Haunted House Nightmare"

So, there I was, sitting in my dimly lit bedroom, trying to convince myself that I was just imagining things. You know, typical Tuesday night stuff. But then, the creepiness escalated.

I’ve lived in this house my whole life, and, for the most part, it’s pretty normal. I mean, it’s an old house. Old houses make noises. But these noises were…different.

Every night as I was getting ready for bed, I’d hear what sounded like footsteps in the attic above my head. But when I’d go up to check, nothing. Not a single sign of anyone or anything.

At first, I thought maybe it was squirrels or some other critter, but it didn’t sound like little scratching paws. It was distinct. It was heavy. Like someone wearing boots. And then the whispers started.

As I was falling asleep, I could swear I could hear someone whispering in the room. I could never make out what it was saying, but it was definitely there. It was this low, raspy voice. Again, I chalked it up to my imagination or maybe the wind.

But then the weirdest sh*t started happening.

Things started going missing. Small things at first, like my car keys or my phone. I'd look everywhere, only to find them in the most random places like the fridge or inside a cereal box.

Then, bigger things started disappearing. I came home one day, and my TV was gone. Just gone. No sign of forced entry, no nothing. I filed a police report, they found nothing and chalked it up to me forgetting that I had moved the TV or something.

But then, the real freaky stuff kicked into overdrive.

One night, I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. As I walked down the hall, I noticed the attic door was slightly cracked open. I could've sworn I had closed that door shut, but I brushed it off and closed it again.

When I entered the bathroom, my blood ran cold. I saw, in the mirror, a figure standing behind me. It was a tall, dark shadow, with red glowing eyes. I screamed and spun around, but there was nothing there.

I bolted out of that house faster than Usain Bolt on steroids. I moved in with my friend the next day and haven’t stepped foot in that house since.

Now, I’m not saying that I definitely lived in a haunted house, but if that ain't some ghost stuff, I don't know what is.

I've heard of old houses having histories and things, but man, this was next level. So, if you ever find yourself hearing footsteps in your attic, do yourself a favor and get the hell out.

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