Jason wasn't the kind to scare easily. Years of surviving in the city had hardened him, made him almost immune to fear. So, when the guys dared him to explore the abandoned house on the hill, he didn't think twice. After all, it was just a house. Old, creepy, sure—but a house.
"It's probably just raccoons or hobos living in there," Jason scoffed as he reached for the flashlight in his bag.
"Nah, man. They say the place is haunted," Rob replied, his grin widening. "People say the previous owner went crazy and killed his entire family. No one's been in since."
Jason rolled his eyes. Ghost stories were for children. He wasn't about to back down over some urban legend.
"Go in, grab something to prove you were there, and come back. Easy, right?" Matt chimed in, his face barely lit by the flickering streetlight.
Jason shrugged and walked toward the house, the weeds crunching under his boots. The once grand mansion now sagged under years of neglect, its windows shattered, the roof caving in at odd angles. The front door hung off its hinges, creaking eerily as the wind passed through the rotting wood.
He stepped inside, immediately hit by a wave of stale air and dust. It was darker than he'd expected. His flashlight struggled against the overwhelming blackness, illuminating only small pockets of the decaying interior. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional groan of the old building settling.
Jason scanned the room. Torn wallpaper hung in strips, and the floor was littered with debris. It was just like every other abandoned house he'd seen in old movies.
Still, there was something about this place that felt…wrong. A weight in the air that pressed down on him, making each breath a little harder.
"Get in, grab something, and get out," Jason reminded himself. He took a cautious step deeper into the house, his footsteps echoing unnervingly in the empty space.
The hallway stretched before him, narrow and claustrophobic. Faded family portraits lined the walls, their subjects' eyes seeming to follow him as he passed. He paused in front of one—an old black-and-white photo of a man and a woman standing with two children. Their faces were unnervingly serious, eyes vacant and cold.
A shiver crawled down his spine, but he shook it off and pressed forward. He needed proof that he'd come inside. Something small—anything would do.
As he neared the staircase, his flashlight caught something metallic glinting on the mantelpiece in the living room. He approached cautiously. There, half-buried in dust, sat an old pocket watch. Its brass surface was tarnished, but it still shone under the flashlight beam. Jason reached out and picked it up. The weight of the watch was heavier than expected, its chain cold to the touch.
Suddenly, the air around him grew colder. Much colder. The temperature dropped so rapidly that his breath came out in visible puffs. He frowned and turned around, the floor creaking underfoot.
That's when he heard it. A low whisper—just on the edge of his hearing.
Jason froze, every hair on his body standing on end. He held his breath and listened. The house was silent again, save for the sound of his racing heartbeat. Maybe it was the wind?
The whisper came again, closer this time.
He whipped around, the flashlight beam darting across the room, illuminating nothing but shadows and dust. But something felt off. The darkness seemed…deeper now, more oppressive. Like it was pressing in on him.
Jason's hand tightened around the pocket watch. He just needed to leave. Now.
He turned back toward the hallway, his footsteps quicker, more urgent. But as he passed the portraits again, he could swear their expressions had changed. The vacant stares were gone, replaced by something darker. Their eyes were filled with malice, their lips curled in faint, twisted smiles.
His pulse quickened, and his feet moved faster, nearly tripping over the debris. As he neared the entrance, the whisper came again, clearer this time. It was no longer faint—it was right behind him.
"Jason…"
He froze. His name. Someone—or something—was calling his name.
"Nope, nope, nope…" he muttered, breaking into a run. The door was in sight, barely hanging onto its hinges. He would be out of there in seconds.
But just as his fingers brushed the door, it slammed shut with a deafening bang, sending a cloud of dust into the air.
Jason pulled on the door with all his strength, but it wouldn't budge. Panic flared in his chest as he turned, shining the flashlight down the hallway. The portraits stared back at him, their eyes now glowing faintly in the dark.
His breathing came in ragged gasps as he scanned the room. There had to be another way out. Maybe a window. He backed up slowly, feeling his way along the wall, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Then, he saw it.
At the far end of the hallway, just barely visible in the shadows, was a figure. Tall and thin, its features obscured by the darkness. But Jason could feel its gaze—cold, piercing, and full of hunger.
The figure didn't move, but the air around it seemed to ripple, as if reality itself was bending around the creature.
Jason took a shaky step backward, his mind racing. He needed to get out. Now.
Suddenly, the figure moved. Slowly at first, its limbs unnaturally long, its steps deliberate. It was coming for him.
Jason turned and bolted, his flashlight beam bouncing wildly as he sprinted through the house. The whispers grew louder, more insistent.
"Jason… don't leave… stay with us…"
He didn't stop. He couldn't. His lungs burned as he pushed himself faster, the floorboards creaking dangerously beneath his weight.
He rounded a corner and saw a window—small, but big enough to crawl through. He didn't hesitate. With a desperate shove, he threw the flashlight aside and smashed the glass with his elbow, ignoring the searing pain as shards sliced into his skin.
Behind him, the whispers grew louder, overlapping in a cacophony of voices.
"Jason… you belong here…"
He pulled himself through the broken window, glass cutting into his arms and legs as he tumbled onto the overgrown grass outside. He didn't stop to catch his breath. He scrambled to his feet and ran, the house looming behind him, its windows like empty eyes watching his escape.
He didn't stop running until he reached the street, where Rob and Matt were waiting, their faces pale in the glow of their phones.
"Jesus, man! What the hell happened to you?" Rob shouted, his eyes wide as he saw the blood dripping from Jason's arms.
Jason didn't answer. He just stood there, clutching the old pocket watch in his hand, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Matt took a step closer, concern etched on his face. "Dude, are you okay?"
Jason looked down at the watch, its brass surface now gleaming brightly in the moonlight. And for the briefest moment, he could have sworn he saw something—someone—moving behind the cracked glass of the mansion's window.
"We need to go," Jason whispered, his voice trembling. "We need to get out of here. Now."
As they drove away, Jason's thoughts raced. The house had let him go, but something told him he wasn't free. Not really. The whispers still echoed in his mind, faint but persistent.
The pocket watch in his hand felt heavier than before, as if it carried with it the weight of something far darker than he could ever understand.
And in the rearview mirror, just for a moment, he saw them—the glowing eyes watching from the shadows, waiting for his return.