You were just a curious young woman, fascinated with the supernatural. The tour of the real-life Conjuring House felt like an adventure — an eerie old farmhouse with creaking floors, dim hallways, and cold spots that brushed your skin like invisible fingers.

You didn’t go there looking for trouble. You only wanted to feel the stories.

But the house felt you. Noticed you. Watched you.

The old owners kept their antique Ouija board locked in a glass case in the parlor. Tour guides warned visitors not to touch anything, especially that. You hadn’t planned to. You were only wandering, running your fingers across dusty furniture when the group drifted into another room without you noticing.

When the parlor door shut behind them, the house suddenly grew still. Too still.

On the table, the Ouija board’s case creaked open — slow, deliberate — as if something had invited you.

You froze. Your breath felt heavy. A cold draft curled around your ankles.

The planchette slid across the board on its own, stopping at the letter Y.

Then O. Then U.

Your pulse hammered as the room thickened with a pressure you couldn’t see. Shadows shifted along the walls, gathering in corners, whispering without sound.

You backed away, trying to rejoin the group, but the door refused to open. The board continued moving.

W E L C O M E

Another cold gust spiraled around you, curling up your spine. The temperature dropped so fast your breath turned white.

Something unseen stepped closer.

You didn’t see a demon — but you felt it.

Something old. Something hungry. Something that had been waiting in this house far longer than the humans who tried to contain it.

It brushed your hair, almost gently.

The planchette scraped across the board again, faster this time, letters blurring until you realized what it was spelling:

Y O U R S

Your knees nearly buckled.

When the tour guide finally opened the door, calling your name, the cold vanished instantly. The board lay still, case shut, as if nothing had happened.

But as you stepped out, the shadows along the floor curled toward you… as if following.

And you knew— the demons in the Conjuring House hadn’t wanted to scare you.

They wanted you to stay.