The scratching started on the third night.

At first, I thought it was just the wind, or maybe a rat in the walls. But it didn’t come from the walls. It didn’t come from the attic either.

It came from inside my wife’s coffin.

My wife, Elara, had died only a week ago. The house felt empty without her — every corner carried her memory, her scent, her laughter that used to fill the air. I kept her coffin in the living room for a few days, unable to bury her yet. I told myself I just needed time to say goodbye.

But then the scratching began.

At first, it was soft — a faint tap-tap, like something brushing against the wood. I ignored it. I told myself it was my imagination, or maybe the house settling.

But by the third night, the sound grew louder. It was a dry, scraping sound, like fingernails clawing wood from the inside.

I froze every time I heard it. My heart would pound so loudly I thought it might burst. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t real — that grief was making me hear things.

But deep down, I knew where the sound was coming from.

Late that night, I couldn’t take it anymore. The sound came again — scratch, scratch, scratch.

It was steady. Desperate. Human.

I walked slowly to the coffin. My hands shook. The room felt cold and heavy, as if the air itself was watching me.

I placed my palm on the lid.

The scratching came from right beneath my hand.

I should have called someone. I should have run. But love makes you foolish. What if she was still alive? What if she had been buried too soon?

Without thinking, I grabbed a metal tool and began to pry the lid open. My breath came fast. The wood creaked.

Then the smell hit me — old flowers, damp earth, and death.

I stared inside.

Elara lay there, pale and still. Her hands folded across her chest. Her lips slightly open. She didn’t move.

For a moment, I felt relief. Maybe I really was imagining it.

Then her head turned.

Her eyes opened. They were cloudy, lifeless, and cold.

Her mouth moved, and a voice came out — rough, dry, not hers.

“Thank you,” it said.

“It was so dark in here. Now… I need a new home.”

Before I could react, her cold hand shot up and grabbed my wrist. Her grip was ice. Her dead eyes locked with mine.

I tried to pull away, but my body wouldn’t move. My skin burned where she touched me.

Then she smiled — a terrible, broken smile.

“Don’t worry,” the thing inside her whispered.

“We’re going to be together forever.”

I screamed, but no sound came out. Her grip tightened until everything went cold.

And now I knew it was true.

Because her grip tightened —

and I felt something cold and endless crawl beneath my skin.

The thing that was once my wife had found her new home.

And it was me.

Everyone in town knew the Miller House—and everyone avoided it.

It stood on the lonely hill at the edge of town, its windows cracked like blind eyes, its porch sagging like a tired grin. The place wasn’t just old; it felt wrong. The kind of wrong that makes your stomach twist before your brain knows why.

They said Old Man Miller had gone insane one stormy night, twenty years ago. He didn’t use a weapon. He did something worse. He bricked his wife and two little kids inside the walls of his home—alive—and then disappeared. No one ever found him, and the house was left behind, quiet and rotting, with its secrets sealed inside.

After that, the Miller House wasn’t just a building—it was a warning.

That summer, my friends Jake and Liam and I kept daring each other to do stupid things. Jump from the quarry. Walk through the graveyard at midnight. Typical teenage nonsense. But that night, sitting in Jake’s dim basement, the game went too far.

Liam leaned forward, his grin wicked. “I dare you, Alex, to go inside the Miller House. Walk in, reach the living room, take a picture, and come back.”

I laughed, but my voice came out shaky. “You’re out of your mind. Nobody goes near that place.”

“That’s why it’s a dare,” Jake said, smirking. “Or are you scared?”

The word scared hit me like a slap. I was sixteen. Pride can be a dangerous thing.

“Fine,” I said, my heart already thudding. “I’ll do it.”

---

The path up to the house was overgrown, the weeds brushing against my jeans as if trying to hold me back. The moonlight made the cracked windows gleam like teeth. When I reached the door, I half-expected it to be locked, but it wasn’t. It creaked open by itself, a long, breathy sound that felt alive.

A wave of cold, stale air hit me. It smelled like dust, rot… and something faintly metallic. Blood, maybe.

I turned on my phone’s flashlight. The beam shook in my trembling hand, scattering shadows across the peeling wallpaper and broken furniture. Every creak of the floorboards sounded too loud.

The house felt aware. Like it had been waiting.

I forced myself toward the living room. Just take one picture and leave. Easy.

The furniture was covered in white sheets, glowing pale under my light. They looked like frozen ghosts, mid-waltz. I aimed my phone at the fireplace and clicked. The flash filled the room for a split second—long enough for me to see something.

A figure.

Small. Still. Standing in the corner.

I gasped and swung my light there, but there was nothing. Just a dusty coat stand with a hat.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Picture done. Let’s get out.”

I turned toward the door, relief washing through me—until I heard it.

A child’s voice.

Soft. Happy. Right next to my ear. So close I felt the warm puff of air when it spoke.

“Ready or not… here I come.”

For a few seconds, I couldn’t move.

That voice hadn’t come from the house. It had come from right beside me. The air where it spoke was still warm. My body refused to obey me, frozen in a kind of quiet panic that felt too real to be a dream.

Then, like a switch flipped, fear took control.

I spun around, shining my flashlight wildly, but the hallway was empty—only dust floating in the air and the faint echo of my own ragged breathing.

It’s in your head, I told myself. You imagined it. Fear does that.

But deep down, I knew better.

I turned and ran for the front door, my sneakers slipping on the dusty floor. I didn’t dare look left or right. I could feel something behind me, not close enough to touch, but close enough to know I wasn’t alone.

The door loomed ahead like salvation. I grabbed the cold brass handle and pulled.

It didn’t move.

I yanked again, harder. Still nothing.

My pulse spiked. It had opened when I came in—but now it was jammed, like someone had bolted it from the outside.

A faint sound broke the silence.

Thump.

It came from directly above me.

I froze, staring up. The ceiling was cracked, bits of dust falling like ash. Another thump. Then a dragging sound—dry and rough, like fingernails scraping wood. But it wasn’t on the floor above. It was inside the walls.

The sound moved fast, scuttling through the ceiling and down the wall beside me.

My flashlight flickered.

Then came a soft, childlike giggle.

“You’re good at hiding!”

My stomach turned. My breath came in quick bursts as I backed away from the door. The voice sounded so close, so playful, like a little kid enjoying a game. But this wasn’t a game.

A new sound started, worse than the rest—a slow, wet dragging. It came from the kitchen doorway to my right. Something was moving. Crawling. Pulling itself across the floor.

I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t even want to know what shape it had.

My eyes darted to the door under the staircase. A closet? A basement entrance? I didn’t care. Anywhere was better than standing here.

I bolted for it, yanked the handle, and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind me just as that awful dragging sound reached the hallway.

Darkness swallowed me. The air was thick with the smell of damp wood and mothballs. I crouched low, trying not to breathe too loudly. My heart pounded in my ears.

Outside, silence fell again.

And then—

The doorknob right in front of my face began to turn. Slowly. Gently. Like a small hand was playing with it.

I covered my mouth, holding back a scream.

A whisper came through the wood, soft and gleeful.

“Found you.”

Now only last part is left so go and read the last part too byieee