(A creepy story for adults – A2 English)
Michael was a writer. He liked quiet places, old houses, and rainy days. One day, he rented a small house in the hills to finish his book. The house was old, with stone walls, wooden floors, and a big clock in the hallway.
The owner was an old man. His voice was low, and his eyes looked tired. Before leaving, he gave one warning.
“Do not open the door behind the clock,” he said.
Michael laughed. “What’s inside?”
The old man said nothing. He just walked away into the fog.
Michael worked all day and night. The house was cold and quiet. But every night, at 3:00 a.m., the clock made a strange noise —
Tick… tick… tick…
Then… thud.
Like something was moving behind it.
Michael told himself, “Just old wood. That’s all.”
But the sound came every night.
On the fourth night, Michael couldn’t sleep. Rain hit the windows, and the wind howled. He walked into the hallway and looked at the clock. It was big, tall, and dusty. But now, he saw it clearly:
A small door behind it. Locked.
His heart beat faster. The sound came again.
Tick… tick… thud.
Michael whispered, “Is someone in there?”
Silence.
Then, something scratched from the other side.
Scratch… scratch… scratch.
He stepped back. “Nope. I’m not opening that.”
He ran to bed. But he did not sleep.
The next day, he checked the door again. Still locked. Still quiet.
But that night, it changed.
At 3:00 a.m., the sound returned. But this time, the clock stopped.
Tick… tick…
Silence.
Then the voice came.
“Michael… let me out.”
His body froze.
He walked slowly to the hallway. The clock now showed 3:01 — but its hands were not moving.
And the door… was open.
Just a crack.
Michael tried to turn back. But his feet didn’t move. Something pulled him closer. Cold air blew from the crack. The voice came again.
“Let me out… I’m so cold…”
He pushed the door a little more. Darkness. Deep, black nothing. He held up his phone light.
A staircase went down.
He called out, “Who’s there?”
No answer.
Michael felt a cold hand touch his shoulder. He turned — no one. But the door behind him had opened wide.
He stepped inside.
The stairs were old and wet. Water dripped from the walls. A smell like metal filled the air. At the bottom, he saw something — a mirror.
It was broken, with black glass. But it showed something.
It showed him.
But his eyes were white.
His mouth moved —
But he was not speaking.
The mirror, Michael said:
“You opened the door. Now you stay.”
Michael screamed. He ran up the stairs.
But the door was gone.
Only a wall.
Now, the house is empty. No one lives there.
But at 3:00 a.m., if someone walks by…
The old clock still ticks.
And if they listen closely…
They can hear scratching.
From the other side.
