I used to think the strange noises in my house were nothing.
Old houses make sounds. Pipes knock. Floorboards creak. Doors move when the wind gets inside.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
It started on a rainy Thursday night.
I was sitting alone in the living room when I heard footsteps upstairs.
Slow.
One step at a time.
I looked at the ceiling.
“Probably the pipes,” I whispered.
Then came another step.
And another.
Someone was walking across the bedroom floor.
I grabbed my phone and went upstairs.
Every room was empty.
The bedroom window was locked. The bathroom was empty. Even the closet was completely clear.
I laughed nervously.
“Great. I’m officially losing my mind.”
I went back downstairs.
Ten minutes later, I heard the footsteps again.
This time, they were coming from the hallway.
I stopped.
My front door was still locked.
I checked it twice.
Then I noticed something strange.
A pair of muddy footprints stretched across the wooden floor.
They started near the back door.
They ended beside the stairs.
There was no third footprint after that.
As if whoever had made them had simply disappeared.
I called my friend, Daniel, and told him what happened.
He laughed at first.
Then I sent him a picture.
His reply came almost immediately.
“Don’t go upstairs.”
I stared at the message.
“What?”
He called me.
His voice had changed.
“Listen to me. I can see something in the picture.”
I opened the photo again.
At first, I saw nothing.
Then I zoomed in.
At the top of the stairs, behind the railing, there was a woman.
Only part of her face was visible.
She was staring directly at the camera.
I dropped my phone.
I looked toward the stairs.
Nothing.
I picked up the phone again.
The woman was gone from the photograph.
But there was another message from Daniel.
“She’s not in the picture anymore.”
Then another message appeared.
“Check behind you.”
I froze.
I didn’t turn around.
I could hear breathing.
Slow breathing.
Right behind my chair.
I stayed completely still.
Then my phone vibrated again.
Another message.
“Whatever you do, don’t let her know you can hear her.”
The breathing stopped.
For several seconds, the house was completely silent.
Then a woman’s voice whispered beside my ear.
“You finally noticed me.”
I ran.
I didn’t look back.
I reached the front door and pulled it open, but before I could step outside, I heard footsteps racing down the stairs behind me.
I slammed the door and ran into the street.
The rain was pouring.
My neighbors came outside after hearing me scream.
The police searched the house.
They found nothing.
No broken windows.
No unlocked doors.
No footprints.
Nothing.
I eventually moved out.
Months passed.
I almost convinced myself that the whole thing had been some kind of nightmare.
Then, last night, I received a photograph from an unknown number.
It showed my old bedroom.
The room was empty.
Except for one thing.
A woman was standing in the corner.
Her face was hidden by her hair.
Under the photograph was a single sentence:
“You left the house.”
A second message arrived.
“I didn’t.”
