Eve stepped onto the street and looked down at the quiet houses, all identical, all white, all neatly manicured. No one ever talked about the house at the end, the one with the broken windows and peeling paint. People tried to forget it. It had been empty for years. Yet it was always there, at the corner of the street, mocking everyone who lived here.

She walked past the familiar homes, her hands stuffed deep into her pockets. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the road. The street looked peaceful, like it always did. But Eve had always been aware of the house. Ever since she'd moved here, she'd felt it. There was something off about it.

The moment she reached the house, she stopped. The door was cracked open, like someone had just been there—or maybe they hadn't. Maybe they were waiting for her. She stood there for a second, her heart thumping. The wind picked up, rustling the dry leaves along the sidewalk. Eve hesitated. Something was pulling her to the door, a feeling she couldn't explain.

With a deep breath, she walked up the creaky steps and pushed the door open. The inside was dark, the air thick with dust and something else, something old. She shivered, her stomach flipping. The floor creaked beneath her feet.

It was just a house. Just a stupid, broken-down house. But it wasn't empty. It wasn't silent.

There were whispers. Soft, low, like someone was trying to hide but couldn't. Eve turned around, expecting someone to be there, but the room was empty. She wasn't sure if she was hearing things or if they were real. The whispers grew louder, more distinct. They came from the walls, from under the floor, from the air itself.

Her legs moved on their own. She didn't want to go deeper into the house, but she did. The hallway stretched in front of her, filled with pictures of faces she didn't recognize. Faces that seemed to stare at her, eyes wide, full of fear. They watched her move.

The whispers turned to a soft moan, then to something worse, something raw. Eve reached the stairs, unsure why she was still there, why her feet hadn't run away yet. She couldn't explain why she was climbing. One step. Two steps. Three. She reached the top, her chest tight.

The room at the end of the hallway was dark. Eve approached it slowly. She wanted to turn back. But she didn't.

Inside, there was a bed. The room was bare, but not quite empty. Something was on the floor. Eve knelt down. A book. Old, frayed at the edges. She flipped it open. The pages were blank. Her hand trembled as she turned more pages. Then, a name.

It was hers. Her name, scrawled in the center of the page.

Before she could stand, the door slammed shut behind her. Eve screamed, but no sound came out. The whispers were louder now, closer. The walls felt alive, closing in. Something crawled up her spine. Her skin was cold. Her body was numb.

Her heart stopped.

The last thing Eve saw before everything went black were the eyes in the pictures, watching her, waiting.