When I was in high school, there was this old house in our neighborhood that had been abandoned for? honestly, forever. I overheard my parents talking about it once - they said it never sold, and the city just kinda gave up on it. It was that house everyone avoids without ever saying why.
Naturally, it became the kind of local legend high schoolers obsess over. The "haunted house" on the block. Every small town has one, right? That creepy place you dare your friends to walk past after dark. The one where something always feels? off.
This one? It had a massive, crumbling staircase - like fifteen steps just to reach the porch. I always figured that alone was why nobody wanted it. Who wants to lug groceries up a staircase that long? Ghosts or not, I'd say no thanks.
One night, I was walking home with a group of friends - Mikey, Jonah, and Dylan, plus me and my best friend Amelia. It was already getting dark, and the guys were hyped up on whatever chaotic energy teenage boys run on.
Somewhere along the way, Mikey dared someone to ring the haunted house's doorbell.
Yep. Classic.
He and Dylan were football players, so of course they insisted they could "easily fight off a ghost." Which? is exactly the kind of thing someone with one working brain cell and two concussions would say. But I wasn't trying to look scared - none of us were. Amelia and I exchanged looks, rolled our eyes, and shrugged.
I figured: It's just a myth, right? No big deal.
Except... it wasn't.
We walked up to the house, and I remember counting the steps under my breath.
Fourteen.
(Yes, I know I said fifteen earlier - don't come for me, I was nervous, okay?)
The house was even creepier up close. The paint was peeling, the porch light was out, and the windows were covered in grime. I could swear one of them had something scratched into the glass, but I didn't look long enough to be sure.
The boys were laughing and pushing each other toward the door, and then - because they love tormenting the most nervous one - they dared Jonah to grab the doorknob.
Jonah hesitated. He was new-ish to our group, kind of a shy, lanky guy who loved comics and Star Wars and knew too much about old horror movies. But when Mikey offered him $20, and Dylan chimed in with another $20, he gave this fake little laugh and stepped forward.
"Twenty each," he said.
He reached out and grabbed the doorknob.
At first, we were all still joking around. I remember giggling with Amelia about how dumb the whole thing was - but after about thirty seconds, Jonah still hadn't moved.
He didn't turn around. Didn't say anything.
He just? stood there. Hand on the knob. Eyes locked straight ahead. And he was murmuring something - low and fast, like he was trying to memorize a prayer he didn't understand.
Amelia stepped forward.
"Jonah?" she asked, quiet.
Then he said, out loud:
"I need to go inside."
The laughter stopped.
We all froze.
I remember the air shifted. That's not even a dramatic way of saying it - the whole mood shifted. It felt wrong. Too quiet. Too cold.
"Very funny," Mikey said, reaching for his shoulder. "Alright man, let's go."
"I need to go inside," Jonah said again.
Louder this time. Like it hurt to say. Like he meant it.
The door creaked as he started to open it.
I still don't know if the lock was broken or if it just? gave up.
Mikey and Dylan grabbed him by both arms and tried to pull him back. I expected Jonah to stumble or flail, maybe even laugh and say "Gotcha!" - but instead, he stood completely still.
Like, completely.
And they couldn't move him.
I'm not exaggerating. Jonah - who was maybe 120 pounds soaking wet - somehow stood his ground while two varsity football players physically tried to drag him away.
He was shaking now. Repeating himself under his breath. Saying things like "I have to" and "It's calling me" - and none of us had any idea what to do.
After what felt like five full minutes, Mikey shoved him one last time. Jonah finally let go - and fell backwards.
He tumbled down all 14 steps.
We screamed. We ran down after him - expecting blood, broken bones, something.
But Jonah sat up.
"I'm fine."
He looked dazed. Like he'd just woken up.
Not even a scratch.
The walk home was? quiet. Unsettling. Jonah didn't say much, but at one point he touched his nose and asked,
"Hey? is my nose bleeding?"
It wasn't.
We got back to my house and tried to salvage the night. Cards, snacks, distraction. Anything to pretend we hadn't just experienced something deeply wrong.
I couldn't stop looking at Jonah.
Something about him was still? off. Not dramatic. Not horror movie-level creepy. Just wrong. His eyes weren't tracking us right. Like he was half-there. Like something else was watching through him.
I remember sitting on the floor with a deck of Uno cards and thinking maybe I should pray. Just silently - nothing big. Just? ask God to protect us.
I hadn't even gotten a word out in my head before Jonah looked straight at me.
And in his voice - but not his voice - he said:
"God's not here."
Everything stopped.
No one moved.
And then his nose started bleeding.
Heavy. Fast.
I started praying out loud. No hesitation this time. I begged God to protect us, to clear whatever this was, to guard our home.
Amelia joined me. Mikey paced. Dylan stared.
And Jonah just? bled.
It took about 30 minutes for it to stop.
He blinked a few times and then, like nothing had happened, asked,
"What are we playing?"
We didn't finish the game.
We never talked about it again.
Jonah doesn't remember anything - or at least he says he doesn't.
If you ask him, he laughs it off. Says it's a blur.
But I remember.
I remember the pressure in my chest when I saw his face at the top of those stairs.
I remember the way the doorknob turned like it had been waiting.
I remember the voice - the thing that used his voice.
And I remember that night being the first time I felt like I wasn't just believing in God -
I was begging for Him to show up.
It's been thirteen years.
I've seen some weird stuff.
But nothing like that night.
I don't care if it sounds dramatic.
I know what I felt. I know what I heard.
"God's not here."
But He was.
And He's the only reason we made it out.
Naturally, it became the kind of local legend high schoolers obsess over. The "haunted house" on the block. Every small town has one, right? That creepy place you dare your friends to walk past after dark. The one where something always feels? off.
This one? It had a massive, crumbling staircase - like fifteen steps just to reach the porch. I always figured that alone was why nobody wanted it. Who wants to lug groceries up a staircase that long? Ghosts or not, I'd say no thanks.
One night, I was walking home with a group of friends - Mikey, Jonah, and Dylan, plus me and my best friend Amelia. It was already getting dark, and the guys were hyped up on whatever chaotic energy teenage boys run on.
Somewhere along the way, Mikey dared someone to ring the haunted house's doorbell.
Yep. Classic.
He and Dylan were football players, so of course they insisted they could "easily fight off a ghost." Which? is exactly the kind of thing someone with one working brain cell and two concussions would say. But I wasn't trying to look scared - none of us were. Amelia and I exchanged looks, rolled our eyes, and shrugged.
I figured: It's just a myth, right? No big deal.
Except... it wasn't.
We walked up to the house, and I remember counting the steps under my breath.
Fourteen.
(Yes, I know I said fifteen earlier - don't come for me, I was nervous, okay?)
The house was even creepier up close. The paint was peeling, the porch light was out, and the windows were covered in grime. I could swear one of them had something scratched into the glass, but I didn't look long enough to be sure.
The boys were laughing and pushing each other toward the door, and then - because they love tormenting the most nervous one - they dared Jonah to grab the doorknob.
Jonah hesitated. He was new-ish to our group, kind of a shy, lanky guy who loved comics and Star Wars and knew too much about old horror movies. But when Mikey offered him $20, and Dylan chimed in with another $20, he gave this fake little laugh and stepped forward.
"Twenty each," he said.
He reached out and grabbed the doorknob.
At first, we were all still joking around. I remember giggling with Amelia about how dumb the whole thing was - but after about thirty seconds, Jonah still hadn't moved.
He didn't turn around. Didn't say anything.
He just? stood there. Hand on the knob. Eyes locked straight ahead. And he was murmuring something - low and fast, like he was trying to memorize a prayer he didn't understand.
Amelia stepped forward.
"Jonah?" she asked, quiet.
Then he said, out loud:
"I need to go inside."
The laughter stopped.
We all froze.
I remember the air shifted. That's not even a dramatic way of saying it - the whole mood shifted. It felt wrong. Too quiet. Too cold.
"Very funny," Mikey said, reaching for his shoulder. "Alright man, let's go."
"I need to go inside," Jonah said again.
Louder this time. Like it hurt to say. Like he meant it.
The door creaked as he started to open it.
I still don't know if the lock was broken or if it just? gave up.
Mikey and Dylan grabbed him by both arms and tried to pull him back. I expected Jonah to stumble or flail, maybe even laugh and say "Gotcha!" - but instead, he stood completely still.
Like, completely.
And they couldn't move him.
I'm not exaggerating. Jonah - who was maybe 120 pounds soaking wet - somehow stood his ground while two varsity football players physically tried to drag him away.
He was shaking now. Repeating himself under his breath. Saying things like "I have to" and "It's calling me" - and none of us had any idea what to do.
After what felt like five full minutes, Mikey shoved him one last time. Jonah finally let go - and fell backwards.
He tumbled down all 14 steps.
We screamed. We ran down after him - expecting blood, broken bones, something.
But Jonah sat up.
"I'm fine."
He looked dazed. Like he'd just woken up.
Not even a scratch.
The walk home was? quiet. Unsettling. Jonah didn't say much, but at one point he touched his nose and asked,
"Hey? is my nose bleeding?"
It wasn't.
We got back to my house and tried to salvage the night. Cards, snacks, distraction. Anything to pretend we hadn't just experienced something deeply wrong.
I couldn't stop looking at Jonah.
Something about him was still? off. Not dramatic. Not horror movie-level creepy. Just wrong. His eyes weren't tracking us right. Like he was half-there. Like something else was watching through him.
I remember sitting on the floor with a deck of Uno cards and thinking maybe I should pray. Just silently - nothing big. Just? ask God to protect us.
I hadn't even gotten a word out in my head before Jonah looked straight at me.
And in his voice - but not his voice - he said:
"God's not here."
Everything stopped.
No one moved.
And then his nose started bleeding.
Heavy. Fast.
I started praying out loud. No hesitation this time. I begged God to protect us, to clear whatever this was, to guard our home.
Amelia joined me. Mikey paced. Dylan stared.
And Jonah just? bled.
It took about 30 minutes for it to stop.
He blinked a few times and then, like nothing had happened, asked,
"What are we playing?"
We didn't finish the game.
We never talked about it again.
Jonah doesn't remember anything - or at least he says he doesn't.
If you ask him, he laughs it off. Says it's a blur.
But I remember.
I remember the pressure in my chest when I saw his face at the top of those stairs.
I remember the way the doorknob turned like it had been waiting.
I remember the voice - the thing that used his voice.
And I remember that night being the first time I felt like I wasn't just believing in God -
I was begging for Him to show up.
It's been thirteen years.
I've seen some weird stuff.
But nothing like that night.
I don't care if it sounds dramatic.
I know what I felt. I know what I heard.
"God's not here."
But He was.
And He's the only reason we made it out.
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