w, as I write this, it’s there—closer than before

orror
Haunted house
Supernatural
Creepy
Attic
Lantern
Mysterious disappearance
Tapping
Shadows
Fearful escape
LTThe house at the end of Willow Street had been empty for years, its windows dark and its paint peeling like dead skin. Locals whispered about the family that once lived there—how they vanished one stormy night, leaving behind only a single, flickering lantern in the attic.

I didn’t believe the stories. So when my friends dared me to spend the night, I laughed and agreed. Armed with a sleeping bag and a flashlight, I broke the rusty lock and stepped inside. The air was thick with dust, and the floorboards groaned under my weight. It smelled wrong—like damp earth and something metallic.

I set up in the living room, the silence pressing against my ears. Hours passed, and I started to doze off—until a faint tapping came from upstairs. Tap. Tap. Tap. Steady, like a metronome. I grabbed my flashlight and climbed the creaking stairs, heart pounding. The sound grew louder, leading me to the attic door.

It was ajar. I pushed it open, and the tapping stopped. The lantern from the stories sat in the center of the room, glowing faintly despite no visible flame. Shadows danced on the walls, though I stood still. Then I saw it—scratched into the floorboards: “YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE COME.”

A cold breath brushed my neck. I spun around, but no one was there. The lantern flared brighter, and the tapping resumed—faster now, frantic. My flashlight flickered and died. In the pulsing light, I glimpsed something in the corner: a figure, hunched and eyeless, its fingers tapping the floor.

I ran. Down the stairs, out the door, not stopping until I was miles away. But every night since, I hear it. Tap. Tap. Tap. Even now, as I write this, it’s there—closer than before