The house seemed ordinary enough when the narrator first moved in. Quiet neighborhood, solid structure—just the kind of place you might settle down and build a life. But there was one strange detail: the previous owner had been a priest. Before moving out, he asked the new occupants—a husband and wife—if they wanted to keep the decorations. They agreed without giving it much thought.



Turns out, those “decorations” included no fewer than fifteen crosses—spread throughout the house. Seven of them were in one bedroom alone. The narrator’s wife eventually removed them, finding the sheer number unsettling, almost excessive. It was only afterward that things began to go downhill.



At first, it was financial. The home turned into what the narrator could only describe as a “$20,000 money pit.” Repairs stacked up. Unexpected costs seemed to come out of nowhere. Sure, that could all be chalked up to coincidence. But the timing? It left a question hanging in the air—one the narrator couldn’t quite shake.


About a year into living there, the real trouble began.


The master bedroom was situated on one side of the house. The other three bedrooms were on the opposite end. Nothing unusual about that—until the narrator decided to sleep in one of those distant bedrooms. Just for a few nights.


The first night, the ringing in the ears started. Subtle at first, then deafening. A weight seemed to settle over the room like a blanket of lead. Everything became heavy. Suffocating. The narrator tried calling out to his wife, but no sound came out. It felt as if something was pressing down on his chest. Like he was being choked. He gasped for air, but there was none.


It happened again the next night. And again the night after that.


The narrator didn’t leave the room the first two times. Maybe it was a show of strength—an effort to prove to whatever was lurking there that it didn’t have power. But by the third night, he’d had enough. He retreated back to the master bedroom.


He tried sleeping in that room a few more times after that, cautiously, as if testing the waters. Strangely, the experience never repeated itself. But something about that room—something about that end of the house—never felt quite right again.


There were other signs. Subtle, creeping ones. On one occasion, the narrator stepped into the house and was instantly overwhelmed by a thick, electric stillness. Every hair on his body stood on end. It was as if the house was holding its breath… or watching.


They had guests over once—his wife’s cousin and the cousin’s wife. The couple decided to stay the night. At different times, and in different parts of the house, both of them heard a disembodied voice—a soft, unmistakably feminine voice. One heard it say “Hello.” The other? “What are you doing?”


Chills ran down their spines. Neither one could explain it. They hadn’t told the guests anything about the strange happenings before they arrived. And yet… something had reached out.


Later, the narrator’s wife came forward, quietly admitting she had heard the same voice. That same eerie tone, whispering from the shadows of an empty room. The kind of thing that doesn’t just scare you—it sticks with you.


Now, the narrator finds himself standing at a crossroads. Part of him wants to bring in a priest to bless the home, to cleanse it, to put whatever is lingering there to rest. But another part of him hesitates. What if it stirs something up? What if it makes things worse?


He’s not eager to take that risk.


Instead, he’s planning a different route—installing cameras in every room. If something is happening, he wants to see it. He wants proof.


Maybe to reassure himself he’s not imagining things. Maybe to warn others.


Because no matter how skeptical you are—no matter how firmly you believe in science, logic, or reason—some things defy explanation. And this house? It doesn’t feel like just wood, nails, and bricks anymore. It feels like something else is there. Watching. Listening.


Waiting.


The narrator admits it freely—he's never experienced anything like this in his life. And if it makes him sound crazy, so be it. But the events in that house… they are very real to him. And the fear? The uncertainty? The presence that lingers when the lights go out?


That’s something no skeptic can easily explain away.