The House That Screams

The House That Screams

There’s a house at the end of Old Hollow Road. No one in town talks about it. No one even drives past it if they can avoid it. The house stands alone, rotting and twisted, like a festering wound on the landscape. For decades, it has been known simply as *The House That Screams*.

No one knows why it screams. No one wants to find out.

But Ethan, Claire, and Josh—three thrill-seekers with a taste for urban legends—weren’t like everyone else in town. They had heard the stories, of course: whispers of people who disappeared after spending a night inside, tales of tortured wails that echoed through the woods at night. They were just stories, though, Ethan thought, nothing more. So, one Saturday afternoon, the three of them piled into Ethan’s beat-up Jeep and headed to the house.

It was a long, silent drive. As they got closer, the air grew thicker, more oppressive, and the trees on either side of the road seemed to twist unnaturally, as though they too were avoiding the house.

“Still think this is a good idea?” Claire asked from the back seat, her voice thin with nerves. She had always been the cautious one, the voice of reason among the group.

Ethan chuckled, though his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “It’s just a house. People make up stories to keep themselves entertained.”

Josh, sitting in the passenger seat, grinned. “Exactly. We’ll take some photos, maybe hear some creaks and groans from the old place, and then we’ll have a story to tell.”

But as they crested the hill and the house came into view, all three fell silent. It loomed before them, its windows dark, its paint peeling and cracked. The front door hung slightly open, as though it was waiting for them.

Ethan parked the car, and they climbed out. The air was still, unnaturally quiet. Even the usual sounds of birds or insects were absent. Claire shivered, pulling her jacket tighter around herself.

“Last chance to back out,” Ethan said, smirking, though his voice was tight with unease.

Claire hesitated, but then shook her head. “Let’s get this over with.”

They approached the house. As they stepped onto the porch, the wood groaned beneath their feet, and the door, as if welcoming them, creaked wider.

Inside, the house smelled of rot and decay. The air was thick with dust, and every surface seemed to be coated in grime. The floorboards creaked with each step, and a faint, distant sound—like the echo of something deep beneath the surface—seemed to rise with every movement.

“I don’t like this,” Claire whispered, her voice barely audible. “There’s something wrong here.”

Josh rolled his eyes, but his face had paled. “It’s just an old house. Come on, let’s check upstairs.”

As they climbed the staircase, the groaning sound of the wood intensified, as though the house was straining under some invisible weight. The air grew colder, and each breath came out in a puff of white mist. The distant sound—like a moan, or perhaps a scream—grew louder.

At the top of the stairs, they found a long, narrow hallway lined with doors. Most were closed, but one at the far end stood ajar, the darkness inside beckoning.

Ethan, trying to stay brave, walked toward it. The others followed, their footsteps echoing in the silence.

The room beyond was a bedroom, though it looked as though no one had lived there for decades. The bed was covered in dust, the wallpaper peeling and yellowed. But what caught their attention was the mirror hanging on the far wall. It was large, taking up almost the entire wall, and it was pristine—out of place in the otherwise decaying room.

Ethan stepped closer, staring at his reflection. “Why is this mirror so… clean?”

Before anyone could answer, a loud, guttural scream tore through the air. It wasn’t from any of them—it came from the walls, the floors, the very structure of the house itself. It was a scream of agony, of rage, of something long buried and festering.

The lights flickered, and the temperature dropped further. The walls began to shake, the floor beneath them groaning as though it might collapse.

“We need to get out of here!” Claire screamed, backing away.

But the door to the room slammed shut with a deafening bang, trapping them inside. The mirror, once still and clean, began to distort. Their reflections twisted, contorting into grotesque, agonized versions of themselves. Claire’s reflection screamed, blood pouring from her eyes. Ethan’s reflection grinned maniacally, its teeth sharp and too large for its mouth. Josh’s reflection clawed at the glass, as though it was trying to escape.

The real Claire backed into a corner, her hands over her ears, screaming. “This isn’t happening! This can’t be happening!”

Ethan pounded on the door, trying to force it open, but it wouldn’t budge. “Help me! We need to get out of here!”

But Josh wasn’t listening. He was staring at the mirror, his eyes wide, transfixed by the horror unfolding in front of him. Slowly, as though pulled by an unseen force, he walked toward it.

“Josh! Don’t!” Ethan yelled, but it was too late.

Josh reached out and touched the mirror. The glass rippled like water beneath his fingers. For a moment, nothing happened.

And then, in an instant, the mirror pulled him in.

His scream was swallowed by the glass, his body disappearing into the surface as though it had never existed. The last thing they saw was his terrified face, pressed against the other side, before the mirror returned to its pristine, reflective state.

Ethan and Claire were frozen, staring in horror. The house began to scream again, louder this time, as though it was feeding on their fear.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and without thinking, they bolted. They ran down the stairs, the house shaking violently around them, the walls distorting and shifting. The screams followed them, louder, more desperate.

They burst through the front door and into the night, gasping for breath. The house behind them went silent, as though satisfied.

They never spoke of what happened that night. They never returned to the house, and they never found Josh. But every now and then, when the wind was just right, they swore they could hear a scream, faint but unmistakable, coming from the direction of Old Hollow Road.

The house had claimed another.