A new start in a new house. When he had finally moved all the boxes into his new house, he had started to furnish it a little. It was an old house, but still beautiful.

In the evening, he lay back in his bed and relaxed, reading a book. Until he suddenly heard noises coming from below. The soft laughter of children. But he didn't have any children and he was sure he had locked the doors. Nevertheless, he strolled downstairs annoyed and followed the childish noises.

After that night, strange sounds haunted his every quiet moment, slipping through walls and lurking in the silence. He tried to chase them, but they vanished before he could place their source.

Days stretched into a fortnight, yet the odd happenings persisted. Footsteps echoing down empty halls, faint whispers that seemed to rise from the shadows. He blamed it all on his frayed nerves and the house’s ancient bones, settling into uneasy rationalizations.

The clock struck 2:30 a.m , and once more, footsteps crept through the darkened halls. Simon jolted upright, his pulse quickening as he rose to follow the sound. He followed the noises to the living room. There, in front of the fireplace, stood a figure draped in white, its outline blurred and ethereal against the dim glow of dying embers.

“Hello?” he grumbled, his voice heavy with weariness and irritation. “That’s burglary.” With a sigh, he dragged a hand over his face, too drained for this nonsense, nerves frayed thin by too many nights without rest. He stood there, steeling himself, hoping the figure would vanish like all his other midnight illusions.