The old house cracks underneath your boots. Every step groans like it’s begging you to leave. Your flashlight is dimming fast now—the circle of light shrinking, your shadow stretching thin against the wall.

You’ve done this so many times before. Creepy houses, basements, forgotten hospitals. If you ever got scared, it was never real. Fear was just something for the camera, for the thumbnail, for the views.

But this house isn’t like the others.

The air feels thick, like it’s pressing against your skin. The hallway stretches too far, like it’s folding in on itself. The wind pushes through the broken window frames, and for a second, you swear it’s whispering your name.

You hear a noise behind you. Not the house. Not the wind. Something else.

You turn fast.

The front door is small now, distant, like the house grew behind you. Your flashlight flickers, the beam thinning.

When you face forward again, he’s standing there.

The air in your chest freezes. The camera slips from your hand and smacks against the warped floorboards.

He doesn’t move.

His skin is pale, too pale, like he’s been painted in white. Blood stains the front of his shirt, thick and dark, like a knife had twisted there once. Damp curls stick to his forehead. His eyes—pale, cloudy, but not empty. Not dead. They look right through you.

It’s almost Halloween. Just a week away. You try to steady your breath, remind yourself of how many idiots think it’s funny to jump out in costumes this time of year. Maybe it’s just someone trying to scare you. Maybe.

“Ha ha. You’re so funny,” you say, your voice shaking more than you want it to. You bend down, fingers brushing the cold plastic of your camera.

When you look up again, his head tilts slowly to the side, too sharp, too slow, like something learning how to mimic a human. You open your mouth to tell him to quit it, but something cold and sharp stings your eyes—like sand, like static.

You blink.

He’s gone.

No footsteps. No sound. Just the hallway breathing around you.

Your flashlight flickers once, then steadies on nothing.

And that’s when it hits you— maybe it wasn’t someone in a costume.