The storm raged outside, battering the old house with wind and rain. The windows rattled in their frames, and the trees outside groaned under the force of the gale. Inside, the power had flickered out hours ago, leaving the house bathed in darkness, the only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning that illuminated the rooms in stark, eerie detail.
Kendra sat in the living room, wrapped in a blanket, listening to the storm’s fury. The house had always felt too big, too empty, but tonight it seemed almost alive, creaking and groaning as if it were responding to the storm outside. She tried to focus on the book in her lap, but the words blurred together, and her mind kept drifting to the strange feeling that had settled over her as soon as the lights had gone out.
She wasn’t alone.
The thought came unbidden, and she shook her head, trying to dismiss it. But the feeling persisted, a heavy weight in her chest, a prickle at the back of her neck. She glanced around the room, her eyes scanning the shadows, but nothing seemed out of place. The furniture was just as it had always been, the corners of the room just as dark and empty as they were every night.
But still, she couldn’t shake the feeling.
A loud bang echoed through the house, making her jump. It was followed by a series of thuds, as if something heavy was moving across the floor above her. Kendra’s heart raced as she stared up at the ceiling, her breath catching in her throat. The thuds grew louder, more insistent, and then stopped abruptly, leaving the house in an oppressive silence.
She stood up slowly, her hands trembling as she clutched the blanket around her shoulders. The storm outside seemed to quiet, the wind dying down, as if the house were holding its breath. Kendra took a cautious step toward the stairs, her footfalls muffled by the thick carpet. She didn’t want to go up there, didn’t want to see what was making the noise, but she couldn’t stay down here, waiting for whatever it was to come to her.
The stairs creaked under her weight as she climbed, the sound echoing through the empty house. With each step, her fear grew, tightening around her chest like a vice. She reached the top of the stairs and hesitated, the hallway stretching out before her, dark and silent.
She took a deep breath and moved forward, her eyes locked on the door at the end of the hall. It was slightly ajar, a thin line of darkness visible through the crack. Kendra’s pulse pounded in her ears as she approached the door, her hand reaching out to push it open.
The door swung inward with a low groan, revealing the room beyond. It was her bedroom, just as she had left it, but something was wrong. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, and the temperature had dropped, the chill seeping into her bones.
And then she saw it—a figure standing by the window, silhouetted against the pale light of the storm. It was tall, impossibly tall, with long, thin limbs and a head that nearly brushed the ceiling. The figure turned slowly, its movements jerky and unnatural, and Kendra felt her breath catch in her throat.
Its face was obscured by the shadows, but she could see the glint of its eyes, wide and empty, staring directly at her. She tried to back away, but her feet wouldn’t move, as if they were rooted to the spot. The figure took a step toward her, and then another, its long limbs stretching and twisting in ways that made her stomach churn.
“Who are you?” she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.
The figure didn’t answer. Instead, it reached out a hand, its fingers long and skeletal, the skin stretched tight over the bones. Kendra could feel a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead as the figure came closer, its presence overwhelming, suffocating.
And then it stopped, just inches away from her, and she could see its face clearly for the first time.
It was her own.
Kendra’s scream died in her throat as she stared at the reflection of herself, twisted and wrong, standing before her. The face was pale, the eyes wide and vacant, the mouth twisted into a grotesque smile. The figure’s hand reached out and touched her cheek, cold as ice, and she felt a sharp pain shoot through her skull.
Memories flooded her mind, memories that weren’t hers—of standing in this very room, staring out the window, waiting. Of the storm, of the darkness, of something else, something ancient and hungry that had been watching her all along.
And then she understood. She had been the visitor all along, not the figure before her. The real Kendra had been claimed by the house, by whatever lurked within its walls, and she had been left behind, a hollow shell, a reflection of the girl who had once lived here.
The figure—her true self—smiled, a slow, predatory grin, and leaned in close. “You’re finally home,” it whispered, its voice soft and cold, like the wind that howled outside.
Kendra felt the last of her will slipping away as the darkness closed in around her, and she knew that she was lost. The house had claimed her, and now there was no escape. She was home, and she would never leave.
The storm outside roared to life again, the wind howling through the trees, but the house was silent, the only sound the soft, echoing laughter of the figure as it turned back to the window, waiting for the next visitor.
