Video - Whispers of the Waiting House

The old farmhouse stood alone, its windows like hollow eyes staring into the abyss. Inside, Clara found her grandmother's dusty journal. As she read, the walls seemed to breathe, exhaling faint whispers. Suddenly, the air turned icy, and shadows twisted into grotesque forms. The words on the page writhed, morphing into her own name over and over. A chilling draft brushed her neck as the journal snapped shut, locking with an unseen force. Clara's reflection in the cracked mirror grinned back at her, eyes black as voids. She realized the house wasn't empty; it had been waiting for her.