My friend rented me a house. He forgot to mention who had been living there.

I didn’t think much of the house when I first moved in.

A friend of mine told me he was renting out a house—cheap, quiet, perfect for me. He casually mentioned that a woman had lived there before, but “she’s not there anymore.” I didn’t ask any questions. All that mattered was getting the keys and finally having my own place.

On the day I moved in, he handed me the keys and simply said,
“If anything comes up, text me.”
Then he left.

From the outside, the house looked completely normal. If anything, it was just a bit too quiet. No cars, no people, nothing going on. I actually liked that.

Inside, everything was clean. Almost too clean. There were no pictures, no personal belongings—nothing that made it feel like someone had actually lived there. Just furniture and empty space.

As I went upstairs, a door at the end of the hallway immediately caught my attention. It was closed, and the frame looked slightly warped, like it had been forced at some point. I tried the handle, but it didn’t move at all.

“Probably just stuck,” I muttered to myself before leaving it alone.

Later, while checking out the attic, I found the first real sign that something felt off. The room was dusty and cluttered, completely different from the rest of the house. Old women’s clothes were scattered across the floor—sweaters, jackets, shoes—like someone had left in a hurry and never came back.

In one of the jacket pockets, I found an ID.

It belonged to the previous tenant.

I stared at it for a moment longer than I should have. Something about it didn’t sit right with me.

Still, I took a picture and texted my friend:
“There are still some things from the previous tenant here. Is someone going to pick them up?”

He replied almost immediately:
“Yeah, someone will come tomorrow.”

That was enough for me. I put everything back and went downstairs to finish setting up. I built my PC, played a few games, and put some music on in the background.

Outside, it started raining. At first it was just a light drizzle, but it quickly turned into a heavy downpour, the sound of it echoing against the windows.

Everything felt completely normal.

Until the doorbell rang.

When I opened the door, a woman was standing there. She seemed friendly, but there was something off about her.

“I live next door,” she said, holding out a cake. “I just wanted to introduce myself.”

Her eyes kept shifting, like she was constantly checking her surroundings.

“Would it be okay if I came in for a moment? Just until the rain calms down?”

I didn’t think much of it and let her inside.

She sat down on the couch, and we made some small talk. Nothing unusual, but the silence between our sentences felt… strange. Like something was missing, or like she was waiting for something.

After a short while, she stood up again, gave a quick, polite smile, and said,
“I should go.”

And just like that, she left.

I shrugged it off and went back to my PC.

At some point, though, I started hearing something outside.

Footsteps.

Slow. Heavy.

Coming from the yard.

I took off my headphones and listened more carefully.

There it was again.

Footsteps.

I walked over to the window, but there was nothing there.

I even stepped outside for a moment, but the rain soaked me within seconds, and the yard was completely empty.

“Just my imagination,” I muttered as I went back inside.

Still, something didn’t feel right anymore.

The house felt different.

Too quiet.

Too aware.

Eventually, I went to bed.

I don’t know how long I had been asleep, but the sound of the doorbell suddenly jolted me awake.

I grabbed my phone.

02:45 AM.

My heart immediately started racing.

I got up, went downstairs, and opened the door.

She was standing there again.

The neighbor.

Completely soaked, her hair stuck to her face, breathing heavily.

“There’s someone outside,” she said. “He’s walking around the houses. I saw him.”

A cold feeling settled in my stomach.

“Can I come in? I don’t want to be alone.”

I hesitated for a second, but I didn’t want to be alone either.

So I let her in.

“Sit in the living room,” I told her. “I’ll check upstairs, see if I can find something.”

I didn’t even know what I was looking for.

As I walked upstairs, I texted my friend:
“There’s someone outside watching the houses.”

He replied almost instantly:
“I’ll send someone over. A friend works with the police. He’ll be there soon.”

I added:
“I let the neighbor in so I’m not alone.”

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and went downstairs again.

The living room was empty.

She was gone.

My heart skipped a beat.

“Hello?”

No response.

I grabbed my phone again.

A new message.

“Which neighbor?”

I felt a cold chill run through me.

I typed back:
“The one next door?”

A few seconds passed before he replied.

“No one has lived next door for years. I own that house too…”

Everything inside me dropped.

I ran upstairs without thinking.

My eyes immediately locked onto the door at the end of the hallway.

The one that had been stuck before.

It was open now.

Just a dark gap.

And somehow, I knew.

She was in there.

Without thinking, I rushed into my room, yanked open the closet, crawled inside, and quietly pulled the door shut behind me.

My hands were shaking.

My breathing was way too loud.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Followed by a soft dragging sound across the floor.

She was inside the house.

The rain kept pouring outside, its sound echoing through the walls as she moved through the rooms, searching… checking… getting closer.

“You’re here… somewhere…”

Her voice was quiet.

Way too close.

I held my breath.

My phone vibrated in my hand.

I barely dared to look.

A message from my friend:

“You need to get out NOW. That woman is the previous tenant. She’s mentally unstable.”

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like she had to hear it.

All I could feel was fear. Cold, paralyzing fear.

I’m sitting here now, in the dark.

The closet is the only thing between me and her.

I can hear her outside.

Her footsteps.
Her whispering.

And now…

I can hear her coming up the stairs again.

If she opens this door…

it’s over.

I just have to hope the police get here before she finds me….