Chapter 1
I knew the house was a mistake the second I saw it. The realtor had called it a “hidden gem with character,” which was apparently code for falling apart in the middle of nowhere. The white paint peeled from the siding in long strips that fluttered in the wind like old skin. Half the shutters hung crooked against the windows. The farmhouse sat alone at the end of a gravel driveway as if the rest of the world had decided years ago to leave it behind.
“You’re staring again,” Eli said from the passenger seat. “That usually means you’re regretting something.”
I glanced over at him and forced a smile I didn’t feel. At fifteen, my son had perfected the art of looking annoyed by everything. He had spent most of the three-hour drive glaring out the window and pretending he wasn’t angry about the move. The truth was I couldn’t blame him. If I were fifteen, I’d hate me too. “It’s a house,” I said. “We’re here.”
“It’s a dump.”
“Language.”
“It’s still a dump.” Harper laughed from the backseat and hugged the stuffed rabbit she’d owned since she was three. At eight years old, she still found reasons to smile when the rest of us couldn’t. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess from sleeping against the window most of the drive. She pressed her face against the glass and stared at the farmhouse with wide eyes. Unlike Eli, she didn’t seem disappointed. “It looks like a storybook house,” she said.
“It looks haunted,” Eli replied.
Harper grinned. “That’s why I like it.” The joke should have made me laugh. Instead, a strange chill crept up my spine as I looked at the property again. Beyond the house stood a wall of trees so dense they seemed to swallow the afternoon sunlight. The woods stretched for miles in every direction. There weren’t any neighboring homes visible from the driveway. For the first time since signing the paperwork, I wondered why the place had been so cheap.
I pulled the SUV onto the gravel drive and killed the engine. Silence settled around us immediately. No traffic. No distant lawnmowers. No barking dogs. Just the faint rustle of wind moving through the trees beyond the property. The quiet felt wrong somehow.
The front door creaked loudly when I unlocked it. Dust drifted through shafts of sunlight pouring from the windows. The air smelled of old wood and something damp buried deep inside the walls. Empty rooms stretched around us with faded wallpaper and worn hardwood floors. Despite the age and neglect, the house felt strangely intact.
Harper immediately ran toward the staircase. Eli dragged himself inside, carrying boxes with the enthusiasm of a prisoner heading toward execution. I stood alone in the foyer for a moment and listened to the old house settle around me. Every groan and creak seemed louder than it should have been. It felt like the building was waking up.
By late afternoon, we had managed to unload most of the essentials. The sun had begun sinking behind the trees, casting long shadows across the property. I was carrying a box of kitchen supplies when I noticed someone standing near the fence line. The figure remained motionless, partially hidden by tall weeds and brush. For a moment, I thought I was imagining it.
Then the man raised a hand. I nearly dropped the box before realizing it was an elderly farmer. He wore faded overalls and a weathered brown cap pulled low over his forehead. Deep wrinkles lined his face like cracks in old leather. He crossed the yard slowly, stopping several feet away from the porch. His eyes drifted from me to the house and back again. “Afternoon,” he said.
“Hello.”
“Name’s Vernon Briggs.” I introduced myself and the kids while wiping sweat from my forehead. Vernon nodded politely, though his attention seemed fixed on the farmhouse itself. He studied the structure the way someone might study an injured animal. The longer he stared, the more uncomfortable I became. It felt like he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide whether he should. “You folks settling in alright?” he asked.
“We’ll survive.”
His expression didn’t change. “Maybe.” The single word hung between us longer than it should have. A knot tightened in my stomach as I waited for him to explain. Instead, Vernon looked toward the road disappearing into the trees. His eyes narrowed slightly before returning to me. Whatever he was thinking, he clearly didn’t intend to share it. “Well,” he finally said, “if you need anything, my farm’s about a mile north.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded once. “Don’t spend much time outside after dark.” Before I could ask why, he turned and started walking away. I watched him disappear down the dirt path bordering the property. The strange warning lingered in my mind long after he vanished from sight. It sounded less like advice and more like a rule. The kind people learn the hard way.
That night, exhaustion settled over all of us. We ordered pizza from a town nearly twenty minutes away and ate sitting on unopened boxes in the living room. The kids eventually drifted upstairs to claim their rooms. I spent another hour unpacking before finally admitting defeat. Everything hurt, and I wanted nothing more than sleep.
Around midnight, I climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling. The house groaned softly around me. Pipes rattled somewhere inside the walls. Wind brushed against the siding with long scratching sounds that reminded me of fingernails. Every unfamiliar noise seemed determined to keep me awake.
Eventually, I rolled over and checked my phone.
1:47 a.m.
I sighed and closed my eyes again. Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaked. I told myself it was Eli moving around in his room. The explanation made sense. Still, I listened carefully until the sound stopped. Then came another noise—a soft knock. My eyes opened immediately.
I pushed myself up in bed and listened. The house fell silent again. After several seconds, I convinced myself it had been nothing. Old homes made noises all the time. That’s what I kept telling myself anyway.
A minute later, another knock echoed through the darkness. I sat completely still. This one sounded different. Closer. Almost like someone had knocked gently on a piece of wood. Somewhere inside the house, and then, just as suddenly as it began, everything went quiet.
