The Hollow Eyes

 

The Hollow Eyes

When Grace moved into the old Victorian house on the edge of town, she thought she was getting a great deal. The rent was unbelievably cheap, and the house had a certain charm—despite the peeling paint and creaking floorboards. The locals warned her, of course, but Grace brushed them off as superstitious.

The first few days were quiet, peaceful even. But on the fourth night, everything changed.

Grace was settling into bed, the warmth of the blankets comforting her after a long day of unpacking. As she drifted off, she heard it—the sound of something scraping against the walls.

She sat up in bed, her heart racing. The sound wasn’t coming from outside. It was coming from inside the house, from behind the walls.

At first, she told herself it was just the house settling. It was old, after all. But as the scraping continued, she couldn't ignore the gnawing feeling in her chest. Something wasn’t right.

She stood up, walking cautiously to the wall. There was a hollow sound as her knuckles tapped against the surface.

Thud.

She froze. It wasn’t a settling noise anymore. It was something else.

She stepped back. The noise stopped. Grace’s heart thudded in her chest. She glanced around the room, looking for something, anything, that would make sense of this strange occurrence. But the room was empty. The house was silent.

She returned to bed, but sleep didn’t come easily. The sound of the scraping continued, growing louder, more insistent. Then—a voice.

Soft. Faint. It whispered her name.

“Grace…”

The voice sent a chill down her spine. It was a voice that wasn’t quite human, like a breath of air too cold to belong in the room.

“Who’s there?” Grace whispered, her voice trembling.

Silence.

But the house began to breathe.

The walls seemed to pulse, expanding and contracting in rhythm with her own heart. The air grew thick and heavy. It felt as if the house was alive—waiting.

Grace bolted out of bed and rushed to the door. It wouldn’t open. She twisted the handle frantically, pulling at the door with all her strength. The whispering started again. It was louder now, more demanding.

“Grace, come to us…”

She backed away from the door, looking around the room for any escape. Her eyes landed on the window. She ran to it, throwing open the heavy curtains, but there was no view outside—only thick fog, swirling and blocking the light.

Something moved in the mist.

A shadow.

Grace gasped. It was humanoid, but tall—unnaturally tall. It was standing just outside the window, its face obscured by the fog.

She stumbled backward, falling to the floor. The voice came again, closer now, inside her head.

“We are waiting. Come find us.”

With shaking hands, she reached for her phone, dialing the only number she knew in town—the landlord. But when the call went through, there was only static. Then a whisper, as clear as day:

“She can’t help you now.”

The figure outside the window moved again, slowly this time. It was standing at the edge of the house, staring at her with hollow eyes.

Hollow eyes.

The same eyes that had been staring at her in the reflection of the darkened window.

Grace’s breath caught in her throat. The eyes—empty, soulless—were now looking back at her from her own reflection. The face in the window wasn’t her own. It was a twisted version of her, pale and sickly, with the same hollow eyes.

It grinned.

The air around her grew colder, and the whispers grew louder. The house was no longer just a house—it was a prison. The walls were closing in, trapping her. The windows, the door—all were sealed shut by an invisible force. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. The whispering was too loud now, drowning out all rational thought.

“Join us…”

The figure outside the window raised a hand to the glass. Grace felt an overwhelming pressure, as if the walls were closing in on her.

And then—she saw the eyes.

Thousands of eyes, all staring at her from the shadows in the corners of the room, from the cracks in the walls, from the floorboards. They blinked slowly, but they didn’t move. They just stared, waiting.

And Grace knew then.

The house didn’t want her to leave. It never had. It was hunting her.

A scream caught in her throat as the shadow outside the window pressed its face against the glass. Its eyes were hollow—and now, they were pulling her in.

And then, with one final whisper, the walls closed around her.

“Welcome home.”

When the landlord arrived the next morning, the house was silent. The windows were still fogged over, but inside, there was no sign of Grace.

Only the hollow eyes that stared back at him from the darkened room.