Paranormal Activity Drove Them Out of This Haunted Murder House — Unexplained Voices, Slamming Doors, and a Dark Presence Inside
“The Visitor in the Trees” – The Brenda Evans Murder House
The house waited at the end of the lane like a bad memory someone had tried to bury.
Most of the windows were gone now, jagged teeth of glass clinging to the frames. The front door, once boarded over, hung crooked and half‑open. Weeds had risen up around the walls, dead grass and bramble thick as an unkempt beard. On the far side of the property, the woods crowded close, trees leaning in like eavesdroppers.
“Turn the lights,” Adam muttered, more to the camera than to Sean, as they stepped through the thin beam of the car’s headlights. He flicked on his torch, the beam cutting across the door, showing peeling paint and the yawning darkness beyond.
.
.
.
The door was already ajar.
Sean tried the handle anyway. It shifted with the weight of his hand.
“Door’s still open,” he said. “Hello?”
No answer, of course. Just the long, hollow silence of a place that had been empty for a very long time—and never really empty at all.
They stepped in.
The air inside was colder. Not the sharp bite of winter air, but the stagnant chill of long‑sealed rooms. The smell hit next: damp plaster, rotten wood, mold, and under it all a faint, sour undercurrent like old sweat and something long decayed.
“Okay,” Adam said, letting the camera pan across the ruined hallway. “We are in.”
He raised his voice a little, letting it settle into the space.
“Okay, explorers, we are back on a brand new investigation,” he said, the familiar cadence flowing even as the hair on his arms prickled. “And tonight we have come back to the Brenda Evans murder house.”
He paused, letting the name hang for effect. Even without the camera rolling, it was a name that carried weight.
“Place has seen better days,” he went on. “It’s had a number done on it. But we’re going to try and investigate. See what we can uncover about this place. See if anybody is truly still here.”
He lowered the camera slightly, eyes narrowing as he took in the collapsed plaster, the smashed doors, the graffiti scratched into the walls—a palimpsest of vandalism over tragedy.
“Let’s see what we can get,” he said quietly, “in the Brenda Evans murder house.”
⚡ Baseline – Something in the Static
They started, as they always did, with a walkthrough.
The house creaked around them as they moved from room to room. Floorboards protested under their boots. Somewhere deep inside the structure, something shifted—a beam settling, or a memory turning over in its sleep.
“Okay, explorers,” Adam said, the camera trying to make sense of the gloom. “We’re going to begin with a walkthrough, baseline checks. Sean’s got the K2. We’ll use Spirit Talker. See if we can get any words through. Any sentences.”
Sean held the K2 meter in front of him. The tiny green light at the base was a fragile anchor to normality in a house that had been anything but normal. The device flickered almost immediately.
“Crash,” Spirit Talker said, the neutral voice startling in the quiet.
Adam exchanged a quick look with Sean.
“If there’s any spirits in this house that want to communicate tonight,” he called gently, “my name’s Adam. This is Sean. We’re just going to spend a few hours, see if anyone wants to let us know they’re here.”
The K2 shifted from green to yellow, then held stubbornly in orange.
“If anyone can communicate,” he added, “that would be absolutely amazing.”
The light stayed in the mid‑range, throwing soft color onto Sean’s fingers.
“It’s holding orange quite a while,” Sean murmured. “Is that you doing the lights?”
The K2 pulsed again, flirting with red, then dropping back.
“If you could make a knock inside this building now,” Adam said, pausing in the entrance hall, “that would help us know you’re here. Maybe you could move something. Give a little tap.”
The house listened.
A second later, a sound came—but not from the device. Somewhere outside, deeper in the surrounding woods, something snapped. A branch, maybe. Or something stepping where it shouldn’t.
“What was that?” Sean asked.
“No idea,” Adam said. “We’re literally surrounded by woods.”
Spirit Talker chimed in.
“Betrayal,” it said.
The word hung there, too pointed to ignore.
Adam’s torch swept across the walls. The house bore it all silently.
“This place has seen better days,” he said softly. “Had a right number done on it.”
They stepped deeper, into the center of the house. The K2 flickered wildly now, pushing toward red whenever they mentioned communication.
“Can you make those lights go to red?” Adam asked. “If you’re ready to speak with us?”
The K2 surged all the way to the top, touching red, then dropped as quickly as it had climbed.
“What was that?” Sean muttered. A sound—muffled but distinct—had echoed from down the hall. A thud. Something like a door or a piece of furniture being nudged.
“That was quite a loud bang,” Adam said under his breath. “Wow.”
Spirit Talker spoke again. “Finite.”
The word sounded like a full stop.
“Mel addiction,” the app added later, garbled but insistent. “Agree. Crash. Betrayal.”
The K2 kept spiking, the pattern too responsive to feel random. Every time Adam asked a direct question, the light wavered, as if something invisible were weighing its options.
“Can you give us a name?” he asked.
“Clark,” the Spirit Talker said. Then again, more firmly.
“Clark.”
The name meant nothing to either of them. Not yet.
“We’re going to head into that bedroom,” Adam said. “See if we get more in there.”
🛏️ Frozen Room
The bedroom was a strange pocket of preservation in a house that otherwise looked like it had survived a war. Leaves had blown in through a shattered window and collected on the bed in piles. Wallpaper drooped in torn flaps, yet the overall shape of the room was intact, almost frozen in time.
“Funky smell in here,” Sean muttered. It was true. The air held something sweet and stale sitting beneath the damp.
Spirit Talker answered with uncanny timing.
“Record,” it said. “Yes, we are recording,” Adam said, half to the app, half to the room. “Is that okay?”
The K2, placed now in the center of the floor, flickered to yellow, then orange, dancing like it was following along.
“Can you tell us how many spirits are in this house?” Adam asked. “Can you give us a number?”
Silence.
“Could you make a knock in this room if you’re here with us?” he tried. He knocked once on the rotten door frame. “Like this.”
Nothing answered the knock. But the Spirit Talker murmured a single word.
“Affection.”
The K2 responded like a heartbeat, steady pulses of light.
“Make it go to red for me,” Adam encouraged. “If you’re strong enough. Use my energy, use Sean’s, send those lights all the way to red.”
The K2 rose, stopped just shy of red, hovered, then dropped. It was as if something was pushing against an invisible ceiling, trying.
“Where am I?” Spirit Talker asked.
Adam’s tone shifted, gentle. “Well, that depends,” he said. “Did you live here? If you did… you’re home, aren’t you?”
The K2 pulsed softly in response.
“Do you mind us being here?” he added. “Someone to talk to. Someone to tell your story.”
The K2 flickered again. Once. Twice. The app stayed quiet, but the sense of listening had grown.
“Are you a female?” Adam asked.
Before the app could reply, it spoke a different answer.
“My name is Michael.”
They both went still.
“Just asked for a name,” Adam muttered. “Michael. The disease took me.”
His heart ticked faster. The known case—the girl, Brenda—didn’t involve anyone called Michael, at least not in the way the newspapers had reported it. There’d been a suspect called David, whispers about others, but nothing concrete.
He didn’t say her name yet. He wanted to see what else this house wanted to talk about when it wasn’t being led.
“Williams,” the app added a moment later. “Williams.”
Names. Layers of people.
“Let’s head into the next room,” Adam said. “See what we get there.”
🧊 The Best‑Kept Room
They entered what might once have been a guest room—or maybe the main bedroom. Compared to the rest of the house, it was almost intact. The wallpaper still clung determinedly to the walls. The floor was less littered. A few dead flowers, long brown and crumbling, sat in a vase on a side table next to an old photograph of a young girl.
As soon as they stepped in, the K2 jumped to life, flaring yellow, then orange, then red.
“Gratitude,” Spirit Talker said.
“Bloody hell,” Sean said. “It’s going off in here now, isn’t it?”
“Speak,” the app urged.
“Cyanide,” it said a second later.
Adam frowned. “Mental,” Spirit Talker added. “Williams. Disgust. Gratitude.”
The K2 went flat‑out red.
“Okay,” Adam said. “Send that all the way to red again to confirm you’re here.”
The light surged just as he finished speaking, and this time held for several seconds before easing off.
“Thank you,” Adam said, genuinely. “Can you tell us if you’re alone here?”
“Vengeful,” the app said.
He caught Sean’s eye. “Suppose you would be, after what happened here…” he murmured.
“Did something traumatic happen in this house?” he asked aloud.
“No,” Spirit Talker replied.
The K2 dropped to calm green the moment the word came through. The pattern repeated: every time the app spoke, the K2 fell quiet, as if one voice had to stop for the other to be heard.
“How weird is that,” Sean said, “that when it speaks, the K2 stops? Like it’s choosing a channel.”
The atmosphere in this room was heavier than the others. Not aggressive; just dense. Charged.
“I’m pretty sure last time I came here, this had the most activity,” Adam said quietly. “Strongest EMFs in this room. This is probably the most… frozen‑in‑time room as well. Rest of them are trashed. Maybe people don’t like to come in here as much.”
He could understand why. The room felt like an accusation.
“Can you tell us how long you’ve been here?” he asked.
“Even my ghost friends leave,” Spirit Talker said. Then: “My childhood.”
The phrase landed harder than he expected. My childhood. In this house. In this room.
He backed away a little, glancing toward the doorway.
“Let’s go to the living room,” he said. “See what’s going on in there.”
“Patricia,” the app said as they left. “Torch. We don’t get many visitors.”
The words followed them down the hall like someone walking just behind them.
🪑 Living Room & EVP – Breaths in the Dark
The living room opened up like a small relief. It was bigger than the other rooms, the ceiling higher, though the decay here was more obvious. Wallpaper peeled like skin. The floor sagged under the weight of neglect. The fireplace, once a focal point, now gaped black and cold, its mantel cluttered with junk left behind.
“There’s a trigger in here,” Spirit Talker said. “Don’t move.”
Adam froze for a beat, then stepped further in anyway, beam of his torch sweeping across the room.
A small framed photo of a girl sat on a side table, next to a vase of dead flowers. An old tin sat beside them, its label faded and unreadable.
Necro, the app said. Dead.
Adam turned his attention toward the kitchen doorway. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly, “but I think I’ve just seen a white shadow pass over that.”
Sean followed his gaze. “Over the kitchen side?”
“Yeah. Like a white light or mist.”
The K2, now resting on a nearby surface, remained stubbornly calm. The house, for the moment, had decided to fall quiet.
“Isn’t that strange compared to the other room?” Sean said. “It’s definitely quiet, isn’t it?”
“Deadly quiet,” Adam agreed. “It’s so still. I think it’s perfect for EVPs.”
They set the small digital recorder on a flat spot in the center of the house, between the living room and the hall. Adam’s voice softened, respectful.
“Okay, explorers,” he said. “We’ve come into the center of the house. We’re going to do EVP. If there’s anything in this house, we should be able to hear it.”
He clicked the recorder on.
“So,” he said, “whoever is in this house, we’d like to be able to speak to you tonight. Is that okay?”
The silence stretched. The house seemed to lean in around them.
“Can you tell us if anything happened in this house?” he asked. “Can you tell us your name?”
He paused between each question, giving the silence time to catch its breath.
“Can you tell us if you passed away in this house?”
Behind the recorder’s light red glow, the building creaked. Somewhere near the kitchen, a soft knock sounded, then another.
“You heard that, right?” Adam asked, eyes on Sean.
“Yeah. Right on the side.”
They stopped the recorder, rewound, and pressed play.
Static hummed softly. Their voices echoed back to them in tinny miniature.
“So, whoever is in this house,” Adam’s recorded self said, “we’d like to be able to speak to you tonight. Is that okay?”
There was a faint sound underneath, like a breath drawn close to the microphone. Not the air of the room they stood in now—something recorded between words, too low to belong there.
On the second question, it was clearer.
“Can you tell us if anything happened in this house?”
A faint tap, almost like a small object hitting wood.
“Can you tell us your name?”
On playback, something that could have been a breath—or a sigh—rose up in the background. It was the kind of sound your brain doesn’t fully recognize, but your body does.
“Can you tell us if you passed away in this house?”
In the recording, another sound whispered underneath. Hard to place. Not them moving. Not the recorder being handled.
“That’s me grabbing it,” Adam said when a louder thud came through—one he recognized from the moment he’d picked the device up. But the earlier noise was different.
“Tell us how many spirits are in this house now,” his recorded voice asked.
Nothing obvious. Just that feeling, carried on static, of not being alone.
“Tell us why you’re here.”
On playback, there was a low murmur under that question. Not quite a voice. Not quite not.
“Make another knock for us now,” the recording prompted.
Two knocks, faint but unmistakable.
“Was somebody killed in this house?” his past self asked.
“Were you the person that was killed?”
A pause.
The recorder caught another subtle noise nearby—like something shifting its weight.
“Do you want to pop on the spirit box?” Adam asked Sean quietly. “See if we get something direct.”
“Ready,” Sean said.
📻 Spirit Box – The Man’s Voice
They returned to the bedroom, where the EMF activity had frenzied earlier. The K2, left on the floor, was calm now, resting in its steady green. The house felt like it was waiting.
“Okay,” Adam said, turning on the spirit box. The rapid sweep of stations filled the room with a harsh, mechanical hiss. “So, the spirit that was in this room earlier with us—would you like to come forward? Use your voice. Tell us a message.”
“Can you tell us your name?” he asked.
The box crackled. Snippets of static and far‑off radio voices bled through, but then a clearer sound surfaced for a moment—a syllable that might have been a name, cut off by the sweep.
“Can you say that again a bit clearer for me?” he asked. “Is this your house?”
The reply came in a different voice this time. Low, male.
“Yes,” it said.
The word was quick, buried in the scanning, but both of them heard it.
“That was a very different voice,” Sean said. “Sounded like a yes.”
“Why are you still here?” Adam asked. “Are you stuck here?”
“Yes,” came again, sharper this time.
“Would you like to leave?” he asked.
No clear answer.
“Are you alone here?”
Silence. Then a faint murmur, impossible to make out.
“Would you like us to leave?” he asked.
The box sputtered, then spat out something that sounded like, “Come back.” Or “Come back here.”
“Who are you speaking to?” Adam asked. “I want direct answers from you. Tell me your name.”
The same man’s voice cut through repeatedly. It came in fragments, but there was a consistency to it—a tone, an accent. The same cadence repeated on different sweeps.
“That’s the same man,” Sean said quietly. “Definitely the same man’s voice coming through.”
“Did you live here then?” Adam asked. “Was this your house? Are you alone here? Do you mind us being here?”
The spirit box answers came in waves, as if the presence behind them had to gather energy to push through. Sometimes the voice was clear; sometimes it faded into the roar of static. Once, when Adam asked if there was someone called David here, the box spit out a short, sharp burst of sound that might have been a name, but it vanished too quickly to catch fully.
“Do you know someone called Brenda?” Adam asked finally.
He let the question sit between sweeps.
“Was a girl called Brenda ever in this house?”
The static shuddered around the edges. A voice emerged, warped by the scan, sounding like it tried to form a word and only managed half of it.
“Is she still around here?” Adam pressed. “Is she still around?”
“Get out,” the box answered.
The voice was male. Abrupt. Clear.
“Can she come through?” Adam asked, ignoring the command.
No answer. Only rushing stations, the ghost‑sound of distant radio programmes reduced to dust.
“Okay,” he said after a while. “One last chance to speak through this device. Did something bad happen in this house? Something traumatic? Something you don’t want to talk about? Do you know what happened here?”
The spirit box, which had been lively only moments before, seemed to dry up. The voice—the man—they’d been hearing just… stopped.
“Seems to have disappeared completely,” Sean said.
“Yeah,” Adam agreed. “I don’t want to keep that going too long. We’re right on a road. It’s quite noisy.”
They turned it off. The sudden lack of hiss made the silence ring in their ears.
“Definitely some voices through there,” Adam said. “Just a man. Just the same man. And if this is flicking through frequencies, it doesn’t make sense to keep getting the same voice on repeat.”
“That’s weird,” Sean said. “Proper weird.”
🎛️ Devices & Threats
They regrouped in the living room, facing the fireplace where a rem pod sat, lights dormant. Above, on a shelf, the dead bell waited. In the hall and kitchen, a music box had been set up—a small, motion‑activated device that played a tune when something crossed its sensor. A few touch‑sensitive balls lay in the corridor, their plastic shells dull and harmless until touched.
“What are those lights?” a voice had asked earlier through the box.
Adam had gestured toward each device like a tour guide.
“So,” he said into the room, “on the fireplace here we have a rem pod. If you go towards that, it’ll set off a little alarm like this.”
He tapped it with a finger. Lights flashed. The device whined.
“We have a bell on top of the shelves over there,” he continued. “If you want to set that off, you just have to go towards it, put your hand on it. And we have the music box out in the corridor if you want to speak to us. Also a few little colorful, playful balls you can touch. They’ll light up and let us know where you are in the room.”
“Is that okay?” he’d asked.
Now, with all the devices in place, he called into the house again.
“If there is anyone that wants to speak, let us know that you’re here. Now’s the time to do it. Before we go anywhere—do you mind us being in this house? Set a device off. Let us know.”
They waited.
“You can make a knock,” he added.
Something obliged. A tap in the hallway. Then another.
“You can show yourself,” he said. “You can set off any of these devices. Are you strong enough?”
Spirit Talker broke in.
“They hung me,” it said.
Adam blinked. “They hung you?” he repeated. “I’ve not seen any records of that.”
It was an odd detail—and an old one, older than the Brenda case. Another life layered beneath hers.
“Are we talking to the same person?” he asked. “Are we talking to who we think we’re talking to? Can you tell us who we’ve been communicating with tonight? I feel like it was a male. Is that right?”
“Brazen bull,” the app replied.
Adam let out a short, humorless laugh. “Looks like one of them’s been through here,” he muttered, glancing at the wreckage. “Made a right mess of the gaff.”
“Religious,” Spirit Talker added.
“Are you religious?” Adam asked. “We’d really like you to touch the devices. Communicate with us now. Let us know you’re here. Now’s the time to show us.”
“Beautiful,” the app said.
“He’s obviously talking about me,” Adam muttered, trying to lighten the mood.
“Do you know a girl called Brenda?” he asked. “Was she ever in this house? Is she still in this house? In this area? Do you know who she is?”
Knocks sounded outside the room. In the corridor. In the kitchen.
“Whoever’s out in that corridor,” Adam said, raising his voice a little, “we’d like you to come in here.”
No one did.
The sense grew that something preferred the thresholds. The liminal spaces. The corridor. The kitchen doorway.
“Come on now,” Adam said. “Now is not the time to be shy.”
Spirit Talker replied in a tone that made both of them stiffen.
“I’m already inside your mind,” it said. “I’m in the trees.”
The words detonated in the room.
Adam’s chest went cold, as though a handful of ice had been shoved into his ribs.
“In the trees,” he repeated slowly. He turned to Sean. “That is literally where they found her body. In a manhole. In the trees.”
Silence.
“So there’s nobody in this house that wants to communicate with us now?” he asked, quieter. “Literally nobody?”
As if to argue, a sound rang out from the hallway. A distinct, metallic clink.
“Do you want me to go check that?” Sean whispered.
He stepped out first, torch beam slicing across the narrow hall. The kitchen door was half open. The music box sat just inside it, still.
Then, as if to answer the question, the soft chime of the music box began to play.
🎵 Hallway & Kitchen – “Don’t Look Behind You”
The tune was simple, almost childlike. In any other context, it might have been charming. Here, in this sagging corridor with its cracked walls and peeling paint, it sounded like a warning.
“Nothing in there,” Sean said at first, standing at the kitchen doorway. “Hello?”
The music box answered, its little song playing steadily.
Adam joined him.
“Was that you?” he asked the empty air. “Setting off the music box?”
“No,” Spirit Talker answered immediately. “Not me.”
There was a beat of silence. Then:
“I was hid behind the door.”
The words made Adam’s skin crawl.
“Okay,” he said carefully. “Come into this room.”
He moved back toward the living room, gesturing at the rem pod by the fireplace. “I want you to set a device off. Maybe this red light behind me. Can you do that? Make it change colors?”
In the hall, the music box continued to play merrily, completely ignoring his instructions.
“Can you make a knock?” he asked, pointing toward the kitchen. “That’s literally where we heard the tap from. Look at the taps in there.”
“Can you move away from the music box?” he called. “Can you stand to the side?”
The tune kept going.
“You like the tune?” he asked. It was half a joke, half an invitation.
Spirit Talker remained silent. The music box did not.
“That’s weird,” Adam muttered. “Really weird. Why don’t you do as you’re told for once? Move away from that device. Come into this room. Can you do that?”
The music box played on.
“I’m going to turn it off,” he said.
As he reached for it, Spirit Talker chimed in again.
“Don’t look behind you,” it said.
The kitchen was behind him. So was the photograph of the girl on the side table. And beyond that, in the darkness beyond the broken windows, the line of trees where a body had once been found in a manhole.
He turned anyway, slowly.
Nothing stood in the kitchen doorway but a strip of black.
He reset the music box.
Within seconds, it was playing again.
“There’s something in the hallway,” Sean said quietly.
“Come on, big man,” Adam called. “Come into this room.”
No one did.
“So you can’t come in here,” Adam said eventually, eyeing the invisible line between rooms. “In the kitchen. Staying in the hall, are you?”
He shifted the SLS camera to aim into the kitchen, its software mapping shapes onto the geometry of the room.
“Hunger,” Spirit Talker said. “Greta. Hungry.”
“Now you have to come in here to let us know where you are,” Adam said firmly. “Can you do that? If you want us to leave, set a device off.”
Something tapped near Sean. A knock.
“Hallway again,” Sean said.
“Are you the person that harmed the girl?” Adam asked.
A knock came from right beside him. Close enough that he felt the vibration through the flooring.
“Visitor,” Spirit Talker said.
“You’re a visitor,” Adam repeated. “Can you tell us why you’re here, then?”
The answer came in a girl’s voice, small and clear.
“My name is Lily.”
The room seemed to tilt for a moment.
“And why are you here, Lily?” Adam asked. “What brings you here?”
“I’m at peace,” she said.
The phrase landed like a feather on water. No distortion. No anger. Just… statement.
“Okay,” Adam said gently. “That’s interesting. Can you tell us who the man that we made contact with is?”
For a brief moment, the responses came quickly, almost like a conversation—phrases overlapping, Spirit Talker spitting out words in a flow: “Visitor.” “I’m at peace.” “My name is Lily.”
“I just got poked in the back,” Sean said suddenly. “Felt like someone was stood literally in the doorway to the hallway. I don’t like it.”
“Is that you?” Adam asked. “Is that Lily that just touched Sean? Or someone else?”
There were definite noises in the hall now. Small shifts. Soft knocks. As if someone kept leaning forward to peek and then darting back.
“Come on,” Adam called. “Are you too weak to touch this? Too weak to set that device off? I thought whatever was in this house was supposed to be scary. Supposed to be intimidating.”
He hadn’t finished speaking when the rem pod by the fireplace blared to life, its lights spinning wildly.
“Okay,” he said, adrenaline flaring. “So you can do it.”
“To confirm that’s you,” he added, “can you move away?”
The rem pod dropped to silence.
“Literally as I just showed it,” he muttered. “That’s insane.”
“Are you aware I’m here?” he asked the room.
Spirit Talker answered.
“We are now.”
“Are you aware I’m here?” it repeated.
Adam stared into the doorway.
“Can you move away?” he said. “Right. Come away from it now. Step to the side.”
The rem pod went wild again. Lights, sound, a full flare of presence.
Then nothing.
“It’s wigging out now,” he said, a tense smile forming against his will. “Good. It’s because I stopped being in the doorway. It doesn’t like us standing here.”
He moved more into the middle of the room.
“I think we’ve got what we’re going to get,” he said finally.
🧷 Fading Echoes
The house felt tired now.
The devices, which had flared and quieted like breathing, slowed. The knocks became less frequent. Spirit Talker, which had been a steady stream of words, stumbled, offering only occasional fragments. The K2 dimmed back to its comfortable green.
“Okay, explorers,” Adam said at last, turning the camera back toward himself. “We’re going to call it a night on this one.”
He swept the lens once more across the living room, the photograph of the girl, the dead flowers, the fireplace with its quiet rem pod.
“A few bits, I think, we need to go back and relisten to,” he said. “I feel like there were some voices. Definitely something on the EVP. The devices, a few bits—the rem pod going off, the bell when we threatened to leave.”
He thought back to the words that had stuck with him most.
In the trees.
They hung me.
I’m already inside your mind.
They found her body in a manhole, in the trees.
“It feels like something’s here,” he said slowly, “but maybe not as strong as it once was.”
The house around him seemed to sag under the weight of that truth. Whatever had happened here—the murder, the suspects, the unsolved questions—had marked the place. Maybe the energy was leaking away slowly, entropy eating the edges of the story. Or maybe it was just biding its time between visitors.
“But it’s still here,” he added quietly.
Outside, the trees stood in their silent ranks, watching the house. The house watched the trees back. Somewhere in between those two watchful lines, something waited.
Whether it was Clark.
Or Michael.
Or Lily.
Or the unnamed man whose voice came again and again through static.
Or something older, that liked the corridor, the doorway, the hall. Something that whispered, Don’t look behind you, and meant it.
Adam took one last look at the dark kitchen, the line of sight that led past the picture of the girl, through the doorway, and out toward the woods.
“Whatever’s done is done,” he’d told the house earlier. “You’re not going to get in trouble now.”
But that wasn’t quite true.
Whatever had done it—whoever had done it—had left a part of themselves here.
Not to get in trouble.
To wait.
“On to the next one,” he said finally, more habit than hope. “Hopefully we’ll see you there next week.”
They stepped out of the murder house, closing the crooked door behind them as much as it would allow. The woods rustled softly. The lane lay empty.
The house did not feel empty.
It felt like a crime scene that refused to forget.
And somewhere, just out of sight, among the trees, a girl’s voice that had once said I’m at peace listened to the retreating crunch of footsteps and the fading hum of car engines, and knew:
The story was not finished.
