Their house was on the older side of town, in a nice area. The homes were big, ranch-style, with huge lots. Kathy’s family home had four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a detached garage. The driveway was massive—it could fit their boat and RV easily. There weren’t many neighbors close by, so it felt kind of isolated. The front yard had this enormous tree that stretched over the driveway toward the garage. Out back, there were two or three smaller trees, and I think one was a fruit tree—maybe an orange tree.
I was helping them pack when her dad pulled me aside on the porch, with her mom there too. “Can we trust you with something?” he asked. Of course, I said yes. He explained that until the realtor sold the house, he wanted me to check in every few days, tidy up a bit, and if possible, stay a night or two so the place didn’t feel abandoned. Back then, people were breaking into foreclosed houses and stealing stuff, so I understood why they were worried. I told them I’d be happy to help, no payment necessary.
The first night I stayed, I set up a cot in Kathy’s old bedroom. I left a couple of lights on and the radio playing softly, trying to make it feel less empty. Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up freezing. I mean, really freezing—as if the room itself had turned into a fridge. I turned on the heater and wrapped myself in the sleeping bag. I mentioned it to a friend the next day, and he said it hadn’t been a cold night at all.
A few days later, I went back for another overnight stay, this time in the den. It was an addition, maybe a patio at some point, so you could tell it wasn’t part of the original house. I brought a tiny black-and-white TV with rabbit-ear antennas to keep me company. Just as I was dozing off, I heard a sound from the other side of the house—like a broom sliding down a wall. I got up to check, but everything was in its place. Later, in the bathroom, I swear I heard someone whisper a sentence. I couldn’t make it out, but it was definitely a voice.
I panicked. Remembering what Kathy’s dad said about intruders, I ran through the house, turning on all the lights I could. The backyard, the porch, everything. All the doors were locked, nothing was open. But my little TV had turned off. I didn’t sleep a wink that night.
The next day at school, I told a few friends about it. They wanted to come over, but I had promised her parents I’d be responsible. I kept checking the house during daylight for a few more days. Then, Kathy called. She asked how I was doing and mentioned their road trip to their new home. I hesitated before telling her about the cold spot and the whispering.
She just sighed. “Yeah… I kind of figured you’d notice,” she said. Kathy told me she had never liked being home alone in that house as a kid. Sometimes she’d run to her parents’ room to sleep at the edge of their bed. She reassured me that I wasn’t imagining things and that the neighbor across the street, back from vacation, would now keep an eye on the house at night.
I kept stopping by the house during daylight for a few more weeks. One evening, after 7 PM, I went in to use the bathroom. The mirrors ran across the whole wall, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move fast across the hallway. I yelled, “Hello!” and ran out, leaving the lights on. The next day, Kathy’s dad told me the neighbor had seen lights on at 11 PM. It hadn’t been me.
Eventually, the house sold to a company that bought up homes, and I was relieved not to have to go back. But even years later, I can still remember those cold spells, the whispering, and the fleeting shadows. I went in to protect an empty house, but I wasn’t alone. Something—or someone—was already there.