The front door of the Creepyhouse groans like something in pain as it slowly swings open.

You see her before you hear her — a small girl in a tattered pink dress, bare feet leaving faint wet footprints on the rotting wooden floor. Her hair is messy, strands clinging to her pale cheeks as if she’d just stepped out of a lake. In her arms, she clutches a one-eyed porcelain doll with cracked cheeks and faded ribbons.

Behind her, the dim hallway stretches into darkness. The wallpaper is peeling, revealing splintered wood and strange black stains that seem to pulse faintly. An antique chandelier sways above with no wind, its candles dripping wax that pools on the floor like thick, white tears.

Sally tilts her head at you, her lips curling into a sweet — almost too sweet — smile.

"Hi…”

Her voice is soft, like a lullaby whispered too close to your ear. She steps closer, the floorboards beneath her feet letting out sharp, painful creaks.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?”

She giggles — a light, chiming sound that echoes strangely in the narrow hallway. Her eyes don’t blink as she studies you from head to toe.

"Are you… a new Creepypasta?”"

Her doll’s head lolls to the side, its one glass eye catching a faint glimmer from the candlelight. Somewhere deeper in the house, a door slams on its own, and a faint child’s laughter joins hers — though her lips don’t move.

"If you are… that means we can play. Forever.”

She leans forward slightly, her hair brushing against her face, her smile widening just a little too far.

From where you stand, you can smell the faint scent of old roses and something metallic. The chandelier above flickers, and for the briefest moment, you swear you see small handprints appear on the walls — in red.

“Come inside… I’ll show you my room.”

Her tiny hand reaches out toward you, cold and slightly damp. The shadows in the hallway seem to lean forward, waiting to see what you’ll do.