**The house at the end of the street had always been there, like a shadow, looming over my childhood memories. It was the kind of house you didn’t dare go near. Boarded-up windows, a crooked roof, the air always seemed thicker around it, as if it held its breath in silence. The older kids talked about it in whispers—some claimed they saw lights flickering behind the cracked walls at night, others said the place was haunted by the spirits of the people who vanished there years ago. But no one ever went close, not for as long as I could remember.**

**Today, something felt different.**

**The sky was a pale blue, the kind of morning that promised adventure if you dared to take it. I had walked past the house a thousand times, never thinking much beyond the stories. But today, I couldn’t ignore it any longer. My curiosity had finally gotten the best of me. I had to know what lay behind those closed doors, behind those dark windows.**

**I reached the corner of the street where the house stood, and for a moment, I paused. The familiar feeling of unease crept over me, but there was something else now—a sense of challenge, of something calling to me from within. I took a deep breath and walked up the overgrown path leading to the front porch. The house seemed to grow taller the closer I got, its silhouette stark against the morning sky.**

**With each step, the boards on the windows seemed to grow darker, more ominous. But the odd thing was—no one had been around to maintain it for years, so how had the house stayed so… intact? No one knew. The neighbors kept their distance, the property had been sold off multiple times and always abandoned. Yet, it stood there—silent and waiting.**

**I reached the front door, feeling the pulse of the house beneath my feet, and looked around. The street was empty, the usual hum of life absent. I was alone.**

**I tried the door handle. Locked. Of course. But then I noticed something strange: a small gap between two of the boards on the side window. Enough for me to slip through.**

**I hesitated. The stories were one thing. But this… this was real. The house was real. The dust, the creaking wood, the ancient smell of decay—it all felt so tangible now. But my curiosity, stronger than any fear, pushed me forward.**

**I grabbed a small rock from the yard and wedged it between the boards to pry one free. It came loose with a loud crack, and I winced, glancing around nervously. But the street was still empty, the only sound the soft rustling of the wind in the trees.**

**With a deep breath, I crouched low and squeezed through the opening.**

**The air inside was stale, thick with the weight of abandonment. Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the wood, casting long, broken beams across the room. The walls were covered in layers of dust, and the faintest smell of mildew lingered in the air. Everything was still, frozen in time.**

**I took a few cautious steps forward, my shoes creaking on the floorboards. My heart raced, every nerve on edge. There was something about this house, something I couldn’t shake. The deeper I went inside, the more I felt it—like the house was holding its breath, waiting for something.**

**I turned a corner and froze.**

**In the center of the room stood an old, dust-covered mirror. It was cracked, with jagged lines running through the glass, but it still reflected the room in an eerie, distorted way. Something about it pulled me closer. My reflection in the mirror looked… wrong. It was me, but not quite. My face was obscured by shadows, my eyes too dark, too empty. I blinked. The reflection didn’t blink.**

**My breath caught in my throat.**

**Before I could step back, the sound of a creaking floorboard echoed from upstairs. A distant noise, almost too quiet to hear, but unmistakable.**

**I wasn’t alone.**

**Suddenly, the stories didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore. The house was alive in a way I hadn’t expected. And now, it was awake.**