The air has grown colder over the past few days. I’m starting to notice strange occurrences—things out of place, shadows that don’t belong. The whispers have returned. They’re faint at first, like a faint murmur from the other side of the room, but they grow louder each night. It feels like someone is watching me. My every move. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not alone anymore.
Perhaps I should leave this house, but something pulls me to stay... something I can't resist.
The noises... they’ve changed. It’s not just whispers anymore. Now, it’s a scratching, like nails dragging against the floorboards. I hear it at night, when I try to sleep. But when I get up to check, there’s nothing. Just empty rooms. The scratching has become louder, more urgent. It’s as if something wants to get in... or out.
I don’t know how much longer I can stand this. I’m afraid to close my eyes.
It found me. The thing in the walls, it found me. I can feel it every time I walk past the old attic door. The air grows thick, suffocating. The whispers are no longer soft; they are demanding. I tried to open the door, but something held me back. I can’t explain it... a force stronger than any lock or bolt. It's pulling me towards it, beckoning me into the void.
I need to know what’s behind that door. But... I am terrified of what I will find.
I did it. I opened the door. I wish I hadn’t. There’s nothing there, yet everything is different. The air feels heavier, charged with something unnatural. I heard voices in the dark space behind the door. They weren’t coming from anywhere, yet they surrounded me. I felt their cold breath on my neck. I can’t escape it. It’s inside me now.
I should never have opened that door. But now it’s too late.
I can’t sleep. Every time I try, I hear them—those voices, growing louder, closer. They're in my dreams now, crawling under my skin, whispering in my ears. I’ve seen their faces. Faint at first, but now I can make them out more clearly. They are pale, with hollow eyes, and their mouths move as if they want to speak. I can’t understand what they’re saying. It’s a language I don’t recognize.
I don’t know if I’m still dreaming or if I’m awake. It feels like I’m somewhere between the two.
The scratching has gotten unbearable. It comes from beneath the floorboards. I’ve tried to ignore it, but it only grows louder. It’s as if something is trying to claw its way out of the earth itself. I feel like I’m losing my grip on reality. Every night, the whispers are closer. They sound almost like my name, but distorted, wrong.
I need to find out what’s in the floor. But I’m scared of what I’ll uncover.
The darkness has begun to seep into my thoughts. At first, I didn’t notice it—just a few things off here and there. But now... now, I hear things when I’m alone. In the dead of night, the whispers have turned into faint footsteps, shuffling from the dark corners of my room. I turn, expecting to see someone there, but there’s never anyone.
I can't stay here much longer. I need to leave. But I can't seem to bring myself to.
It’s too quiet now. The footsteps have stopped, but there’s still something in the air. The house is still breathing, the walls creaking in a slow, methodical rhythm. And I feel like I’m the only one left here. Like I’m walking through an empty world that no longer wants me. I can’t tell if it’s the house or something inside me that’s changing.
What if there’s no escape? What if I’m the one who’s fading away?
I opened the attic again. I couldn’t help myself. This time, I didn’t hear anything. Just a cold, oppressive silence. But when I stepped inside, the air was thick with something else. A presence. I can’t describe it, but it felt like the space was alive. There was something waiting for me. Watching. The floor creaked beneath my feet, but there was nothing visible. Just the overwhelming feeling that something is still there, waiting... still watching.
I have to leave. I can’t keep doing this. But what if it follows me?
I heard my name again, but it wasn’t from inside the house. It was outside, just beyond the window. Softly, in the dark. Almost a whisper. And when I looked, there was nothing. Only the wind, moving through the trees. But I know I heard it. I know what I heard.
I can’t tell anyone. No one would understand. They’d think I’m losing my mind.
It’s worse than I thought. The whispers are now voices. They follow me wherever I go, creeping into my thoughts, speaking to me in a language I don’t recognize. When I try to sleep, they’re there, creeping into my dreams. I saw something in the mirror today. A face. But it wasn’t mine.
The more I try to fight it, the stronger it becomes. The house... it’s changing me.
The shadows are alive. I can feel them moving, creeping around me, curling into the corners of my vision. At night, I’m not sure what’s real anymore. I hear whispers, but now they sound like they're speaking directly in my ear. Sometimes I hear footsteps, sometimes breathing. It’s hard to tell where the house ends and where the darkness begins.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending that everything is okay.
I woke up to the sound of someone knocking. It came from inside the walls. Soft at first, then louder, more insistent. I tried to ignore it, but the sound grew so intense that I had to get up. When I checked the walls, there was nothing. Only silence. But the knocking is still there, echoing inside my head, and I can’t escape it.
I have to get out of here. But where can I go? Can I escape what’s inside these walls?
I’ve started seeing things. Not just in my dreams, but when I’m awake. Strange figures lurking in the corners of my eyes. Shadows that flicker just out of view. Sometimes, when I walk past a mirror, I catch a glimpse of something standing behind me, but when I turn around, nothing is there. My heart races every time I look in a reflective surface.
I can’t trust my own eyes anymore.
The house is silent now. Too silent. I can feel it watching me, waiting for me to make a move. When I try to leave, it’s like I’m drawn back in, unable to walk away. The walls have started to move, shifting like the house itself is alive. I can hear breathing in the floorboards, the walls, the ceiling. The entire house is watching, waiting.
Am I losing my mind, or is the house truly alive?
I found something in the attic. It was hidden under the floorboards, wrapped in old, decaying fabric. At first, I thought it was just an old relic, a forgotten piece of history. But when I opened it, I realized it wasn’t just an object. It was a book. A diary, much like mine. But its pages... its pages are filled with strange symbols, things I don’t recognize.
I don’t know if I should open it. But I feel compelled to.
I've started hearing the book speak to me. Not out loud, but in my mind. Its words echo through my thoughts, and I can’t stop them. I’ve tried to ignore it, to lock it away, but the book is calling to me, urging me to open it and understand its secrets. But what if its secrets are too much to bear?
I don’t think I can stop now. I have to know what it wants me to do.
The whispers in the house have turned into screams. They aren’t whispers anymore, not even voices. They’re screams, tortured cries, and desperate pleas for help. They come from the walls, the floor, and from the attic. The book is getting louder too, urging me to open it fully. I think it’s trying to tell me something... but what?
I can feel myself slipping. I need to open the book. But I’m afraid of what I might find.
I opened the book. I shouldn’t have, but I did. The moment I did, everything changed. The walls groaned, and the house seemed to shudder. The book is full of words, words that twist and writhe, like they have a life of their own. I can feel them in my mind, crawling through my thoughts. I hear them even when I’m not looking at the book. The house is alive with them.
It’s too late. The book has changed everything. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again.
The darkness is everywhere now. I can’t escape it. It follows me, surrounds me, and even when I try to sleep, it’s there, waiting. The book is growing, the words are filling the pages, and I can hear the voice of the author. It’s speaking to me, and I think it wants me to join it... to become a part of the darkness.
Am I already a part of it?
I’ve lost track of time. Days blur together. The house is shifting, the walls bending and twisting. I can feel it getting closer, the thing that has been watching me all this time. The whispers are louder now, screaming in my ears, demanding that I open my eyes. I’ve tried to run, but every door leads back to the same place, the same room.
What if there’s no escape? What if I am the one who’s trapped here forever?
I tried to leave, but the house wouldn’t let me. The door slammed shut in my face. I could hear the voice of the house laughing, a deep, hollow sound that vibrated through my bones. I’ve heard that laugh before, in my dreams. The house knows I can’t escape. It owns me now. The book has taken hold of me, and there’s no going back.
I belong to it now. I always have.
The house is changing again. The walls are darker now, the shadows deeper. I can feel the presence of the thing that’s inside me, pressing against my skin. It’s not just in my mind anymore—it’s in my veins, my heart, my soul. I am no longer the person I was. I am a part of the house. I am part of the darkness.
There is no escape. There was never an escape.
I tried to scream today. But nothing came out. Not a sound. It’s as if I’ve lost my voice. Perhaps I never had one to begin with. The house is my voice now. The walls speak for me. The book speaks for me. And it wants me to be its servant, to carry out its will. I have no choice anymore.
I am its servant. Forever.
The house is alive. I’ve come to understand that now. It’s not just the walls, or the floor, or the shadows. It’s the very air I breathe. It’s in the whispers that I hear when I sleep, the scratches in the walls that echo in my ears. I am not alone. I am never alone.
The house is my only companion now. And it will never let me go.
The whispers are getting louder, as though the house is trying to speak to me through them. There’s something urgent about it now, something that feels like a warning. I can’t make sense of the words, but I know it’s important. It’s trying to tell me something. Something I need to understand before it’s too late.
I need to find the answers. Before the house consumes me completely.