Sophie moved to the small, sleepy town of Ravenhood for a fresh start, eager to leave her past behind and focus on her studies. The town was quaint, with its winding cobblestone streets and ivy-covered buildings, but finding a place to live proved more difficult than she anticipated. Most houses were too expensive for a college student on a budget. That’s when she stumbled upon the listing for an old Victorian house with a room to rent. The rent was incredibly cheap, almost suspiciously so.
When she arrived to view the house, she was met by the landlord, an elderly woman named Mrs. Crowley. Her skin was pale and paper-thin, with deep-set eyes that seemed to hide secrets. The house itself was a bit run-down, with faded wallpaper and creaky floorboards, but Sophie saw potential. It had character.
Mrs. Crowley’s voice was a low, almost eerie whisper. “The rent is low because there is a rule you must follow if you wish to stay here.”
“Rule?” Sophie asked, a bit taken aback.
“Yes, one simple rule,” Mrs. Crowley continued, her eyes narrowing. “All windows must be locked and curtains closed after midnight until six in the morning. ”
Sophie frowned but quickly shrugged it off, thinking it was just an old woman’s way of maintaining some sense of order. “I’ll follow the rule and never open windows during the night,” she said, eager to sign the lease and have a place of her own.
Mrs. Crowley handed her the key to her room, her thin lips curling into a small, tight smile. “Good. You’ll be safe as long as you do.”
—
The first week passed without incident. Sophie followed the rule strictly, locked her windows and closed the curtains after midnight. She found the rule a bit odd but assumed it was meant to conserve heat and prevent burglary. Occasionally, she heard faint noises—the creak of a window frame, a distant whisper—but she attributed it to the house settling or the wind outside. She slept well, comforted by the idea of being in a quiet, peaceful place.
By the second week, the summer heat had become almost unbearable. Her small room had no air conditioning, and even with a fan, the air was stifling and thick. Sophie was up late studying for exams, trying to focus through the oppressive heat.
Around midnight, as sweat dripped down her forehead and her skin stuck to the chair, she decided she couldn’t take it anymore. The air felt stagnant, almost suffocating. She checked the clock—12:03 AM. She had already missed the midnight deadline to close the curtains. “It’s just one night,” she muttered to herself. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
She walked over to the window and pushed it open, hoping to let in some cool air. The breeze that blew in was chilly, almost unnaturally so, and it sent a shiver down her spine. She sat back down at her desk, the cool air a welcome relief. But as she began to read her notes again, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The air in the room felt different, heavier somehow. And then, she heard it—a faint scraping sound, like nails dragging across the glass window.
Sophie’s head snapped up. The noise was coming from outside the window to her room. Her heart began to race.
She held her breath, straining to listen. The scraping sound grew louder, more insistent, like something was clawing the roof. Then came a soft whispering, just on the other side of window. She couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was urgent, almost pleading. Sophie’s mind raced. Was it a prank? Maybe some of the local kids had found out about the rules and decided to scare her.
She sat perfectly still, her body tense. Minutes ticked by, feeling like hours. The scraping and whispering continued, and then there was a loud thump, followed by a scratching sound. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure whoever—or whatever—was outside could hear it.
Suddenly, the window rattled violently, and the window shook on its hinges. Sophie’s breath hitched, her muscles locking in place. She wanted to run, to grab her phone and call for help, but she sat there, paralyzed, as the window continued to shake. The rattling became more frantic, more aggressive. She could hear the sound of nails—or claws—scraping down the window. Tears welled up in her eyes as she remained still, every muscle in her body tense with fear. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped.
The silence that followed was deafening. Sophie could hear her own ragged breathing, feel the rapid beat of her heart. She remained perfectly still, not daring to move. Slowly, minutes passed. She glanced at the clock. 12:45 AM. She still had hours to go before dawn.
The whispers began again, but this time they seemed closer to her window. Sophie’s eyes darted around the room and looked up.
Then she saw it—a dark shape, barely more than a shadow, moving across the floor toward her. It crawled slowly, deliberately, as if savoring each inch it covered.
Panic seized her, and she had to fight the overwhelming urge to bolt from the chair and run. She gripped the edges of her desk, her knuckles white. “Don’t move, don’t run,” she whispered to herself, repeating the rule like a mantra. The shadow drew closer, its form shifting and writhing like a mass of dark, slithering smoke.
It stopped just at her feet, and Sophie felt an icy chill spread through her legs, freezing her in place. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying it would go away. The whispers were right in her ear now, soft and sibilant. She could almost make out the words, almost understand what they were saying. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
When she dared to open her eyes again, the shadow was gone, the whispers faded. The room was still and silent. Sophie’s body shook with silent sobs, but she didn’t move. She remained in the chair, too terrified to do anything but breathe as quietly as possible. The clock on her desk ticked slowly toward six.
Finally, the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains. Sophie exhaled deeply and collapsed back in her chair, every muscle in her body aching from the tension. She didn’t dare move until the sun was fully up.
—
That morning, with shaking hands, Sophie packed a bag. She couldn’t stay there another night. She didn’t care about breaking her lease or losing the deposit. She just needed to leave.
As she made her way down the creaky staircase, she saw Mrs. Crowley waiting at the bottom. The old woman’s expression was stern, her eyes hard. “You broke the rules,” she said flatly.
Sophie swallowed, her throat dry. “I’m leaving. I can’t stay here.”
Mrs. Crowley nodded slowly, her face softening. “I understand. But remember, child, the rules are there for a reason. They keep you safe from those who roam this house after dark.”
Sophie didn’t ask what she meant. She didn’t want to know. She handed Mrs. Crowley the keys and hurried out the door, not looking back. As she stepped outside, she felt the weight lift from her shoulders, the fresh morning air a balm to her frayed nerves. But as she walked away from the house, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching her from the shadows.
From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a figure in the top window of the building, its form dark and indistinct. She blinked, and it was gone. Sophie quickened her pace, eager to put as much distance between herself and the old Victorian house as possible.
And behind her, the whispers began again, carried on the wind.