Speaker 1: There's this house at the end of our street. It's
been abandoned for as long as I can remember, the
kind of plays that as a kid you cross the
street to avoid. Everyone in the neighborhood knows it, but
no one really talks about it except on Halloween. That's
when things get weird. Every year, a ball of candy
appears on the front porch on Halloween night. It's always
the same, a plain black ball, filled with the good
stuff like Eminem's and Reeses, nothing cheap. No one's ever
seen who puts it there, and no one ever stays
long enough to find out. It just appears. The weird
thing is there's never any sign of life at that
house the rest of the year. There are no lights,
no movement, nothing, The windows are cracked, the roof is
falling apart, and the yard is completely overgrown. Still like clockwork,
every Halloween, that bowl of candy is right where it
always is. There's this rumor too, There's been passed around
as long as I can remember, passed down from the
older kids when I was younger. They say that if
you take a piece of candy, you'll get good luck
for the next year. A lot of kids in the
neighborhood believe it. Some people think it's just a harmless tradition.
Others say it's cursed me. I've always been somewhere in between.
I didn't really buy into the whole good luck thing,
but I can't deny that the house gives me this
weird feeling whenever I pass it. One year, though, something changed.
I couldn't stop thinking about it. The house, the candy,
the fact that no one knows anything about who's putting
it out. All these years. I grew up hearing stories
about the place. Some people say an old man used
to live there. Others say vanished years ago, leaving the
house behind like a ghost town in the middle of
our quiet little street. But no one really knows the truth.
And the more I thought about it, the more I
realized that no one had ever really tried to find out.
So I decided that was the year I'd do it.
After the trigger treaters had cleared out and the streets
were empty, I stayed behind. The ball was still there,
just sitting on the porch like it always did, as
if it had been waiting. My friends had already gone home,
and I could have followed, but something wouldn't let me.
There's always been a pulled to that house, something I
couldn't quite explain, like it wanted someone to notice it,
like it wanted someone to come inside. I told myself,
I just stay and watch, just long enough to see
if anyone came to take the ball away or refill it,
just to get an answer once and for all. But
the more I stood there, the more I felt it,
this nagging sense of curiosity. It's like the house was
calling to me, waiting for someone like me to finally
step through its doors. And that night I couldn't ignore
it anymore. I'd been waiting there for hours, hidden behind
the bushes across the street. The neighborhood had long since
gone quiet. No more kids running around in costumes, no
more porch lights, just me, the dark and that house.
The candy ball still sat on the porch, untouched since
the last group of trigger treats passed by, nothing, no movement.
The house stayed still and silent, as it always did.
I was about to call it a night when something
caught my eye. The front door creaked open, slow and deliberate,
like someone on the other side had just pushed it.
But I didn't see anyone. There was no wind, no explanation,
just the door slowly swinging open, inviting. My heart raised.
I tried to convince myself it was just old hinges
giving way. But deep down and I knew better the
house wanted me to come in. I stayed as still
as possible, waiting to catch a hand coming out, sneaking
away the ball. As Halloween ended, theories ran through my head,
thinking it was maybe an old local who either started
or always carrying on this local tradition. But nothing came out.
The door stood open and maw of darkness gently breathing
in the outside air. As I watched, it almost looked inviting.
Invasive thoughts came in my head, pushing out the idea
that some one was in there, but that I was
being politely asked to come in. Nothing looked overtly threatening.
Sure the house looked musty and old, but otherwise it
was still and docile. I don't know what made me
do it. In reality, I should have turned around and
gone home, but I didn't, whether I was too absorbed
with fear figuring out this mystery was some otherworldly possession.
I accepted the perceived invitation. I grabbed my flashlight and
crossed the street, my feet barely making a sound on
the pavement. I reached the porch, glancing once more at
the candy bowl, almost expecting something to happen, but the
candy just sat there, untouched. I took a deep breath
and stepped through the door. The moment I crossed the threshold,
the air around me felt like it changed thick, heavy.
My skin prickled, as if I just walked into a
room filled with smoke. But there was no smoke, just
an overwhelming sense of pressure, like the house was pressing
down on me. I shone the flashlight around, but the
beam felt weak, swallowed by the darkness. The floor creaked
beneath my feet, but not like normal old wood. It
felt different, like something was shifting under the surface, adjusting
to my weight. It looked solid, and when I tapped
my foot on the floor it was hardwood. But while
walking it just felt off. It wasn't just the ground.
As I moved deeper into the house, something in the
air felt off too. It wasn't just the silence or
the darkness swallowing my flashlight's beam. It was the way
the walls seemed to shift only settling. When my light
landed straight on it, it was barely perceptible, dancing softly
on the edges of my vision, too vague to ever confirm.
I shook my head, chalking it up to nerves. The
floor creaked with every step I took, but the creaks
felt deliberate, like something beneath me was adjusting, sensing my weight.
When I turned to check behind me, the door that
had been open was now shut without so much as
a sound. My pulse quickened, but I tried to reason
with myself. Maybe I'd closed it out of habit. I
was too in my head to keep track of everything.
But then as I turned back, the hallway seemed to
stretch before me, like the space itself was bending. I
stopped shining my flashlight down the hall. I could swear
it had been short, only a few steps to the
next room, but now it seemed longer, as if the
walls were moving, pulling me further in. It was late.
I was tired. I would have preferred to have done
this with a clearer head, but sadly I could not
choose the time to dive into this investigation, so I
was stuck second guessing everything. I was seeing my stomach twisted.
I tried to tell myself it was just my mind
playing tricks, but the house felt alive, reacting to me,
watching me. The further I ventured, the heavier everything felt.
The air was thick, like I was suffocating. Each breath
was harder than the last, and I could feel sweat
beading on my forehead. Despite the chill, my legs felt
like lead, every step taking more effort than it should.
At first, I thought it was the fear catching up
with me, adrenaline wearing off, maybe, but this was different.
I felt like I was being drained. I wiped my forehead,
trying to clear my thoughts, but it didn't help. My
head was foggy, like I hadn't slept in days. I
checked my phone for the time. It was almost three
a m. I couldn't even remember what time I'd gone in,
but there was no way I'd been in that long.
Maybe I'd waited for longer than I thought when outside,
but even then it didn't add up. I couldn't even
tell which way I came from any more. It was
like the walls seemed to twist and shift behind me,
rearranging themselves. The moment I wasn't looking. I shook my head,
trying to clear the growing fog in my head. I
could barely think straight, and my movements were slow and sluggish.
It was like the house was pulling the energy right
out of me. Step by step. As I moved further in,
I started seeing things clothing, old shoes, pieces of paper.
Some were scattered on the floor, others abandoned in the
corners of rooms. At first, I thought they were just
debris from squatters, but as I looked closer, I saw
all the clothes looked like they belonged to children, to
young teenagers. Sprinkled around with discarded remnants of old costumes,
Halloween themed, all at varying ages of decay. Some looked newer,
but between them were pieces that looked older than my parents.
I looked at what I was wearing and came to
the subtle realization these were from others who had wandered
in like me, trying to find answers to the mystery
of the candy bowl. Vital flight kicked in. Panic settled
as a thought flashed in my mind. If this is
what happened to the people who had come inside and
never made it out, what happened to them, because whatever
it was, it couldn't be good. I picked up an
old candy wrapper, its edges brittle from age. I glanced
around my flashlight, catching glimpses of more wrappers, shoes, and
bags left behind in the dust. They were just there,
no sign of a struggle, no signs of what happened
to them. That's when it hit me. The candy it
wasn't just some harmless Halloween tradition. It was bait, a
mystery so alluring to the young that it was the
perfect way to lure people inside and draw them deeper
into the house. Just like me. I turned back the
way I came, desperate to leave. The door shouldn't be far.
I hadn't ventured that deep into the house, had I.
But when I reached the spot where the entrance should
have been, it wasn't there. The door was gone, leading
to an inane hallway that matched the few I'd already
walked through. Panic set in. I tried another hallway, then another.
Whenever I thought I was heading toward an exit, it
never led to where I thought I was going, forcing
me deeper into the house. It was like the place
was changing around me. Trapping me inside. My heart pounded
as I stumbled back, searching frantically for the front door.
Still it was like the house was alive, blocking every
possible escape route. I felt the thlaw beneath me shift,
but it was worse than before. I could no longer
strike it as my imagination, as it almost felt like
it was melting into itself. I took another step and
my foot sank into the floor like it was quicksand
I pulled, but the floor held tight, sticky and thick,
like it was pulling me down. The walls around me
began to pulse, closing in. The house was tightening its grip.
I slapped my fists against the walls, screaming for help,
but no sound escaped. My voice was muted, swallowed by
the thick, suffocating air. No one could hear me. The
house absorbed everything. Something was feeding off me. The house
grew more intense, the weaker I felt, the harder I
tried to escape, the more the house drained from me.
My legs felt heavier, my breath shallow. It wasn't just fear.
It was feeding on my energy, my panic. As I
tried to pull myself out, trying to stay calm, I
noticed something else, shadows moving within the walls. At first
I thought it was just from the house, shifting in
its unnatural way. But then I saw them again, faint
human shapes flickering just behind the wallpaper, their outlines blending
into the structure of the house. They weren't ghosts, they
were people trapped unable to leave. I used my arms
to pull one leg as free as possible, and what
little perch I could get yanked the other out. I
finally tore through the last of the membrane. I had
given up and finding the door, but there was a
window nearby that gave me hope, though with how much
I lost myself scrambling through the twisting hallways, I had
no idea what floor I was on, But just as
I was about to crawl out, I felt the house
latch on to me. The walls rippled and something shot
out from the floor. Tendrils of the house wrapped itself
around my legs and arms, pulling me back toward the
pulsing walls. I screamed, but the sound was still swallowed,
vanishing into the thick air. The house wasn't letting go.
The tendrils tightened pulling me backwards, and whispers in my
mind grew louder. They weren't soft, They were desperate, pleading,
almost panicked. Stay with us, don't leave, you belong here.
It sounded like please from children. I thrashed, trying to
break free, but the harder I fought, the more it pulled,
dragging me back toward the center of the room. I
could feel myself fading, the strength draining from my body,
the way to the house pressing down on me. My
vision blurred and I thought about letting go. For a moment,
the whispers begged me to stay with them, their tone
dripping with loneliness, but something inside me refused. I wasn't
going to let it win. With my last burst of energy,
I reached up and grabbed the edge of the window,
dragging myself through. The tendrils clung to me, tearing at
my skin. As I pulled my legs free. They didn't
let go easily. They weren't just wrapped tightly, but were
lined with something adhesive. My skin felt hot wherever they touched.
By the time I was half way out, my arms
were trimmed and I could feel the skin of my
legs burning where the house had latched on, like it
had taken pieces of me with it, blood soaked through
my clothes and my entire body ate with a deep,
searing pain. But I couldn't stop now. I gave one
last yank, and with a scream, I ripped free, crashing
through the window and falling a story down onto the grass.
My body hid the ground hard, the wind knocked out
of me, but I was outside. I was free. I
lay there, gasping for breath, my chest on fire, every
inch of me, screaming in pain. I glanced down at
my legs, blooded raw, the skin blackened where the house
had burned me. And then, just as suddenly as it
had started, everything stopped. The whispers faded, the house went still, silent,
as if nothing had ever happened. The air was calm again,
but I could feel it. Something inside me was different.
I just lay on the cold grass, gasping for breath,
my chest rising and falling like a just run a marathon.
The oppressive weight that had been suffocating me inside the
house was gone, but I wasn't free of it. My
body was trembling, every muscle aching as if I'd been
squeezed dry. I stared up at the sky, the stars
distant and cold, trying to convince myself it was over. Slowly,
I turned my head to look back at the house.
It stood there, as still and silent as it had
always been, just to run down abandoned structure. Nothing about
it seemed out of place from here. The windows were dark, lifeless,
and the front porch was as empty as ever. The
candy ball still sat there, untouched, like nothing had happened
at all. I could feel it deep in my bones.
It wasn't just some old building. It was alive, waiting.
The dark window seemed to watch me, like eyes, following
my every move, and even though I was out, I
wasn't free. I tried to stand, my legs wabbling beneath me,
but it felt like my body had been drained of
all its strength. Every movement was a struggle, my muscles
refusing to co operate. My mind felt hazy, like a
thick fog had settled over it. I tried to piece
together everything that had happened inside, but something felt missing.
My memories were fragmented, pieces, scattered and broken. I could
remember the feeling of the house tightening around me, the
whispers clawing at my mind, but the details were blurred,
slipping through my fingers. The harder I tried to recall them.
It was like part of me was still in there,
trapped inside the walls, just like the people I'd seen.
No matter how far I got from it, I couldn't
shake the feeling that the house had taken something from me,
something I would have to go back in to get back.
It had left its mark on me. I made it
home that night, but nothing felt the same. Every step
I took away from that house felt like I was
dragging something heavy with me, something I couldn't see. I
tried telling people about it, my friends, my parents, about
what happened. I also reported what I could to the
police about the house. They didn't believe me. Some laughed
it off, like it was some kind of prank or
a drug induced memory, a wild trip from some laced candy.
No one understood. No one felt what I felt in
there when I reported it. I didn't even try to
explain how the house had felt alive, how it had
taken something from me, because they wouldn't have believed it.
They sent any unit and found the place desolate, with
a typical abandoned house layout. Then lectured me on the
dangers of trespassing in unstable structures. Weeks past, and things
felt like they went back to normal, but I couldn't
shake it. The house, the pull, the whispers were still
with me. I could feel it, even as I tried
to pretend everything was fine, and the same bowl of
candy was there when Halloween came around the next year,
sitting on that porch, just like always, despite everything, As
I stood in front of the house, seeing the locals
delight in the free candy, memories I'd forgotten flashed back
through my mind. The pain sang from the scars on
my legs, vividly replying the events of that night in
brief moments of clarity. And yet, despite the horrendous experience,
I still felt that pull. Something deep inside me stirred.
Even though I knew what the house really was. Even
though I knew it nearly took me. I couldn't help,
but look, a part of me still wanted to go back,
as if the house hadn't finished what it started. I
still live on that street, and as I sit in
my room at night, I stare out the window, the
house visible just beyond the street light. It's quiet, now
the same stillness that always surrounded it, But as Halloween approaches,
the pull is stronger than ever. Sometimes, when everything's dark
and silent late at night, I can still hear it. Whispers, faint,
distant but unmistakable, calling my name, telling me to come back.
I try to ignore it. I to tell myself it's
just my mind playing tricks, but deep down I know
the truth. The house isn't finished with me. I glanced
out the window one last time, knowing that it's just
a matter of time before I can't resist the pull anymore.
One day it'll pull me back in, and next time
I'm not sure I'll be able to escape.