u/thequeen_ofnothing

precious chapter: https://www.reddit.com/r/horrorstories/s/j8occl94Gr

I was slowly going insane and losing my mind since yesterday. Me and the ghost are not okay with each other after all, huh? I had a hard time sleeping since I could feel something watching me as I lay in bed.

But I was hopeful. Scared, but still hopeful. I could get through this.

Going to the workshop took my mind off things and the possibility that my house was indeed haunted. I did not talk much or try making friends. I am not good at that at all. If you do not talk to me, I will not talk to you either. I will just keep minding my own business.

The teacher was like any other man with a big idea about himself.

Great, I thought to myself, another stupid teacher who will not do his job.

“Fix that nose, Willow,” he said, his ego overflowing from his mouth and ears.

Would it actually be bad if I stabbed him with the pencil? On second thought, he might end up as a ghost, so no, I will not.

From now on I would spend many, many hours in this place, so I would rather keep myself calm and isolated.

“Hey, you are Willow, right? I am Emma, nice to meet you.”

A blonde girl with pin‑straight hair sat next to me on the floor. Her long flowy skirt had acrylic paint all over it.

“Yeah, nice to meet you.”

“Do you happen to have white paint? I ran out.” She laughed awkwardly.

White paint is the one we usually use the most. It is easy to run out of it.

“Sure, here you go.”

“Thanks a ton! I will bring it back in a sec.”

Talk about not wanting to socialise. I am doomed through and through, both at home and here. At least here I can see what is bothering me.

The sun went down and time passed. Finally going home. Well, now that I think about it, I take it back. I would rather be with a social butterfly talking to me all day than with ghosts.

As I got inside the house, I threw my bag on the floor and went straight to the kitchen for food. I was starving.

When I am working on something, I cannot bring myself to eat, so I end up starving myself until it is over. Bad habits, I know.

I opened the fridge and guess what, empty, like my soul.

Great, I thought.

Forgot that the fridge is not going to fill itself up. I am tight on money, but I will have to order. I will go to the grocery store tomorrow.

As I was ready to open the delivery app, I heard footsteps.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, fine, I will order you a cola too. Will that make you stop scaring me?

Or perhaps you want a burger. What do i want actually?”

I kept mumbling to myself as I ended up on the living room couch.

“Pizza or Chinese, tough choice.” I sighed.

“Chinese is the only right choice.”

When I finished ordering the food, I stood up and made my way to my room. I had to turn the lights on or else I would die from the crawling feeling of fright.

“This place already is creepy as it is. I do not need the ghosts to scare me.”

Maybe I really should learn to shut my mouth.

When I said that, I saw a silhouette from the corner of my eye. I held back a scream as I turned to look and saw no one.

“Can you be more cliché than this?!”

I was, in fact, pooping my pants, but I could not let the ghosts know.

Do I go after it and die? Or ignore it and die?

Both roads lead to the same path.

Me being their food.

So obviously, I followed it.

Was that thing wearing a fucking hat…?

A tall one as well. What am I even saying? It is a flipping ghost, not the Mad Hatter!

I checked my room, the hall, the bathroom.

Nothing.

I hit myself with my fist, gently on my chest, trying to stop the feeling of fear somehow. My chest felt so heavy I could have honestly drowned in my own piss.

I looked at my phone screen, thinking about calling Mike, but I could not bring myself to bother a new dad with my messed‑up head.

“Should I look up tutorials on how to exorcise ghosts? Oh great witches of TikTok, please help me!”

This is not going to end well.

The more I live in this house, the more I encounter. Am I in a fucking horror novel or something?

With that thought, I heard that familiar laughter from my room.

I could almost feel my skin peeling off itself from the horror.

When it came to that laughter, I was hopeless. I could not joke, let alone stand.

It felt like I was choking with every breath, and I struggled as I held my phone tight.

Everything else? I could let it slide. But not him. Not that laughter of the unknown man who has been taunting me.

I took a few small steps and turned on the lights quickly, not thinking at all.

Empty.

No man, no nothing.

“Are you shitting me?! Leave me alone! You are the one staring at me while I sleep, right? Fuck off!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, shaking like a leaf.

What am I doing with myself, screaming at an empty room? But I could feel it. It was not as empty as it looked.

That night I did not sleep in my room. I took a blanket and a pillow and made myself at home in the bathtub. Surprisingly, I had the best sleep I have had in weeks there. No prying eyes, no mocking laughter, no footsteps or knocks, no tall shadows.

In the morning everything was quiet. I kept doing everything in the bathroom, so I ended up changing there too.

“No funny business while I am changing, you ghost freaks!”

I stepped out and reached for my bag for the prep workshop, but then I heard it again.

That mocking laughter.

I froze.

Not again. Can he not just leave me alone? It was all fun and jokes when I could not see or hear them. When I first moved into this house, I could tell something paranormal was going on, but I did not fully believe it. I mean, how could I? I can explain some odd occurrences. The place is old, and it creaks, but I cannot explain the laughter or the shadows.

I feel guilty enough as it is. I cannot make people worry over some illusions.

Can mold do that to you? I have heard it is toxic, but it cannot be that toxic…

“Is my face that funny to you, asshole?”

I tried speaking with my usual tone so I would not seem scared. That is what they want. Fear.

But I am not giving it to them.

Sorry not sorry, ghost freaks, but this is my house too.

I grabbed my bag and left the room, trying to keep my legs from shaking… and as I walked down the hall outside the room, I ended up falling down the stairs as I lost the feeling in my legs from swallowing down fear.

Everything kept going static, and I could feel my mind going on and off.

My breath hitched as I heard that familiar laughter again, closer this time, almost calling out to me.

And for a moment, I really believed I died and came back to life.

“Hello there, Willow.”

Small bells rang along with the raspy but quiet voice.

previous chapter: https://www.reddit.com/r/horrorstories/s/XATCe0N9Ug

That place is definitely haunted. For the past couple of days, I have encountered knocking, footsteps upstairs, glasses sliding off the kitchen counter, and electronics going off by themselves. Now I am certainly spooked. Though I can handle a little haunting. I guess I can, as long as there is no demon in the house. I should probably shut my mouth, actually.

I always casually talk to them as if I could get an answer. Better be friendly than dinner.

Honestly, I do not feel threatened, so why stress. There is only one thing I have to stress about, and it is art school. I must get in.

Now that my days as a cleaning lady are over, I can unpack the rest of my stuff.

I took the boxes that had my art supplies and headed to my art studio.

The sun was lovely against the peeled wallpaper. I felt so free and unbothered in this new house. The ghosts actually kept me company by having me talk to the air.

As I finished unpacking, I stood there breathing anxiously as I wrapped my arms around myself.

“Come on, Willow, you’ve got this. Art school is waiting for you.”

I closed my eyes, trying not to cry, when I heard laughter from down the hall.

I froze.

What the actual hell.

I must be losing my mind or something. I was half joking about the ghosts.

I slowly went out of the room and followed the hall’s path.

If I were in a horror movie, that would have gotten me killed for sure.

After taking a deep breath, I kept walking, with no sign of a ghost.

“Do white girls get killed in thrillers? I don’t know, but I should have been dead by now, so I’m good, I guess.”

When I reached the end of the hall, I let myself breathe again. It was all fun and jokes until you can’t explain the oddness.

I can explain the knocks or the electronics, but this.

My phone rang, which made me jolt in fear.

“Damn you, Olivia.”

It was my best friend.

“Hey, Willow. Ooookay, you look as pale as the moon. What happened?”

“Ghost happened.”

I went straight to my room so I could sit down before I fainted.

“Are you still on the ghost thing?” Olivia asked, crossing her arms as the skeptic that she is.

“I was joking before. Now not so much. I heard laughter down the hall right before you called me. Explain that,” I said, trying to collect my breath.

“I don’t know. Kids playing in the neighborhood?”

“Olivia.” My voice darkened.

“It was a man’s laughter.”

I saw my best friend freeze through the screen.

“What are you saying? Are you sure no one’s in your house? You should call the police.”

“No one is here. The hall is big. They wouldn’t be able to leave before I checked without me hearing them run. Maybe I’m too tired.”

“Are you sure? Should I tell my brother to go check on you?”

I looked around the room, sensing something again.

“No need. I’m fine, thanks.”

“If you need reassurance, just call him straight up. Don’t be shy.”

“Olivia, I’m not bothering your brother for nothing. He has other stuff to worry about. His baby, his wife. It’s alright.”

Olivia took a breath and looked down.

“Fine, I get it. Just know that you can call him. You’re basically his second younger sister.” She giggled with a sweet smile.

“Thank you.”

And with that, we ended the call.

It was true about Mike, Olivia’s brother. I’ve known them since forever. Olivia and I basically grew up together, so I don’t want to worry her.

“I thought we had an agreement, ghost. We don’t bother each other.”

I fell back on my bed, touching my forehead.

“Am I being dramatic? Ugh, what time is it? I need to shower. I have to go to the prep workshop tomorrow.”

And with that, I got myself up to take a shower.

“No peeking while I’m showering, ghost freaks.”

I let my clothes fall on the ground as I entered the shower. The hot water was burning my skin, but as I know, for women that is actually enjoyable. I pushed my faded pink hair back along with the water and felt it reach my shoulders. I felt a little fear as I closed my eyes. Humans are more vulnerable in the shower. Naked to the bone and wet.

You can’t run or defend yourself if you find yourself unlucky.

“You are so good at making bad choices, Willow.”

This was supposed to be a new start, not a disaster. What am I even thinking? Ghosts? Or am I in real danger? Honestly, I would be more afraid if it were an actual man rather than a ghost. Humans are far worse than ghosts or any entity.

“I must get out quickly.”

My shower was far from enjoyable, as I was on high alert. I stepped out and wrapped myself in my robe.

“I need to buy a shower curtain,” I said as my footsteps echoed on the wet floor.

As I brought myself to the mirror, I cleaned it with my sleeve from the steam and stared at myself, fearing I would see someone behind me. But I didn’t. It was just me.

“My roots need a touch-up. Black roots and pink hair is not really a vibe. Also, it would be better to put on my clothes in the bathroom. I can’t have dead men staring at my pathetic boobs. Even though there’s a tsunami in here.”

I froze.

Another laughter. The same laughter as before, only this time it came from the other side of the bathroom door. It came from my room.

I couldn’t breathe and could barely stand.

Was someone actually in my room laughing at my rambling? I stared at my phone that I left on the sink. Should I call Mike after all?

No. Why would a man follow me around laughing instead of getting in while I’m showering?

What the hell is happening?

Do I get out? Call Mike? Call the police?

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it on my neck. I grabbed my phone and stood close to the door, trying to hear something, anything.

Silence.

I should have watched more horror movies with Olivia. If I had, I would know which choice not to make.

“That’s it. I’m coming out. I can’t stay here forever.”

And with that, I opened the door.

No one was there.

That night, I had to keep myself from crying.

​

prologue: https://www.reddit.com/r/horrorstories/s/qKD168rfPa

I have grown tired of my own passion, overworked myself to the point where I needed shots in my arms. Being an artist in this kind of world is not easy. People will praise you your whole life for your talent, but the moment you try to make something out of it, suddenly you are trash. You are never enough for art school, never enough to be treated like a human, always treated like nothing for not being like the person next to you.

Teachers overlook quiet students and treat them like they are stupid.

Or maybe that is just me.

Last year I took my shot at art school and failed, almost got mocked to my face by the teachers and the other students. This year I am trying again so I can embarrass myself even worse. But I cannot be a burden to my parents anymore.

So I decided to move out.

I am moving out at nineteen, a massive failure with minimum wage and a broken dream. What could go wrong, right?

Finding a place big enough for my artwork and cheap was surprisingly easy. It was definitely a bit sketchy, but hey, I am a broke artist. I will take anything. The house was old and not in the best condition, so they marketed it to college kids who were just as desperate as the sellers.

So I fell for it. Talk about desperate.

Despite the condition of the building, it had furniture and a fireplace, so maybe it was a steal after all. The only thing I had to do was clean and unpack my stuff. It was dusty as hell in there, but I felt way too guilty to ask my friends for help.

Now I get why it was so cheap. No one wanted to deal with it.

But I had to deal with it if I wanted to put my life back together. I signed the contract with the creepy house owner, bought the hell house, and put on my cleaning lady outfit which was just sweatpants after my stuff got delivered.

Cleaning this hellhole was exhausting. Dust and spiders were definitely the previous owners.

“If this place is not haunted, then I do not know what is” I yelled into my empty living room.

I should not have.

From the kitchen, I heard a knock that made my heart drop straight to my ass. Just a coincidence, right?

That was definitely not enough to scare me off. After all, I already imagined it would be haunted. I mean, look at it.

“Very funny, mister ghost, or miss, or person. I will do my thing and you do yours. But for now, I am leaving this room before I shit my pants a little.”

And with that, I went to the room I intended to turn into my art studio. Big windows, great lighting, and enough space for an artist’s imagination. And most importantly, no signs of supernatural activity.

After cleaning all day, I went to bed early to recharge for tomorrow’s cleaning session. As I lay in bed, I could not shake the feeling of someone watching me. I was not exactly scared, just a little spooked. Not a fan of sleeping alone in an empty house.

But I have a habit most people left behind when they were seven. I sleep with a night light on. I am also not a fan of the dark.

“Alrighty, ghosts, no staring at me while I am sleeping. That is creepy even for a ghost. Goodnight.”

And with that, I slept through my first night in the clown house.

​

This is the prologue of my ongoing horror story “The Jester’s House.” If you enjoy haunted houses, sarcastic narrators, and slow‑burn supernatural tension, you might like this one. Feedback is welcome.

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I wish I could stop that skin‑crawling laughter.

That’s the worst part of it, his laugh.

Is this house taunting me? Am I their plaything, something they can pass around to torment whenever they’re bored? I keep trying to seem unbothered, talking to them casually, using humor as my lifelong weapon for every terrible situation I stumble into.

The truth is, I’m scared.

And even more scared to ask for help.

“No funny business while I’m changing, you ghost freaks!” I yelled as I stepped into the bathroom. Somehow I felt safer changing in there, as if they couldn’t just slip in without me knowing and peek at my vulnerable, naked body.

At least in the bathroom, I didn’t feel their eyes on me.

I’ve got myself some respectful ghosts.

As I stepped out and reached for my bag for the prep workshop, I heard it again.

That mocking laughter.

I froze.

Not again. Can’t he just leave me alone? It was all fun and jokes when I couldn’t see or hear them. When I first moved into this house, I could tell something paranormal was going on, but I didn’t fully believe it. I mean, how could I? I can explain some odd occurrences the place is old but I cannot explain the laughter or the shadows.

I feel guilty enough as it is. I can’t make people worry over some illustrations.

Can mold do that to you? I’ve heard it’s toxic, but it can’t be that toxic…

“Is my face that funny to you, asshole?”

I tried speaking with my usual tone so I wouldn’t seem scared. That’s what they want, fear.

But I’m not giving it to them.

Sorry not sorry, ghost freaks, but this is my house too.

I grabbed my bag and left the room, trying to keep my legs from shaking… and ended up falling midway down the stairs.

My breath hitched as I heard that familiar laughter again, closer this time, almost calling out to me.

And for a moment, I really believed I died and came back to life.

“Hello there, Willow.”