From an early age, Finn perceived the world differently than most people. Though he grew up in a typical suburb with blooming trees, neighborhood picnics, and fenced-in gardens, his view of reality went beyond the ordinary. This wasn't mere childish imagination or common nightmares—something dark had stirred inside him since childhood. An indistinct whisper haunted his sleep and echoed throughout his waking hours.

The first incident occurred when he was four, sitting at the kitchen table peeling stickers off old soda cans. While he only remembered it as hazy outlines in dreams, his parents recalled every detail. That cloudy Saturday, as wind gusts rattled empty metal trash cans, they found Finn in the backyard near an old apple tree. His eyes fixed on empty space, seeming to glare at something invisible. His small hands trembled—not with ordinary shivers, but as if gripped by an unseen force.

An eerie silence enveloped the boy, his father recalled. For hours, the child sat motionless—no movement, no crying, no laughter, no words. When his mother attempted to guide him away, Finn whispered, "Don't tell him anything, or he'll come at night." His thin, bony arm stretched toward an unseen presence. Terror gripped his parents. Though they wanted to deny what their son was experiencing, deep down they knew—this was only the beginning.

Years passed, Finn grew older. Memories of the little boy in the backyard faded into family stories. But even though he tried to forget, he sensed something invisible still followed him. At night, in quiet moments on the bed, he heard a faint rustle, as if someone were watching him. It became part of his life — an elusive, whispering darkness.

Another turning point came when Finn was twelve. His parents decided to move to a larger house on the outskirts of town. The streets were less busy there. Beyond the last garden was a dense, endless forest. The house was old. Residents’ stories about it both fascinated and terrified Finn. One rumor claimed that former owners had built the house on the foundations of a burned-down farm. Another story said it was once a strict boarding school. Disobedient children who attended it disappeared. Most of these tales circulated among teenagers and contained many embellishments. Finn didn’t know which story to believe, but the building’s dark atmosphere seemed to emanate from it. A glance at the old, arched windows and gray, neglected walls was enough. His uninvited companion — the terrifying presence from childhood — was returning.

His new room was on the upper floor, opposite a space his parents planned to convert into a study. Most of the family found the room “strange.” The air hung heavy and smelled of old, damp wood. Finn’s parents blamed it on poor ventilation, but the boy felt a chill down to his bones. Upon entering, he felt a slight draft. It felt like someone whispered, “Come in, I’m waiting.” He suspected it was only his imagination. But, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet voice was real.

During his first days in the old house, Finn suffered from insomnia. He tossed and turned for hours on the new bed. The mattress still smelled of fresh fabric. The room, though, held the weight of the past. Even in total darkness, he saw weak, horizontal bands of streetlamp light in his room. He watched them dance on the ceiling while shadows shifted in a tangle. Yet they had an odd color — almost ashen, as though muted.

One night he opened his eyes and would have sworn that a figure was sitting in the corner on a chair. He shook his head in fright to dispel the vision, and when he looked again, nothing was there. His pulse pounded in his head like a steel ball hitting a wall.

The school Finn began attending was smaller, but it had a long history. Almost Gothic buildings had dark, twisted walls and corridors. They smelled of old linoleum. Finn felt anxious there too — as if everything was pursuing him. His classmates ignored him. They were busy with their own issues. They teased him for withdrawing and muttering to himself when he felt stressed. Only one person, a new classmate named Amelia, dared speak to him. They sat together at lunch in the school cafeteria. They served unappetizing-looking vegetable patties. Amelia was peculiar, but in a pleasant way. Her black hair and sharp features gave her a Gothic look. It appealed to Finn. She showed no sign of ridicule. But, her eyes glowed with a strange understanding. “I’ve noticed that you often stare into space,” she said. Then, she broke off, her gaze shifting as if she’d said too much. Finn froze after biting into a piece of food that had been poorly prepared. “Sometimes I just listen… to the silence,” he said with uncertainty, and his face twisted for a moment. The school microphone crackled. A distant roar echoed through the speakers. Finn sensed something ominous in it, making goosebumps rise on his skin. Amelia sat motionless, hiding her contorted expression behind her hair. It seemed she, too, heard something the others missed.

Over the following days, Finn tried to seem normal. Yet each night he battled insomnia, and every morning he woke in maddening exhaustion. The school corridors, his bedroom, and the empty street home all flashed, as if from another world. Sometimes, Finn felt he was walking into something terrible. Now and then, an icy chill ran along his right side. It was as if a being stood there. He tried to dismiss it. He wanted to believe it was all in his mind.

One afternoon, he decided to explore the abandoned room opposite his own. His parents had gone away on a work trip for the weekend, leaving the house in an unsettling silence. The old furniture, creaking floors, and ancient rafters hid many secrets. Finn stepped inside, catching the acrid smell of old dust irritating his nose. Weak light filtered in from a small window. He leaned against the wall and eyed the old wardrobe in the corner. One door hung crooked on its hinges. The lock in the middle resembled a gaping mouth, waiting for someone to open it. Somewhere in the distance — in another room — something creaked. Finn could have sworn it sounded like footsteps, though no one else could be there. He approached the wardrobe doors and paused before placing his hand on the old, rusted key. It felt cold, as if he could sense an icy pulse. He swallowed hard. He turned the key with haste. The wardrobe opened with a long groan. Inside, it was empty. A small black notebook lay in the corner. The cover wore out and the red lettering faded. Finn reached for it. He felt the same tremor he remembered from years ago in the backyard by the old apple tree. Though he might not admit it, something unknown attracted him. It also filled him with a dread he couldn’t explain. He ran his fingers over the notebook cover. Then, he finally mustered the courage to open it.

The yellowed pages smelled musty. The text on the first page was in some sort of old, slanted handwriting. He couldn’t make out everything because a dark stain blurred portions. But, the last sentence he deciphered read:

"Whoever enters these rooms shall witness a shadow of black smoke. From it, there is no escape."

Scratching sounds emerged from somewhere, behind the old paneling. Instinctively, Finn backed away, feeling a sudden chill down his spine. For a moment, nothing else happened. Then came a soft knocking — three light taps. With horror, Finn realized the sound wasn’t coming from the hallway. It was as if it came from behind the thin walls inside the room, which had no other doors.“Hello?” He murmured, wanting to chase away the dread. His only answer was louder, more frantic, urgent knocking.

Finn felt his throat tighten, and he shook his sweaty hands at his sides. The notebook slipped out of his grasp and fell to the floor with a heavy thump. Its pages opened to a different section. In the faint light, Finn read some words. They seemed random, but he could read:

"Fear not what you see. Fear what beckons you."

A presence touched his back with fingers that felt icy and surprising. It was as if the last veil between reality and the shadows had lifted. A terrifying thought rose in his chest. This thing, knocking, knew everything about him. Summoning his last bit of courage, he slammed the wardrobe shut. He wrenched his hand off the key and bolted from the room. The narrow staircase almost caused him to tumble when his foot slipped. But, he managed to reach the safety of his bedroom. Breathing with difficulty, he leaned against the closed door. His hands shook with such intensity that they tingled. He struggled to keep himself from screaming. Yet something inside him stopped him from making a sound. It was a survival instinct. Or, a fear that if he spoke, that thing behind him would know where to find him. So, he stood in the darkness, his heart pounding.

The chilling sentence from the notebook echoed in his mind. Who knew what else awaited him in this old house? What lurked in the dark corners where the streetlight’s glow never reached? Finn had no idea whom to confide in or whom to ask for help. He knew only that it had begun to move, getting closer. He was all alone. His heart jolted when, in the stillness, he realized it was no longer knocking on the wall.

The house seemed to expand in size and grow darker than he remembered as it passed through. Finn didn’t know how to defend himself. He didn’t understand the darkness that stalked him from every corner and shadow. It came from his memories, too. It had pursued him since he was small.