Speaker 1: Today's story is going to remind us that sometimes the
scariest thing isn't what we can see, it's what we
can't and the stillness and the quiet something might just
be listening. My name is Edwin, and here's a scary story.
Living alone has its perks. My house is my sanctuary.
It's quiet, peaceful and entirely mine. No one to bother me,
no one to judge me for my weird habits, dancing
around on my way to the bathroom, leave me the
door open, and things like talking to myself. I've always
done it. I'll nar it my day, tell a joke
to no one in particular, or just ramble about whatever
comes to mind. It's not like anyone's listening. My house
is small, but cozy, nestled at the edge of town.
It's kind of old, and the floors creak when I walk,
the wind whistles through the old windows, and at night,
the silence settles in like a thick blanket. It's muted, muffled,
a little bit uncomfortable. Sometimes it's so quiet that I
can hear my own heartbeat, and that's when I talk
the most, to break the stillness, to remind myself that
I'm here, I'm alive, and this is my space. I'm
guilty of listening to YouTube channels at night, true crime,
scary stories, anything to keep my mind on while I
get sleepy. It's usually okay, but lately something's felt off
and it's hard to explain. Like have you ever walked
into a room and felt like you were interrupting something?
That's how it feels in my own home. First I
thought I was imagining it, but then I started noticing
little things, a chair slightly out of place, my cabinet
door left open, a faint creak upstairs when I'm sitting
perfectly still in the living room. And again, my house
is small, so noises like those sound very close and
very real. I told myself it was nothing. Maybe I
forgot to close the cupboard. Maybe I bumped the chair
without realizing it. Houses make noises, and that's what all
the houses do. But the feeling wouldn't go away. In fact,
it got worse. I started catching myself glancing over my shoulder,
expecting to see someone that there was never anyone there.
It wasn't long before the little thing started piling up,
and one night I came home from work and found
my bedroom door open, and I always close it before
I leave always. My first thought was that maybe I
had forgotten. But I stood there staring at the open door,
and I couldn't shake the feeling that someone had been
in there. So I walked in, cautiously scanning the room.
Nothing seemed out a place. My bed was made and
my clothes still neatly folded on the chair. But the
ear felt different, heavy, like the room had been holding
its breath. I left it off, trying to convince myself
that I was being ridiculous. You're imagining things, Lisa, I
said out loud, get a grip, but then I froze.
Hello my voice it sounded strange, almost like it didn't
belong to me. Had I just talked to myself or
did I just think about it? That was the first
time I felt truly scared. I checked every corner of
the house that night, the closets, under the bed, even
the attic. There was nothing, no one. I finally went
to bed, but I didn't sleep very much. Every little
noise made me jomp, and the house my sanctuary didn't
feel safe anymore. One evening, as I was sitting on
the cow which I heard it. It was knocking, three
soft taps on the wall behind me. I turned around
so fast I nearly give myself whiplash, but there was
nothing there. The sound had been as if someone was
tapping on something hollow, and this wall was solid. I
tried to laugh it off. The house is settling, I
said to myself, but my voice was trembling. I didn't
believe my own words, and deep down I knew that
this wasn't the house I looked. It was something else.
It wasn't long before I just couldn't take it anymore.
Every corner of it felt oppressive, like the walls were
closing in on me. The sleepless nights, the constant tension,
it was eating me alive. I would jump at the
slightest sounds, and my heart would be pounding so hard
that it would feel like it might burst. I needed
to escape before I completely lost my mind, and so
I did. I packed the and I called my friend Emily.
She never had anything to do. It was complicated, she
would say. So one weekend we got together and drove
to the coast. The drive itself felt like shedding layers
of fear mile by mile, and by the time I
reached the water, I could finally breathe again, the salty air,
the rhythmic crashing of waves, the distant laughter of strangers.
But I felt like a lifeline pulling me back to myself.
But even there at the hotel room, the fear lingered.
It was just out of reach. That night, I would
wake up in a cold sweat, certain that I had
heard footsteps outside my window. My friend reassured me it
was just my imagination, but the anxiety wouldn't let me go.
I was desperate to believe her, desperate to feel normal again,
and still I would have accepted any explanation just to
call my mind. The following night, I just sat on
the balcony and was staring out at the dark horizon.
The sea seemed to go on forever, its waves crashing
against the shore in a hypnotic rhythm, But my mind
kept drifting back to the house, to the shadows, to
the sounds. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had
left something behind, something that wasn't going to let me
go so easily. When I finally decided to go home,
that was determined this time things would be different. I
told myself it had all been in my head, stress overwork,
nothing more. I would reclaim my space, banish the fear,
and start fresh. When I got back, the house felt better.
The air wasn't as heavy, and the silence wasn't so suffocating.
I threw myself into cleaning and rearranging, like scrubbing the
floors and moving the furniture could erase the memory of
those terrifying weeks. I even made a point to stop
talking to myself. It was a bad habit. I decided
one that I didn't need any more, and for a
while it worked. The house was quiet, peaceful, just like before.
But then one night, as I sat in the living room,
something happened. I was reading a book, trying to enjoy
the stillness, when I heard it. A voice clear as day,
but it wasn't mine, and it was not my imagination,
and it said only one word, Hello, Hello. I froze
and my heart stopped. The book slipped from my hands
and thudded on to the floor, and I sat there, paralyzed,
every muscle in my body screaming at me to run,
but I couldn't move. My eyes darted to every shadow,
every corner, but the room was empty, completely terrifyingly empty.
I wanted to scream, but no sound came out, and
my chest felt tight. I yet the house was quiet again,
but the silence wasn't comforting anymore. It was mocking, waiting
for me to do something. I couldn't sleep that night.
How could I. Every creak of the house, every gust
of wind against the windows, it all felt like a message,
like a warning. That night, I sat upright on the couch,
clutching a blanket like it could protect me. The voice
had been so clear, so close, it could not have
been my imagination. The hours crawled by, and I forced
myself to think logically, Okay, maybe the hello had come
from outside, a passing neighbor, a TV left on in
a nearby house. I repeated these possibilities like a mantra,
trying to drown out my own thoughts. I knew that
if I let them, that would grow. But deep down
I knew that none of it made sense. The voice
had come from inside, and if I had to pinpoint it,
it was from somewhere in the hallway. I wasn't gonna sleep.
By dawn, I had made the same decision again, just
getting myself feeling strong, powerful, I wasn't gonna let the
fear control me anymore. I wasn't gonna let some voice
or a ghost or whatever this was take my home
from me. I was going to prove to myself that
there was nothing here to be afraid of. I knew
I sounded ridiculous, but still I started retracing my steps.
I walked the house from top to bottom, looking for anything,
anything at all that could explain the voice. I opened
every closets, checked every event, every crack and crevice. I
even went into the basement, my least favorite part of
the house. But everything was as it should have been.
No sign of anyone, no hidden speakers or strange wiring,
just the familiar, musty smell of an old home. I
never believed in having cameras inside the house ever since
I heard about that case about the kids who heard
a stranger's voice coming from it. Still I couldn't shake
the feeling that I wasn't alone. Very so often I
would feel this prickle at the back of my neck,
like I was being watched, and I would whip around,
expecting to see someone, but there was never anyone there.
I kept trying to convince myself that I was imagining it.
But then something happened that I couldn't ignore. That night,
I was brushing my teeth, going through the motions, trying
to hold onto some sense of normalcy. The mirror above
the sink had always been a source of comfort for me.
It would be just me looking back at myself, reminding
me that I was here, that I was real. But
as I leaned forward to spit, something caught my eye,
a flicker of movement in the reflection. I froze, staring
at the mirror, my toothbrush still in my hand. My
reflection was there, just as it should have been. Behind me,
the dim hallway outside the bathroom. I saw it, a shape,
a shadow. It was gone in an instant, but I
know what I saw. My heart felt like it was
going to explode out of my chest at this point,
and so I spun around, expecting to find I don't
know what, but there was nothing there, just the empty
hallway stretching into the darkness. I didn't sleep that night
or the night after. Every time I closed my eyes,
I saw that shadow, I heard that voice. I felt
the walls of the house pressing in on me, tighter
and tighter, like it was trying to keep me here.
I knew I had to get out, but something, some strange,
inexplicable pool like the house didn't want me to leave,
And the worst part, I wasn't sure I wanted to either.
I sat on the couch again, staring at the empty room,
every nerve in my body on edge. My thoughts were spiraling.
Even if this was real, if that voice wasn't just
in my head, what did it want? I told myself.
I needed answers again, not sure if this was out
loud or just in my mind, but I would obsess
over much smaller things, and this would be no exception.
If there was someone or something in my house. I
had to confront it. I couldn't live like this, drowning
in fear. I had to know the truth, even if
it terrified me, and so I turned every light in
the house. Brightness spilled into every single corner, banishing the shadows,
and for the first time in weeks, I felt almost brave.
I walked through every room, speaking out loud, maybe not
at the fians or desperation. If you're here, show yourself,
I said. I'm always trembling, but steady enough. I'm not
afraid of you, but that was a lie. My hands
were shaking and my heart was racing. But I felt
ridiculous standing there and talking to an empty room. I
knew that I had to do something, though, And then
it happened. The sound came from the basement floor. My
stomach dropped. I never liked being in there. It was cold, dark,
and full of things that didn't want to deal with,
literal and metaphorical. But now there was no avoiding it.
I grabbed the flashlight and stood at the top of
the stairs, staring down to the pitch black abyss. My
breath caught in my throat as I reached for the
door handle. And even with the lights on, that place
always seemed dark. Still I watched It's a dim orange
light at the base of the stairs flickered and stayed on.
You're imagining things, Lisa, I whispered to myself. Just go
down there and prove it. But as I took the
first step, the voice came again, clear this time and louder. Hello.
I froze. My flashlight shook in my hand, the beam
flickering wildly across the walls. It wasn't just a voice,
it was my voice. Hello. The sound dragging it out
like it was tasting it. I stumbled back, my foot
catching on the top step. The flashlight slipped from my grasps,
clattering down the stairs and plunging into the basement. I
didn't wait. I ran. I ran out of the basement,
out of the house into the night. The cold air
hit me like a slab, but I didn't stop running
until I was standing in the middle of the street,
gasping for I never went back inside that night. I
spent the next few hours in my car, watching the
house from a distance, half expecting to see something or
someone watching me from the windows, but the house was silent.
It was still. The next morning, I called the locksmith,
I had every lock replaced, and then asked him to
help me check every inch of the house for signs
of an intruder. They found nothing. No forced entry, no
hidden cameras, no footprints, but mine. One of the guys
still begged me to call the police or get help
if it happened again. Despite all that and the search,
I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone but
in that house, I haven't heard anything since. I've made
peace with the fact that I'll never really know what
happened in that house? Was it all in my head,
a trick of my imagination? That was there? Something else,
an actual presence, a shadow, something waiting for me to
slip back into my old habits. I've stopped talking to
myself entirely. It's silly, I know, but I can't risk
it because what if the silence wasn't empty? What if
it's just waiting for me to speak first? Hello. Scary
Story podcast is written and produced by me Edwin Kovaru. Yes,
if you want to submit a true story to put
in our listener story episodes, make sure you send it
to me at Hello at scarystory dot com. We just
need a couple more to be able to turn it
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of this episode, Thank you very much for listening keep
it scary. Everyone see you soon.