August 13, 2025 • 20 mins
Imagine moving into what seems like the perfect home, only to uncover a series of eerie, inexplicable events that shatter the illusion of normalcy. That's exactly what happened when I settled into the quaint old house on Maple Street. Drawn by its charm and affordability, the excitement quickly turned to unease as I encountered the mystifying phenomenon of an ever-unlocked front door and the inexplicable reappearance of a rocking chair from my past. As creaking noises filled the night and the shadows seemed to shift, I found myself on a chilling journey of discovery, facing fears I never knew I had and seeking answers in the most unexpected places.In the heart of the haunting, Eleanor's spirit loomed large, a spectral presence tied to a mysterious rocking chair that defied removal. My attempts to establish harmony with Eleanor's ghostly essence led to a transformative journey from fear to acceptance, weaving suspense with moments of eerie calm. But the trepidation didn't end there. Strange noises from the attic beckoned further exploration, culminating in an unnerving encounter with a mysterious woman in an abandoned house. These haunting experiences left me with lingering fears and unanswered questions, pondering the delicate balance between honoring the spectral echoes of the past and stepping into new beginnings. Join me as we unravel these spine-tingling tales, exploring the shadows of Maple Street and the unsettling mysteries that reside within.
Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/nighttime-scary-tales--6704938/support.
Welcome to another episode of the Nighttime Scary Tales Podcast, where we explore the dark side of storytelling. Tonight, prepare for spine-chilling tales featuring original horror stories, eerie supernatural encounters, and real-life crime that reveals the darker aspects of human nature. Each story is designed to keep you on the edge of your seat long after it ends. We’d love to hear your thoughts! Share your most chilling moments by leaving a review on your favorite podcast platform. More haunting stories are coming, so keep your lights on and your doors locked. Sweet dreams… if you can find them!
Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/nighttime-scary-tales--6704938/support.
Welcome to another episode of the Nighttime Scary Tales Podcast, where we explore the dark side of storytelling. Tonight, prepare for spine-chilling tales featuring original horror stories, eerie supernatural encounters, and real-life crime that reveals the darker aspects of human nature. Each story is designed to keep you on the edge of your seat long after it ends. We’d love to hear your thoughts! Share your most chilling moments by leaving a review on your favorite podcast platform. More haunting stories are coming, so keep your lights on and your doors locked. Sweet dreams… if you can find them!
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:01):
When I moved into the old house on Maple Street,
I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary. It was
a small, single story place with chipped paint, but it
had a certain charm to it, the kind of charm
that made me think I could turn it into something special.
The house had been on the market for a while,
and I got it for a good price. The previous
(00:23):
owner had passed away and the family had been eager
to sell it quickly.
Speaker 2 (00:27):
I didn't ask too many questions.
Speaker 1 (00:29):
It was a nice house in a nice neighborhood, and
I thought it was a bargain. The first few days
were a blur of unpacking and getting settled. There was
something almost comforting about the old house, like it had
been waiting for someone to come and breathe life into
it again. The walls were thick and the windows let
in just enough light to make the place feel cozy,
(00:51):
even during the colder.
Speaker 2 (00:52):
Darker months.
Speaker 1 (00:54):
But there was one thing that nagged at me from
the start, the front door. Every time I left the house,
I made sure to lock the door. It was an
old habit, something my dad had drilled into me from
a young age. Always locked the door behind you. He'd say,
even if you're just stepping out for a minute. So
whenever I went out, I'd double check the lock, making
(01:14):
sure it was secure before heading on my way. But
no matter how careful I was, I'd come back to
find the door unlocked. The first time it happened, I
thought I'd just forgotten. I'd been distracted, maybe focused on
the long list of things I needed to get done.
But it kept happening. Every single time I came back,
the door would be unlocked. At first, I shrugged it
(01:37):
off as an old lock that needed replacing, but after
a week of this, I couldn't ignore it anymore.
Speaker 2 (01:44):
Something was wrong.
Speaker 1 (01:46):
One evening, after a long day of running errands, I
came home with a bag of takeout, ready to crash
on the couch and watch some TV. As usual, I
double checked the front door before leaving, making sure it
was locked tight, But when I got back, the door
was slightly a job.
Speaker 2 (02:00):
My heart sank.
Speaker 1 (02:02):
I stood there for a moment, staring at the door,
my mind racing through all the possibilities. Had someone been inside?
Was I just being paranoid? I pushed the door open,
the old hinges creaking. The house was quiet, almost too quiet.
The kind of quiet that makes you feel like you're
not alone. I stepped inside, setting the takeout on the
(02:22):
kitchen counter, and did a quick check of the place.
Everything seemed to be in order, nothing was missing, nothing
out of place. But the air felt different, heavier, like
something was hanging in the atmosphere, just out of reach.
As I was about to head to the living room,
I heard a noise from the basement. It was faint,
barely audible, but enough to make my skin crawl, a soft,
(02:45):
rhythmic creaking sound, like wood rubbing against wood. I hesitated
at the top of the basement stairs, my hand hovering
over the light switch. I didn't want to go down there.
The basement was the one part of the house I
hadn't fully explored. It was cold and damp, with low
ceilings and exposed pipes that made it feel more like
a dungeon than a storage space. But the sound persisted,
(03:08):
and I knew I couldn't ignore it. I flicked on
the light, and the bare bulb cast a dim, yellowish
glow over the stairs. The creaking grew louder as I
descended each step, sending a shiver down my spine. When
I reached the bottom. I saw it. In the corner
of the basement, half covered in shadows, was a rocking chair.
It was old, with peeling paint and a sagging seat,
(03:30):
but it was unmistakable. My heart skipped a beat as
I recognized it. It was identical to a chair I
had thrown out before moving in. I stared at it,
trying to make sense of what I was seeing. How
had it gotten here, who had brought it into the house,
and why was it rocking ever so slightly back and forth.
My hands were shaking as I reached out to touch it,
(03:52):
But as soon as my fingers brushed against the.
Speaker 2 (03:54):
Wood, the chair stopped moving.
Speaker 1 (03:57):
The basement fell silent, the air thick with the smell
of mildew and something else, something sweet and sickly, like
old perfume. I backed away, my heart pounding in my chest,
and hurried up the stairs, slamming the door behind me.
Speaker 2 (04:12):
I didn't go back down there that night.
Speaker 1 (04:13):
Instead, I locked every door and window, double checked the locks,
and tried to convince myself that I was overreacting, But
deep down I knew something was wrong.
Speaker 2 (04:23):
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Speaker 1 (04:25):
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the chair
rocking back and forth in the corner of the basement.
I tossed and turned, the unease gnawing at me, until
finally I drifted off into a restless sleep. It must
have been the middle of the night when I woke
up to the sound of creaking. My eyes snapped open,
and for a moment I was disoriented, unsure.
Speaker 2 (04:47):
Of where I was.
Speaker 1 (04:48):
But then I heard it again, the unmistakable sound of
wood rubbing against wood, coming from the basement. I sat
up in bed, my heart racing. The house was dark,
the only light coming from the moon filtering through the curtains.
The sound was faint, but it was there, steady and rhythmic.
I didn't want to go down there, and didn't want
(05:08):
to face whatever was making that noise, but I knew
I couldn't ignore it, not this time. I grabbed my phone,
the small screen casting a weak light. As I made
my way down the hall. My hand trembled as I
reached for the basement door, every instinct screaming at me
to turn back, but.
Speaker 2 (05:25):
I opened the door.
Speaker 1 (05:27):
The creaking was louder, now echoing up the stairs, each
sound making my heart skip a beat. I took a
deep breath, trying to steady myself, and slowly made my
way down the stairs. The basement was cold, damp, and
eerily silent. The chair was still in the corner, exactly
where I had seen it before, but this time it
(05:47):
wasn't empty. There sitting in the chair was an old woman.
Her skin was pale and wrinkled, her hair thin and gray,
pulled back into a tight bun.
Speaker 2 (05:57):
She wore a faded dress that.
Speaker 1 (05:58):
Looked like it belonged to another era, and her hands
were folded neatly in her lap. But it was her
eyes that terrified me, the most cloudy, vacant, staring straight ahead,
as if she didn't see me at all. The chair
rocked back and forth, the rhythmic creaking filling the air.
She didn't move, didn't acknowledge me in any way. She
just sat there, her gaze fixed on some point in
(06:20):
the distance. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. I was frozen
in place, my mind screaming at me to run, to
get out of there, but my body refused to obey.
And then slowly she turned her head, her eyes locked
onto mine, and I felt a.
Speaker 2 (06:35):
Cold wave of fear wash over me.
Speaker 1 (06:37):
Her mouth moved, her lips, parting slightly, as if she
was trying to say something, but no sound came out.
For what felt like an eternity, we just stared at
each other, the creaking of the chair the only sound
in the basement, and then the rocking stopped. The basement
fell silent, the air thick with tension. I blinked, and
when I opened my eyes, the chair was empty.
Speaker 2 (06:59):
The old woman was gone.
Speaker 1 (07:01):
I ran up the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest,
and locked the basement door behind me.
Speaker 2 (07:06):
I didn't go back to bed that night.
Speaker 1 (07:08):
Instead, I sat in the living room, my mind racing,
trying to make sense of what had just happened. But
there was no explanation, no rational way to understand what
I had seen. All I knew was that the house
wasn't empty, not anymore. The next morning, I was exhausted,
my mind clouded with fear and confusion. I knew I
(07:29):
couldn't stay in the house, but I didn't know where
to go. I felt trapped, like I was being watched,
even in the daylight. I decided to do some research,
hoping to find some answers. I started with the previous owner,
trying to learn more about who had lived in the
house before me. It didn't take long to find out
the name was right there on the deed, Eleanor Martin.
(07:52):
She had lived in the house for over fifty years,
a widow who had raised her children there and stayed
long after they had moved away. She had died in
the house alone, and her children had sold it soon after.
The more I learned about her, the more the pieces
started to fall into place. The rocking chair had been hers,
a gift from her late husband. It had been her favorite.
Speaker 2 (08:13):
Spot where she would sit for hours.
Speaker 1 (08:15):
Knitting or reading. Long after the house had emptied out.
I contacted the previous owner's son, hoping he could shed
some light on what was happening. He was hesitant to
talk at first, but eventually he opened up. My mother
loved that chair, he said, his voice tinged with sadness.
She spent most of her days in it, even after
(08:36):
she got sick. We tried to get rid of it
after she passed, but every time we did it would
end up back in the house.
Speaker 2 (08:43):
We didn't know what to do, so we just left
it in the basement.
Speaker 1 (08:48):
I felt a chill run down my spine as he
spoke The pieces clicking together in my mind. The chair
hadn't been brought into the house. It had always been there, waiting,
waiting for her. That night, I knew I had to
confront whatever was in the house. I couldn't live like this,
couldn't go on feeling like a prisoner in my own home.
I had to face it, no matter how terrified I was.
(09:09):
I waited until it was dark, until the house was silent,
and then I made my way to the basement. The
fear was almost overwhelming, but I forced myself to keep going,
one step at a time. When I reached the bottom
of the stairs, the chair was there, just as I
had expected. It was empty, but the air around it
felt charged, like something was waiting. I took a deep
(09:32):
breath and stepped closer, my heart pounding in my chest.
The chair remained still. The room's silent, but I could
feel her presence like a cold breath on the back
of my neck. And then I spoke Eleanor, I said,
my voice trembling, if you're here, I want you to
know that this is your home. You don't have to leave,
but please don't scare me. I'm just trying to live here,
(09:55):
just like you.
Speaker 2 (09:55):
Did. For a moment, nothing happened.
Speaker 1 (09:58):
The chair remained still, the room's silent, but I could
feel her presence like a cold breath on the back
of my neck. I stepped back, my breath catching in
my throat. The chair rocked back and forth, the creaking
sound filling the room, but this time it didn't feel threatening.
Speaker 2 (10:12):
It felt peaseful. The room grew colder, the.
Speaker 1 (10:16):
Air thickening with the scent of old perfume, and I
knew she was there, but this time I wasn't afraid.
I watched the chair rock for a few minutes, my
fear slowly ebbing away, and then as suddenly as it
had started, the rocking stopped. The basement fell silent, and
I felt a sense of calm wash over me. I
knew in that moment that Eleanor was at peace. The
(10:39):
next day, I moved the chair out of the basement
and into the living room, placing it by the window
where the sunlight could reach it. I never saw the
old woman again, but sometimes when the house is quiet
and the wind is still, I hear the faint sound
of the chair creaking, rocking back and forth, and I
know that Eleanor is still there. Watching over her home,
just like you always did. When I first bought the house,
(11:09):
I was filled with a sense of pride and excitement.
It was my first home, a small place that had
been on the market for a while. It needed some work,
nothing too major, just a few repairs and a fresh
coat of paint. But that didn't bother me. I was
ready to make it my own, to turn it into
a space that felt like mine. The house was everything
(11:30):
I had been looking for. It had character, history, and
enough space.
Speaker 2 (11:35):
For all the things I'd collected over the years.
Speaker 1 (11:38):
The previous owners had left some furniture behind, old pieces
that added to the home's antique charm. There was an attic, too,
which I planned to use for storage once I had
gone through all the boxes I had brought with me.
The first few days were a whirlwind of unpacking and organizing.
I spent most of my time downstairs getting the kitchen
(11:59):
and living room set up, and only ventured into the
attic to drop off boxes of things I didn't.
Speaker 2 (12:04):
Need right away.
Speaker 1 (12:06):
The attic was a large, dusty space with exposed beams
and a single small window that led in just enough
light to see by during the day. It was cluttered
with old furniture, paintings, and other odds and ends that
the previous owners hadn't bothered to take with them.
Speaker 2 (12:23):
I didn't think much of it at first.
Speaker 1 (12:25):
The attic was just another part of the house, and
I was too focused on getting everything else in order
to worry about it. But that changed on the third night.
It started with a noise. I was lying in bed
trying to fall asleep when I heard it, A faint,
scratching sound coming from above. It was so quiet, I
thought I was imagining it, But as I lay there,
(12:45):
straining to listen, the sound grew louder, more distinct. It
was coming from the attic. I sat up in bed,
my heart starting to race. I told myself it was
probably just a rat or some other small animal that
had found its way inside. Old houses like this were
bound to have pests, and I hadn't had a chance
(13:05):
to check the attic thoroughly yet. But there was something
about the sound that made my skin crawl, something that
didn't feel right. I tried to ignore it, to tell
myself was nothing, but the noise continued, persistent and unrelenting.
I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep unless I
checked it. Out, so I reluctantly got out of bed
(13:26):
and grabbed a flashlight. The house was eerily silent as
I made my way to the attic stairs. The only
sound the creaking of the floorboards beneath my feet. When
I reached the door, I hesitated, my hand hovering over
the doorknob.
Speaker 2 (13:41):
Part of me wanted to turn around.
Speaker 1 (13:42):
To go back to bed and pretend I hadn't heard anything,
but I knew I couldn't. I opened the door, and
the scratching sound grew louder, echoing down the stairs. My
heart was pounding in my chest as I climbed the
narrow steps, the beam of my flashlight cutting through the darkness.
Speaker 2 (13:59):
When I reached the.
Speaker 1 (14:00):
I shone the light around the attic, searching for the
source of the noise, but the scratching continued. I followed
the sound, weaving my way through the maze of boxes
and furniture until I reached the far corner of the attic. There,
hidden behind a stack of old paintings, was a small
wooden door I hadn't noticed before. The door was old,
(14:23):
the wood warped and splintered, and it looked like it
hadn't been opened in years.
Speaker 2 (14:27):
The scratching sound was.
Speaker 1 (14:28):
Coming from behind it, faint but insistent, like something was
trying to get out.
Speaker 2 (14:33):
I reached for the.
Speaker 1 (14:34):
Doorknob, my hand trembling, and slowly turned it. The door
creaked open, revealing a dark, narrow passageway that led to
a small, hidden room. My flashlight flickered, the beam casting
long shadows across the floor as I stepped inside. The
room was small, barely big enough to stand in, and
the walls were lined with old, faded wallpaper. The air
(14:56):
was thick and musty, the smell almost overpowering. In the
center of the room was a single, small bed, the
sheets tattered and stained with age. But what caught my
attention was the figure sitting on the bed. It was
a woman, her skin pale and sickly, her hair matted
and unkempt. She was hunched over, her back to me,
and she was scratching at the wall, her fingers digging
(15:19):
into the plaster. My breath caught in my throat, and
I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. This
wasn't just an animal or a figment of my imagination.
Speaker 2 (15:29):
This was real.
Speaker 1 (15:30):
I wanted to run, but I was unable to tear
my eyes away from the figure in front of me,
and then she turned around. Her eyes were wild, filled
with a madness that sent a jolt of terror through me.
Her face was gaunt, her cheeks hollow, and her lips
were cracked and dry. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, and
filled with a desperation that made my blood run cold.
(15:51):
She stared at me for a moment, her chest heaving
as if she was struggling to breathe, and then, without warning,
she lunged at me. I stumbled back, barely managing to
dodge her as she clawed at the air, her fingers
twisted and gnarled. She was screaming, a high pitched, inhuman
sound that echoed through the attic, filling the space with
a sense of pure, unbridled terror. I turned and ran,
(16:15):
my heart pounding in my chest as I raced down
the stairs, her scream still ringing in my ears. I
didn't stop until I reached the front door, my hands
shaking as I fumbled with the lock. When I finally
got the door open, I ran outside, the cold night
air hitting me like a slap in the face. I
kept running until I was halfway down the street. My
(16:36):
breath coming in ragged gasps, my mind reeling with what
I had just seen.
Speaker 2 (16:41):
I didn't go back inside that night. I couldn't.
Speaker 1 (16:44):
Instead, I sat in my car, staring at the house,
trying to make sense of what had just happened. The
woman in the attic, Who was she? How long had
she been there? And why hadn't I noticed the hidden
room before. I didn't have any answers, but I knew
one thing for sure. I couldn't stay in that house.
The next morning, I called the police. I didn't know
(17:07):
how to explain what had happened, but I knew I couldn't.
Speaker 2 (17:09):
Go back into the house alone. When the officers.
Speaker 1 (17:12):
Arrived, I led them to the attic, my heart pounding
in my chest as we climbed the stairs. The house
was eerily silent, the only sound the creaking of the
floorboards beneath our feet. I pointed out the hidden door,
my hands trembling as I explained what I had seen.
The officers exchanged a glance, their expressions skeptical, but they
(17:32):
didn't say anything. They opened the door, their flashlights cutting
through the darkness as they stepped inside. The room was
just as I had left it, small, cramped and filled
with the smell of decay, but the woman was gone.
The bed was empty, the sheets still tattered and stained,
but there was no sign of her. The officers searched
(17:55):
the room, checking every corner, but there was nothing there.
They didn't find any ova of someone living in the attic,
no sign that the woman had ever been there. They
told me it was probably just a squatter, someone who
had broken into the house and then fled when they
realized I had moved in. But I knew that wasn't true.
The woman I had seen wasn't just a squatter. There
(18:17):
was something wrong with her, something that couldn't be explained
by logic or reason. The police left after a few hours,
telling me to call if I saw anything else unusual,
but I could tell they didn't believe me. They thought
I was just a nervous new homeowner spooped by the
old house and its creaks and groans. But I knew
(18:37):
what I had seen, and I knew that she was
still out there somewhere. I tried to stay in the
house after that, tried to convince myself that it was
all in my head, that the woman in the attic
was just a figment of my imagination, but the fear
never went away. Every night, I would lie in bed,
straining to hear the slightest noise, the faintest scratch. The
(18:59):
house was silent, but I could feel her presence, like
a shadow, lurking just out of sight. I started having nightmares, vivid,
terrifying dreams where I was trapped in the attic, the
woman's twisted face inches from mine, her hands clawing at
my skin. I would wake up drenched in sweat, my
heart pounding, the fear so real that I could still
(19:19):
feel it long after I had woken up. I knew
I couldn't stay in the house any longer. The fear
was too much, the sense of dread too overwhelming. I
packed up my things, leaving most of it behind, and
moved out within a week. I never went back. I
don't know what happened to the woman in the attic,
or how long she had been there. Maybe she was
(19:39):
a ghost, or maybe she was something else, something that
defied explanation. But whatever she was, I hoped she was gone.
But sometimes late at night, when I'm lying in bed,
I can still hear the faint sound of scratching, the
soft creak of a door opening, and I wonder, just
for a moment, if she's still out there for someone
(20:00):
else to find her.
When I moved into the old house on Maple Street,
I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary. It was
a small, single story place with chipped paint, but it
had a certain charm to it, the kind of charm
that made me think I could turn it into something special.
The house had been on the market for a while,
and I got it for a good price. The previous
(00:23):
owner had passed away and the family had been eager
to sell it quickly.
Speaker 2 (00:27):
I didn't ask too many questions.
Speaker 1 (00:29):
It was a nice house in a nice neighborhood, and
I thought it was a bargain. The first few days
were a blur of unpacking and getting settled. There was
something almost comforting about the old house, like it had
been waiting for someone to come and breathe life into
it again. The walls were thick and the windows let
in just enough light to make the place feel cozy,
(00:51):
even during the colder.
Speaker 2 (00:52):
Darker months.
Speaker 1 (00:54):
But there was one thing that nagged at me from
the start, the front door. Every time I left the house,
I made sure to lock the door. It was an
old habit, something my dad had drilled into me from
a young age. Always locked the door behind you. He'd say,
even if you're just stepping out for a minute. So
whenever I went out, I'd double check the lock, making
(01:14):
sure it was secure before heading on my way. But
no matter how careful I was, I'd come back to
find the door unlocked. The first time it happened, I
thought I'd just forgotten. I'd been distracted, maybe focused on
the long list of things I needed to get done.
But it kept happening. Every single time I came back,
the door would be unlocked. At first, I shrugged it
(01:37):
off as an old lock that needed replacing, but after
a week of this, I couldn't ignore it anymore.
Speaker 2 (01:44):
Something was wrong.
Speaker 1 (01:46):
One evening, after a long day of running errands, I
came home with a bag of takeout, ready to crash
on the couch and watch some TV. As usual, I
double checked the front door before leaving, making sure it
was locked tight, But when I got back, the door
was slightly a job.
Speaker 2 (02:00):
My heart sank.
Speaker 1 (02:02):
I stood there for a moment, staring at the door,
my mind racing through all the possibilities. Had someone been inside?
Was I just being paranoid? I pushed the door open,
the old hinges creaking. The house was quiet, almost too quiet.
The kind of quiet that makes you feel like you're
not alone. I stepped inside, setting the takeout on the
(02:22):
kitchen counter, and did a quick check of the place.
Everything seemed to be in order, nothing was missing, nothing
out of place. But the air felt different, heavier, like
something was hanging in the atmosphere, just out of reach.
As I was about to head to the living room,
I heard a noise from the basement. It was faint,
barely audible, but enough to make my skin crawl, a soft,
(02:45):
rhythmic creaking sound, like wood rubbing against wood. I hesitated
at the top of the basement stairs, my hand hovering
over the light switch. I didn't want to go down there.
The basement was the one part of the house I
hadn't fully explored. It was cold and damp, with low
ceilings and exposed pipes that made it feel more like
a dungeon than a storage space. But the sound persisted,
(03:08):
and I knew I couldn't ignore it. I flicked on
the light, and the bare bulb cast a dim, yellowish
glow over the stairs. The creaking grew louder as I
descended each step, sending a shiver down my spine. When
I reached the bottom. I saw it. In the corner
of the basement, half covered in shadows, was a rocking chair.
It was old, with peeling paint and a sagging seat,
(03:30):
but it was unmistakable. My heart skipped a beat as
I recognized it. It was identical to a chair I
had thrown out before moving in. I stared at it,
trying to make sense of what I was seeing. How
had it gotten here, who had brought it into the house,
and why was it rocking ever so slightly back and forth.
My hands were shaking as I reached out to touch it,
(03:52):
But as soon as my fingers brushed against the.
Speaker 2 (03:54):
Wood, the chair stopped moving.
Speaker 1 (03:57):
The basement fell silent, the air thick with the smell
of mildew and something else, something sweet and sickly, like
old perfume. I backed away, my heart pounding in my chest,
and hurried up the stairs, slamming the door behind me.
Speaker 2 (04:12):
I didn't go back down there that night.
Speaker 1 (04:13):
Instead, I locked every door and window, double checked the locks,
and tried to convince myself that I was overreacting, But
deep down I knew something was wrong.
Speaker 2 (04:23):
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Speaker 1 (04:25):
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the chair
rocking back and forth in the corner of the basement.
I tossed and turned, the unease gnawing at me, until
finally I drifted off into a restless sleep. It must
have been the middle of the night when I woke
up to the sound of creaking. My eyes snapped open,
and for a moment I was disoriented, unsure.
Speaker 2 (04:47):
Of where I was.
Speaker 1 (04:48):
But then I heard it again, the unmistakable sound of
wood rubbing against wood, coming from the basement. I sat
up in bed, my heart racing. The house was dark,
the only light coming from the moon filtering through the curtains.
The sound was faint, but it was there, steady and rhythmic.
I didn't want to go down there, and didn't want
(05:08):
to face whatever was making that noise, but I knew
I couldn't ignore it, not this time. I grabbed my phone,
the small screen casting a weak light. As I made
my way down the hall. My hand trembled as I
reached for the basement door, every instinct screaming at me
to turn back, but.
Speaker 2 (05:25):
I opened the door.
Speaker 1 (05:27):
The creaking was louder, now echoing up the stairs, each
sound making my heart skip a beat. I took a
deep breath, trying to steady myself, and slowly made my
way down the stairs. The basement was cold, damp, and
eerily silent. The chair was still in the corner, exactly
where I had seen it before, but this time it
(05:47):
wasn't empty. There sitting in the chair was an old woman.
Her skin was pale and wrinkled, her hair thin and gray,
pulled back into a tight bun.
Speaker 2 (05:57):
She wore a faded dress that.
Speaker 1 (05:58):
Looked like it belonged to another era, and her hands
were folded neatly in her lap. But it was her
eyes that terrified me, the most cloudy, vacant, staring straight ahead,
as if she didn't see me at all. The chair
rocked back and forth, the rhythmic creaking filling the air.
She didn't move, didn't acknowledge me in any way. She
just sat there, her gaze fixed on some point in
(06:20):
the distance. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe. I was frozen
in place, my mind screaming at me to run, to
get out of there, but my body refused to obey.
And then slowly she turned her head, her eyes locked
onto mine, and I felt a.
Speaker 2 (06:35):
Cold wave of fear wash over me.
Speaker 1 (06:37):
Her mouth moved, her lips, parting slightly, as if she
was trying to say something, but no sound came out.
For what felt like an eternity, we just stared at
each other, the creaking of the chair the only sound
in the basement, and then the rocking stopped. The basement
fell silent, the air thick with tension. I blinked, and
when I opened my eyes, the chair was empty.
Speaker 2 (06:59):
The old woman was gone.
Speaker 1 (07:01):
I ran up the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest,
and locked the basement door behind me.
Speaker 2 (07:06):
I didn't go back to bed that night.
Speaker 1 (07:08):
Instead, I sat in the living room, my mind racing,
trying to make sense of what had just happened. But
there was no explanation, no rational way to understand what
I had seen. All I knew was that the house
wasn't empty, not anymore. The next morning, I was exhausted,
my mind clouded with fear and confusion. I knew I
(07:29):
couldn't stay in the house, but I didn't know where
to go. I felt trapped, like I was being watched,
even in the daylight. I decided to do some research,
hoping to find some answers. I started with the previous owner,
trying to learn more about who had lived in the
house before me. It didn't take long to find out
the name was right there on the deed, Eleanor Martin.
(07:52):
She had lived in the house for over fifty years,
a widow who had raised her children there and stayed
long after they had moved away. She had died in
the house alone, and her children had sold it soon after.
The more I learned about her, the more the pieces
started to fall into place. The rocking chair had been hers,
a gift from her late husband. It had been her favorite.
Speaker 2 (08:13):
Spot where she would sit for hours.
Speaker 1 (08:15):
Knitting or reading. Long after the house had emptied out.
I contacted the previous owner's son, hoping he could shed
some light on what was happening. He was hesitant to
talk at first, but eventually he opened up. My mother
loved that chair, he said, his voice tinged with sadness.
She spent most of her days in it, even after
(08:36):
she got sick. We tried to get rid of it
after she passed, but every time we did it would
end up back in the house.
Speaker 2 (08:43):
We didn't know what to do, so we just left
it in the basement.
Speaker 1 (08:48):
I felt a chill run down my spine as he
spoke The pieces clicking together in my mind. The chair
hadn't been brought into the house. It had always been there, waiting,
waiting for her. That night, I knew I had to
confront whatever was in the house. I couldn't live like this,
couldn't go on feeling like a prisoner in my own home.
I had to face it, no matter how terrified I was.
(09:09):
I waited until it was dark, until the house was silent,
and then I made my way to the basement. The
fear was almost overwhelming, but I forced myself to keep going,
one step at a time. When I reached the bottom
of the stairs, the chair was there, just as I
had expected. It was empty, but the air around it
felt charged, like something was waiting. I took a deep
(09:32):
breath and stepped closer, my heart pounding in my chest.
The chair remained still. The room's silent, but I could
feel her presence like a cold breath on the back
of my neck. And then I spoke Eleanor, I said,
my voice trembling, if you're here, I want you to
know that this is your home. You don't have to leave,
but please don't scare me. I'm just trying to live here,
(09:55):
just like you.
Speaker 2 (09:55):
Did. For a moment, nothing happened.
Speaker 1 (09:58):
The chair remained still, the room's silent, but I could
feel her presence like a cold breath on the back
of my neck. I stepped back, my breath catching in
my throat. The chair rocked back and forth, the creaking
sound filling the room, but this time it didn't feel threatening.
Speaker 2 (10:12):
It felt peaseful. The room grew colder, the.
Speaker 1 (10:16):
Air thickening with the scent of old perfume, and I
knew she was there, but this time I wasn't afraid.
I watched the chair rock for a few minutes, my
fear slowly ebbing away, and then as suddenly as it
had started, the rocking stopped. The basement fell silent, and
I felt a sense of calm wash over me. I
knew in that moment that Eleanor was at peace. The
(10:39):
next day, I moved the chair out of the basement
and into the living room, placing it by the window
where the sunlight could reach it. I never saw the
old woman again, but sometimes when the house is quiet
and the wind is still, I hear the faint sound
of the chair creaking, rocking back and forth, and I
know that Eleanor is still there. Watching over her home,
just like you always did. When I first bought the house,
(11:09):
I was filled with a sense of pride and excitement.
It was my first home, a small place that had
been on the market for a while. It needed some work,
nothing too major, just a few repairs and a fresh
coat of paint. But that didn't bother me. I was
ready to make it my own, to turn it into
a space that felt like mine. The house was everything
(11:30):
I had been looking for. It had character, history, and
enough space.
Speaker 2 (11:35):
For all the things I'd collected over the years.
Speaker 1 (11:38):
The previous owners had left some furniture behind, old pieces
that added to the home's antique charm. There was an attic, too,
which I planned to use for storage once I had
gone through all the boxes I had brought with me.
The first few days were a whirlwind of unpacking and organizing.
I spent most of my time downstairs getting the kitchen
(11:59):
and living room set up, and only ventured into the
attic to drop off boxes of things I didn't.
Speaker 2 (12:04):
Need right away.
Speaker 1 (12:06):
The attic was a large, dusty space with exposed beams
and a single small window that led in just enough
light to see by during the day. It was cluttered
with old furniture, paintings, and other odds and ends that
the previous owners hadn't bothered to take with them.
Speaker 2 (12:23):
I didn't think much of it at first.
Speaker 1 (12:25):
The attic was just another part of the house, and
I was too focused on getting everything else in order
to worry about it. But that changed on the third night.
It started with a noise. I was lying in bed
trying to fall asleep when I heard it, A faint,
scratching sound coming from above. It was so quiet, I
thought I was imagining it, But as I lay there,
(12:45):
straining to listen, the sound grew louder, more distinct. It
was coming from the attic. I sat up in bed,
my heart starting to race. I told myself it was
probably just a rat or some other small animal that
had found its way inside. Old houses like this were
bound to have pests, and I hadn't had a chance
(13:05):
to check the attic thoroughly yet. But there was something
about the sound that made my skin crawl, something that
didn't feel right. I tried to ignore it, to tell
myself was nothing, but the noise continued, persistent and unrelenting.
I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep unless I
checked it. Out, so I reluctantly got out of bed
(13:26):
and grabbed a flashlight. The house was eerily silent as
I made my way to the attic stairs. The only
sound the creaking of the floorboards beneath my feet. When
I reached the door, I hesitated, my hand hovering over
the doorknob.
Speaker 2 (13:41):
Part of me wanted to turn around.
Speaker 1 (13:42):
To go back to bed and pretend I hadn't heard anything,
but I knew I couldn't. I opened the door, and
the scratching sound grew louder, echoing down the stairs. My
heart was pounding in my chest as I climbed the
narrow steps, the beam of my flashlight cutting through the darkness.
Speaker 2 (13:59):
When I reached the.
Speaker 1 (14:00):
I shone the light around the attic, searching for the
source of the noise, but the scratching continued. I followed
the sound, weaving my way through the maze of boxes
and furniture until I reached the far corner of the attic. There,
hidden behind a stack of old paintings, was a small
wooden door I hadn't noticed before. The door was old,
(14:23):
the wood warped and splintered, and it looked like it
hadn't been opened in years.
Speaker 2 (14:27):
The scratching sound was.
Speaker 1 (14:28):
Coming from behind it, faint but insistent, like something was
trying to get out.
Speaker 2 (14:33):
I reached for the.
Speaker 1 (14:34):
Doorknob, my hand trembling, and slowly turned it. The door
creaked open, revealing a dark, narrow passageway that led to
a small, hidden room. My flashlight flickered, the beam casting
long shadows across the floor as I stepped inside. The
room was small, barely big enough to stand in, and
the walls were lined with old, faded wallpaper. The air
(14:56):
was thick and musty, the smell almost overpowering. In the
center of the room was a single, small bed, the
sheets tattered and stained with age. But what caught my
attention was the figure sitting on the bed. It was
a woman, her skin pale and sickly, her hair matted
and unkempt. She was hunched over, her back to me,
and she was scratching at the wall, her fingers digging
(15:19):
into the plaster. My breath caught in my throat, and
I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. This
wasn't just an animal or a figment of my imagination.
Speaker 2 (15:29):
This was real.
Speaker 1 (15:30):
I wanted to run, but I was unable to tear
my eyes away from the figure in front of me,
and then she turned around. Her eyes were wild, filled
with a madness that sent a jolt of terror through me.
Her face was gaunt, her cheeks hollow, and her lips
were cracked and dry. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, and
filled with a desperation that made my blood run cold.
(15:51):
She stared at me for a moment, her chest heaving
as if she was struggling to breathe, and then, without warning,
she lunged at me. I stumbled back, barely managing to
dodge her as she clawed at the air, her fingers
twisted and gnarled. She was screaming, a high pitched, inhuman
sound that echoed through the attic, filling the space with
a sense of pure, unbridled terror. I turned and ran,
(16:15):
my heart pounding in my chest as I raced down
the stairs, her scream still ringing in my ears. I
didn't stop until I reached the front door, my hands
shaking as I fumbled with the lock. When I finally
got the door open, I ran outside, the cold night
air hitting me like a slap in the face. I
kept running until I was halfway down the street. My
(16:36):
breath coming in ragged gasps, my mind reeling with what
I had just seen.
Speaker 2 (16:41):
I didn't go back inside that night. I couldn't.
Speaker 1 (16:44):
Instead, I sat in my car, staring at the house,
trying to make sense of what had just happened. The
woman in the attic, Who was she? How long had
she been there? And why hadn't I noticed the hidden
room before. I didn't have any answers, but I knew
one thing for sure. I couldn't stay in that house.
The next morning, I called the police. I didn't know
(17:07):
how to explain what had happened, but I knew I couldn't.
Speaker 2 (17:09):
Go back into the house alone. When the officers.
Speaker 1 (17:12):
Arrived, I led them to the attic, my heart pounding
in my chest as we climbed the stairs. The house
was eerily silent, the only sound the creaking of the
floorboards beneath our feet. I pointed out the hidden door,
my hands trembling as I explained what I had seen.
The officers exchanged a glance, their expressions skeptical, but they
(17:32):
didn't say anything. They opened the door, their flashlights cutting
through the darkness as they stepped inside. The room was
just as I had left it, small, cramped and filled
with the smell of decay, but the woman was gone.
The bed was empty, the sheets still tattered and stained,
but there was no sign of her. The officers searched
(17:55):
the room, checking every corner, but there was nothing there.
They didn't find any ova of someone living in the attic,
no sign that the woman had ever been there. They
told me it was probably just a squatter, someone who
had broken into the house and then fled when they
realized I had moved in. But I knew that wasn't true.
The woman I had seen wasn't just a squatter. There
(18:17):
was something wrong with her, something that couldn't be explained
by logic or reason. The police left after a few hours,
telling me to call if I saw anything else unusual,
but I could tell they didn't believe me. They thought
I was just a nervous new homeowner spooped by the
old house and its creaks and groans. But I knew
(18:37):
what I had seen, and I knew that she was
still out there somewhere. I tried to stay in the
house after that, tried to convince myself that it was
all in my head, that the woman in the attic
was just a figment of my imagination, but the fear
never went away. Every night, I would lie in bed,
straining to hear the slightest noise, the faintest scratch. The
(18:59):
house was silent, but I could feel her presence, like
a shadow, lurking just out of sight. I started having nightmares, vivid,
terrifying dreams where I was trapped in the attic, the
woman's twisted face inches from mine, her hands clawing at
my skin. I would wake up drenched in sweat, my
heart pounding, the fear so real that I could still
(19:19):
feel it long after I had woken up. I knew
I couldn't stay in the house any longer. The fear
was too much, the sense of dread too overwhelming. I
packed up my things, leaving most of it behind, and
moved out within a week. I never went back. I
don't know what happened to the woman in the attic,
or how long she had been there. Maybe she was
(19:39):
a ghost, or maybe she was something else, something that
defied explanation. But whatever she was, I hoped she was gone.
But sometimes late at night, when I'm lying in bed,
I can still hear the faint sound of scratching, the
soft creak of a door opening, and I wonder, just
for a moment, if she's still out there for someone
(20:00):
else to find her.
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