Here is a short frightfulness house story for you:
---
The Murmuring House
In the calm town of Dark Empty stood an old manor, deserted for almost a long period. The townsfolk called it The Murmuring House in light of the fact that, on cool, windless evenings, it mumbled — low, chilling voices falling through its decaying walls. Nobody thought for even a moment to enter.
Until Daniel did.
A doubter and a daredevil, Daniel laughed at the phantom stories. Equipped with a spotlight and a recording gadget, he pushed open the squeaking entryway and ventured inside. The air was thick with dust, the aroma of rot twisting in his noses. Moonlight sifted through broke windows, uncovering distorted furnishings and artistic creations with faces too blurred to even consider perceiving.
Then, at that point, the murmurs started.
From the outset, they were simply delicate rustlings, similar to texture moving. Then, at that point, words — many voices, covering, earnest, arguing.
"Leave. Before he wakes."
Daniel's breath got. He swung his electric lamp fiercely. The bar arrived on a flight of stairs, where profound scratches defaced the handrail, like something had been hauled facing its will.
An entryway pummeled higher up.
He went to leave, yet the front entryway had evaporated. In its place was a mass of decayed wood. The murmurs became stronger, more frantic.
Then, at that point, another voice — profound, throaty, hungry.
"You remained excessively lengthy."
A shadow flooded toward him from the flight of stairs, moving unnaturally quick. Cold fingers folded over his throat. His electric lamp hit the ground, turning, uncovering for only a second — a face wound in rage, empty eyes consuming red.
The townsfolk at no point ever saw Daniel in the future. Yet, on chilly, windless evenings, The Murmuring House had another voice.
A shout, caught in time.
---
Need a more drawn out story or an alternate kind of repulsiveness?l
