HORROR HOUSE (HORROR)

There were rumors about the house at the end of Hollow Hill Road, whispers that circulated in the small town like the wind through dead leaves. They said it had been abandoned for years, that no one dared to go near it after dark. Those who did, who ventured too close, never came back the same. Some said it was haunted, others claimed it was cursed-but the most chilling stories were the ones about the house itself, about how it seemed to watch you, how it changed every time you looked away. When Mara and her friends decided to explore the house, they thought it would be a harmless thrill. After all, they were just kids looking for a bit of excitement in the middle of nowhere, tired of the same old weekend routines. The house was nothing but a decaying shell, a relic of a time long gone. No one had lived there for decades, and the idea that something terrifying could lurk within its crumbling walls seemed laughable. But the moment they stepped through the rusted iron gate, the air grew heavy, oppressive. The sky above seemed to darken, the once-clear day suddenly overshadowed by a thick, suffocating fog that rolled across the yard like a living thing. As they crossed the overgrown garden, Mara felt a strange chill crawling up her spine, an uneasy sensation she couldn't shake. The house loomed ahead, its windows like black eyes staring into her soul. The front door creaked open as if inviting them inside, and despite the deep sense of dread pooling in her stomach, Mara followed her friends across the threshold. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of mildew and decay. The walls were covered in peeling wallpaper, the floors groaned underfoot, and strange, distant sounds echoed from somewhere deep within the house-whispers, faint scratching noises, as if something, or someone, was trapped inside, trying to get out. They explored room after room, the once-grand staircase leading them up to the second floor, where the rooms had been untouched by time. But the longer they stayed, the more things began to feel wrong. The walls seemed to close in on them, the floors buckling and shifting beneath their feet. Doors opened into empty rooms that had no business existing, and in some places, the rooms themselves seemed to distort, stretching and warping as if the house was alive, breathing, shifting to its own sinister rhythm. Mara found herself separated from the group. She turned a corner and found herself in a hallway she didn't recognize, one that wasn't there just moments before. The air grew colder, the silence deafening. She heard footsteps behind her, but when she spun around, no one was there. Then the whispering began. Faint at first, like a murmur in the back of her mind. But soon it grew louder, clearer. A voice that called her name, a voice that sounded like her mother's, but twisted, distorted. "Mara..." Her heart raced. She tried to move, but her legs felt heavy, like the house was holding her in place, refusing to let her leave. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and she turned, stumbling into a room she couldn't remember entering. The door slammed shut behind her. In the dim light, Mara saw them. The faces-pale, hollow, their eyes wide with terror. They were pressed up against the glass of the window, their hands outstretched, as if begging for help. But when she turned to the door, she saw the truth: the faces were not outside. They were inside. They were the house.