The house at the end of the street had always been weird. It was big and old, with vines crawling up the sides and boards nailed across all the windows. No one ever went near it, and most people pretended it wasn’t even there. Some kids at school said it was haunted. Others said a man went crazy and disappeared inside years ago. I didn’t believe any of that… not really.

But today, something felt different. I was walking home from school, and I just stopped in front of it. I stared at the crooked mailbox and the dead lawn. I don’t know why, but I walked up to the front steps. My heart was beating fast, and my hands were sweaty. I knew I shouldn’t be there, but I couldn’t stop myself.

The front door was half open, like it was waiting for me.

I pushed it gently, and it creaked like in a horror movie. Inside, the air smelled like dust and mold. There were broken picture frames on the floor, and the wallpaper was peeling off the walls. Everything was quiet too quiet.

I stepped inside.

Every step I took made the wood floor creak. I kept looking over my shoulder, just in case. There was a staircase to the left, but I didn’t dare go up it. Instead, I went into the living room. It was full of old furniture covered in sheets. A big mirror hung over the fireplace, but it was cracked straight down the middle.

Then I heard a noise upstairs.

It sounded like footsteps. Slow. Heavy. My heart almost stopped. I told myself it was probably just the wind or something falling. But it didn’t sound like that. It sounded like someone was up there.

I should’ve left. I wanted to leave. But instead, I tiptoed toward the stairs. Every step up felt like a bad idea. The upstairs hallway was even darker, but I could see a light coming from one of the rooms.

The door was open just a little.

I pushed it.

Inside was a bedroom, but it looked like someone had been living there recently. There was a mattress on the floor and some old books. And in the corner was a chair… with a figure sitting in it.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe.

The figure slowly turned its head toward me. I couldn’t see its face in the shadows, but I knew it was looking right at me.

Then it said, in a voice that didn’t sound quite human:

“I’ve been waiting.”

I ran. I didn’t look back. I didn’t stop until I was halfway home, gasping for air.

I never told anyone what happened. I haven’t gone near that house since. But sometimes, late at night, I swear I hear a whisper on the wind…

“I’ve been waiting.”