Scary Ghost Stories The Empty House

Scary stories, especially ones with ghosts, can send shivers down your spine. “The Empty House” will spook even the strongest of skeptics!

The Empty House

Certain houses, like certain people can make their spirit for evil known. Some people can leave you with a feeling of dread that there might be something wrong, and with houses the same principle is true. Something from the evil-doer, and of the horror felt by his victim, enters the heart, causes tingling nerves, creeping skin and a chilling of the blood, becoming terror-stricken without apparent cause.

Shorthouse was wired by his Aunt to visit. While he expected the usual dull visit, he noticed his Aunt’s excitement. “I’ve got the keys,” she announced. “Got them till Monday! I’ve got the keys of the haunted house in the square, and I’m going there tonight.” Aunt Julia explained that the two of them would spend the night.

“Is anything likely to happen?” he asked. Aunt Julia explained about a murder committed by a jealous stableman who had an affair with a servant in the house, how one night he managed to hide himself in the cellar, and when everyone was asleep, crept upstairs to the servants’ quarters, chased the girl down to the next landing, and before anyone could come and rescue her, threw her over the banister into the hall below. This happened over a century ago, and he was caught and hanged for murder.

Shorthouse couldn’t help but feel his interest peak. So at 10:30 they began their journey down the dark streets to number 13. Taking a look over their shoulders, they went boldly up the steps and stood against the huge black door. But the first wave of nervousness was now upon them, and Shorthouse fumbled with the key before he could fit it into the lock. With a last glance at the moonlit square, they went in, and the door slammed behind them with a roar that echoed through empty halls and passages.

A man had coughed close beside them, so close that it seemed they must have been actually by his side in the darkness. Shorthouse swung his heavy stick in the direction of the sound, but it met nothing more solid than air. He heard his aunt give a little gasp beside him.

They were standing in a wide hallway; on their left was the open door of a spacious dining room, and in front the hall ran, into a long, dark passage that led to the top of the kitchen stairs. “Aunt Julia,” he said aloud, “we must now go through the house from top to bottom and make a thorough search.”

“I agree. We must be sure there’s no one hiding. That’s the first thing.”

While searching the house, and directly in their way, stood the figure of a woman. She had disheveled hair and wildly staring eyes, and her face was terrified and white as death. She stood there motionless for the space of a single second. Then the candle flickered and she was gone and the door framed nothing but empty darkness. Shorthouse uttered it was only the flickering of the candle, “There’s nothing there.” They continued upstairs to search the house.

Going from room to room, whispers followed them; shadows flitted noiselessly to right and left; something was watching, waiting for an opportunity to do them harm. From the hall at the back stairs a dark tunnel opened before them. They continued on down the narrow passage. Black beetles scurried over the floor. Everywhere they searched had a feeling of sadness and gloom.

They tried in every way to make the doors close by themselves, but there was not enough wind even to set the candle flame flickering. The doors would not move without strong pressure. All was silent as the grave. Undeniably the rooms were empty and the house still.

“It’s beginning,” whispered a voice at his elbow which he hardly recognized as his aunt’s.

A face thrust itself forward so close to his own that he could almost touch it with his lips. It was a man’s face, dark, with thick features, and angry, savage eyes. It belonged to a common man, and it was evil in its ordinary normal expression, alive with intense, aggressive emotion. There was no movement of the air; nothing but the sound of rushing feet, stocking feet or muffled feet, and the apparition of the face and the almost simultaneous extinguishing of the candle.

Shorthouse uttered a cry, nearly losing his balance, while his aunt clung to him with her whole weight in one moment of real, uncontrollable terror. Then they discovered that the candle had not been blown out at all; it had been crushed out. So, with as little reflection as possible, he simply relit the candle and went up to the next floor.

The sounds were not downstairs at all. They were upstairs where the victim had first been disturbed and stalked to her death. It was the sound of feet moving. The sounds were becoming louder and closer. Before they could move someone came rushing along the passage overhead, racing frantically, at full speed, and three steps at a time, down the very staircase where they stood. The steps were light and uncertain; but close behind you could hear another person, and the staircase seemed to shake.

Shorthouse and his companion just had time to flatten themselves against the wall when the jumble of flying steps were on them, and two persons, dashed past them at full speed. The two runners, victim and assailant, had passed clean through them where they stood, and already with a thud the boards below had received the first person, then the other. Yet they had seen absolutely nothing, not a hand, or arm, or face or even a shred of flying clothing.

There came a second’s pause. Then the first one, the lighter of the two, obviously the pursued victim, ran with uncertain footsteps into the little room which Shorthouse and his aunt had just left. The heavier one followed. There was a sound of scuffling, gasping, and smothered screaming; and then out on to the landing came the step of a single person.

A dead silence followed for the space of half a minute, and then was heard a rushing sound through the air. It was followed by a dull, crashing thud on the stone floor of the hall below. Then there was silence, and nothing moved. In the hall we saw nothing, but their whole way down the stairs they could feel a presence. When they went faster it was behind them, and when they went slowly it caught up to them. They never looked behind to see what might lie on the bottom of the stairs, and with trembling hands opened the front door and walked out into the moonlight. They drew a deep breath of the cool night sea air and began the walk home not saying a word.