at the lock, eager to open it and climb out. At this point, I don’t care if I had to be naked on the Macy’s Day Parade to survive this. Let the neighborhood see me. Hell, they can charge people to watch! But guess what, they gonna see me alive.

“NO! NOOO!” I scream as something presses on the back of my head to pin my face against the windowsill. My head is arched down, pressing facedown against the windowsill with a strength far too great for myself.

Whatever is pinning my head, has the strength of steel as though I fight to pull back, I can’t move. I scream even louder as I feel my arms and legs pinned to the wall as well. Only they are pinned in a spread eagle sort of way. As hard as I struggle, the force holds all of me, like a tons of water pinning me to the ocean floor.

This all happens so fast that I can barely believe what I start to feel. As I struggled, I hadn’t noticed that my legs were pinned so far apart. This allows…whatever… to shove what feels like a cock in me. For I feel the too familiar feeling of a hard dick sliding inside my womanhood.

Of all the things I was expecting to happen, this wasn’t one of them. So when I feel the unseen object get inserted inside me, it stuns me. Literally stuns me to the point that I stop struggling and screaming. All I can do is gasp as I feel the thing move deeper inside of me.

Whatever it is begins to fuck me. Over and over the object is pushed deep in me, then pulled back, only to be repeated again and again. This occurs as I’m held, my grunts from what I am feeling the only sounds that are heard. Unlike all the times I’ve had sex, there’s no other sounds at all. No wet slapping sounds, or clapping, or even thudding. Just my own sexual grunts.

This violation goes on for at least a minute before my mind seems to return to me. Even then, the thought that I’m being fucked by a ghost doesn’t do anything but make me feel like I’m about to snap. That my mind’s going to blow. That this is all too crazy to take and I can’t be getting taken like this.

Finding my voice I scream and yell as my womanhood is violated like this. Like a machine they fuck me, moving at great speed and slamming into my naked body with each thrust. The pounding begins to get so rough that it feels almost like they are trying to pound me into the wall. Like they are trying to flatten me like a pancake.

“No. No! Please! NOOOO!” I scream as loud as I can in hopes someone nearby will hear me. What makes me scream with all my might is the way I’m starting to feel. As my pussy is used, I feel myself starting to go into a trance. Like something in what is fucking me has injected me with some sort of drug.

Each second that passes, I feel something moving inside me, making me lose the want to struggle. It feels like it is trying to damper my spirit, to push me down and hold me in place to make this easier for it. Like it’s trying to take me, body and soul.

Over and over it fucks me, with my cries of violation and hate turning into moans and gasps as the trance gets stronger and stronger. It all seems so surreal that I can’t really believe it’s happening. It begins to feel almost like a good thing, such as what a loser would feel when they get to have sex with the woman of their dreams.

Suddenly, an orgasm bursts over me. It erupts almost violently, making me break from my trance, but not in a good way. The waves of pleasure ripple over me, but unlike every other time I’ve felt them, I fight against them hard. I would rather die than feel any sort of pleasure from something so damn evil.

But the orgasm is so intense and sweet that it’s impossible not to sink into it. To resist it would be to resist the drugs they give you when they are about to put you under for surgery. So I only fight for a few seconds before I like myself climax, feeling the joy turn me into goo.

“W-Wh-What’s happening?” I find myself asking as I discover that I’m no longer pressed against the wall. I’m now bent over a table. My upper body is pressed down on the table while my chin rests on the table where I look forward. Both of my arms are behind me, where unseen hands hold them in place like vices.

My eyes roll back and flicker as I’m still fucked nonstop by the being. It takes me a while to see that I’m not in that back room any more. I’m in the living room. I’m bent over the table that I saw last night, with the bay window to my side.