the night the old house was sold, the lights turned on by themselves.
No one lived there. Everyone in the village knew that—after midnight, the house breathed. Floors creaked like slow footsteps, and whispers leaked from the walls. People said the last owner disappeared one rainy night, leaving dinner half-eaten on the table.
A young couple moved in, laughing at the rumors. "Ghosts aren't real," they said.
At exactly 2:17 a.m., the bedroom mirror fogged up.
A message appeared, written from the inside:
"You're sleeping in my room."
The wife screamed. The husband spun around—but the bed beside him was empty. The bathroom door creaked open, and wet footprints began walking toward him.
He ran outside, screaming for help.
By morning, the house was silent again.
When the villagers came, they found two plates on the dining table—both still warm.
And upstairs, in the mirror, a new message slowly formed: