Waiting.
Scooby is still missing. The police have been no help – they think he just ran away in the night. They don’t believe our story about the old woman.
To be honest, I’m starting to doubt it myself. But then I look at the rotting flowers, I remember the whispering, the phantom touch on my face, and I know it was real.
I found something else too, something that chills me to the bone. Remember that old newspaper article I mentioned, about Widow Carver?
I dug deeper and found her full name: Eliza Carver. I also found her death certificate.
She died on May 17th, 1954. At 4:31 AM.
Today is May 17th.
I showed the death certificate to my parents.
Mom’s face went ashen, while Dad’s jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding.
“This can’t be a coincidence,” Mom whispered, her voice trembling. She’d abandoned all pretense of rational explanations now. “What if… what if she’s come back for revenge?”
Dad shook his head, but I could see the doubt in his eyes.
“That’s impossible,” he muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice.
As night fell, the atmosphere in the house became suffocating. We tried to go about our normal routines, but every creak, every shadow, sent us into a panic. Mom kept checking and rechecking the salt lines she’d laid down, muttering protection prayers under her breath.
Dad paced restlessly, his old service pistol now holstered at his hip.
I don’t know what’s going to happen tonight. Part of me wants to run, to get as far away from this house as possible. But another part of me knows it won’t make a difference.
Whatever this is, wherever it came from, it’s attached to us now.
As I write this, it’s 11:45 PM. Less than five hours until 4:31 AM. Mom and Dad are in the living room, holding hands and talking in low voices.
I can see the love between them, strengthened by this shared ordeal. Whatever happens tonight, we’ll face it as a family.
If you’re reading this, please, be careful of who – or what – you let into your life. Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.
I’ll update if I can, but if you don’t hear from me again… well, at least you’ll know why.
[UPDATE – 3:17 AM]
Something’s wrong.
Very wrong. The house has gone completely silent. Not just quiet – silent.
I can’t hear the hum of the refrigerator, or the ticking of the clock in the hallway. It’s like all sound has been sucked out of the world.
I tried to go downstairs to check on my parents, but my bedroom door won’t open. It’s not locked – the handle turns, but it’s like there’s a solid wall on the other side.
The air feels thick, almost syrupy.
It’s hard to breathe. And it’s cold. So cold.
I can hear whispers now.
They’re coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. I can’t make out the words, but they sound… angry.
There’s something moving in the shadows of my room. I can’t quite see it, but I know it’s there.
Watching. Waiting.
Goodbye, NoSleep.
