Talking to Myself

Today's story is going to remind us that sometimes the scariest thing isn't what we can see, it's what we can't and the stillness and the quiet something might just be listening. My name is Edwin, and here's a scary story. Living alone has its perks. My house is my sanctuary. It's quiet, peaceful and entirely mine. No one to bother me, no one to judge me for my weird habits, dancing around on my way to the bathroom, leave me the door open, and things like talking to myself. I've always done it. I'll nar it my day, tell a joke to no one in particular, or just ramble about whatever comes to mind. It's not like anyone's listening. My house is small, but cozy, nestled at the edge of town. It's kind of old, and the floors creak when I walk, the wind whistles through the old windows, and at night, the silence settles in like a thick blanket. It's muted, muffled, a little bit uncomfortable. Sometimes it's so quiet that I can hear my own heartbeat, and that's when I talk the most, to break the stillness, to remind myself that I'm here, I'm alive, and this is my space. I'm guilty of listening to YouTube channels at night, true crime, scary stories, anything to keep my mind on while I get sleepy. It's usually okay, but lately something's felt off and it's hard to explain. Like have you ever walked into a room and felt like you were interrupting something? That's how it feels in my own home. First I thought I was imagining it, but then I started noticing little things, a chair slightly out of place, my cabinet door left open, a faint creak upstairs when I'm sitting perfectly still in the living room. And again, my house is small, so noises like those sound very close and very real. I told myself it was nothing. Maybe I forgot to close the cupboard. Maybe I bumped the chair without realizing it. Houses make noises, and that's what all the houses do. But the feeling wouldn't go away. In fact, it got worse. I started catching myself glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see someone that there was never anyone there. It wasn't long before the little thing started piling up, and one night I came home from work and found my bedroom door open, and I always close it before I leave always. My first thought was that maybe I had forgotten. But I stood there staring at the open door, and I couldn't shake the feeling that someone had been in there. So I walked in, cautiously scanning the room. Nothing seemed out a place. My bed was made and my clothes still neatly folded on the chair. But the ear felt different, heavy, like the room had been holding its breath. I left it off, trying to convince myself that I was being ridiculous. You're imagining things, Lisa, I said out loud, get a grip, but then I froze. Hello my voice it sounded strange, almost like it didn't belong to me. Had I just talked to myself or did I just think about it? That was the first time I felt truly scared. I checked every corner of the house that night, the closets, under the bed, even the attic. There was nothing, no one. I finally went to bed, but I didn't sleep very much. Every little noise made me jomp, and the house my sanctuary didn't feel safe anymore. One evening, as I was sitting on the cow which I heard it. It was knocking, three soft taps on the wall behind me. I turned around so fast I nearly give myself whiplash, but there was nothing there. The sound had been as if someone was tapping on something hollow, and this wall was solid. I tried to laugh it off. The house is settling, I said to myself, but my voice was trembling. I didn't believe my own words, and deep down I knew that this wasn't the house I looked. It was something else. It wasn't long before I just couldn't take it anymore. Every corner of it felt oppressive, like the walls were closing in on me. The sleepless nights, the constant tension, it was eating me alive. I would jump at the slightest sounds, and my heart would be pounding so hard that it would feel like it might burst. I needed to escape before I completely lost my mind, and so I did. I packed the and I called my friend Emily. She never had anything to do. It was complicated, she would say. So one weekend we got together and drove to the coast. The drive itself felt like shedding layers of fear mile by mile, and by the time I reached the water, I could finally breathe again, the salty air, the rhythmic crashing of waves, the distant laughter of strangers. But I felt like a lifeline pulling me back to myself. But even there at the hotel room, the fear lingered. It was just out of reach. That night, I would wake up in a cold sweat, certain that I had heard footsteps outside my window. My friend reassured me it was just my imagination, but the anxiety wouldn't let me go. I was desperate to believe her, desperate to feel normal again, and still I would have accepted any explanation just to call my mind. The following night, I just sat on the balcony and was staring out at the dark horizon. The sea seemed to go on forever, its waves crashing against the shore in a hypnotic rhythm, But my mind kept drifting back to the house, to the shadows, to the sounds. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had left something behind, something that wasn't going to let me go so easily. When I finally decided to go home, that was determined this time things would be different. I told myself it had all been in my head, stress overwork, nothing more. I would reclaim my space, banish the fear, and start fresh. When I got back, the house felt better. The air wasn't as heavy, and the silence wasn't so suffocating. I threw myself into cleaning and rearranging, like scrubbing the floors and moving the furniture could erase the memory of those terrifying weeks. I even made a point to stop talking to myself. It was a bad habit. I decided one that I didn't need any more, and for a while it worked. The house was quiet, peaceful, just like before. But then one night, as I sat in the living room, something happened. I was reading a book, trying to enjoy the stillness, when I heard it. A voice clear as day, but it wasn't mine, and it was not my imagination, and it said only one word, Hello, Hello. I froze and my heart stopped. The book slipped from my hands and thudded on to the floor, and I sat there, paralyzed, every muscle in my body screaming at me to run, but I couldn't move. My eyes darted to every shadow, every corner, but the room was empty, completely terrifyingly empty. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out, and my chest felt tight. I yet the house was quiet again, but the silence wasn't comforting anymore. It was mocking, waiting for me to do something. I couldn't sleep that night. How could I. Every creak of the house, every gust of wind against the windows, it all felt like a message, like a warning. That night, I sat upright on the couch, clutching a blanket like it could protect me. The voice had been so clear, so close, it could not have been my imagination. The hours crawled by, and I forced myself to think logically, Okay, maybe the hello had come from outside, a passing neighbor, a TV left on in a nearby house. I repeated these possibilities like a mantra, trying to drown out my own thoughts. I knew that if I let them, that would grow. But deep down I knew that none of it made sense. The voice had come from inside, and if I had to pinpoint it, it was from somewhere in the hallway. I wasn't gonna sleep. By dawn, I had made the same decision again, just getting myself feeling strong, powerful, I wasn't gonna let the fear control me anymore. I wasn't gonna let some voice or a ghost or whatever this was take my home from me. I was going to prove to myself that there was nothing here to be afraid of. I knew I sounded ridiculous, but still I started retracing my steps. I walked the house from top to bottom, looking for anything, anything at all that could explain the voice. I opened every closets, checked every event, every crack and crevice. I even went into the basement, my least favorite part of the house. But everything was as it should have been. No sign of anyone, no hidden speakers or strange wiring, just the familiar, musty smell of an old home. I never believed in having cameras inside the house ever since I heard about that case about the kids who heard a stranger's voice coming from it. Still I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone. Very so often I would feel this prickle at the back of my neck, like I was being watched, and I would whip around, expecting to see someone, but there was never anyone there. I kept trying to convince myself that I was imagining it. But then something happened that I couldn't ignore. That night, I was brushing my teeth, going through the motions, trying to hold onto some sense of normalcy. The mirror above the sink had always been a source of comfort for me. It would be just me looking back at myself, reminding me that I was here, that I was real. But as I leaned forward to spit, something caught my eye, a flicker of movement in the reflection. I froze, staring at the mirror, my toothbrush still in my hand. My reflection was there, just as it should have been. Behind me, the dim hallway outside the bathroom. I saw it, a shape, a shadow. It was gone in an instant, but I know what I saw. My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest at this point, and so I spun around, expecting to find I don't know what, but there was nothing there, just the empty hallway stretching into the darkness. I didn't sleep that night or the night after. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that shadow, I heard that voice. I felt the walls of the house pressing in on me, tighter and tighter, like it was trying to keep me here. I knew I had to get out, but something, some strange, inexplicable pool like the house didn't want me to leave, And the worst part, I wasn't sure I wanted to either. I sat on the couch again, staring at the empty room, every nerve in my body on edge. My thoughts were spiraling. Even if this was real, if that voice wasn't just in my head, what did it want? I told myself. I needed answers again, not sure if this was out loud or just in my mind, but I would obsess over much smaller things, and this would be no exception. If there was someone or something in my house. I had to confront it. I couldn't live like this, drowning in fear. I had to know the truth, even if it terrified me, and so I turned every light in the house. Brightness spilled into every single corner, banishing the shadows, and for the first time in weeks, I felt almost brave. I walked through every room, speaking out loud, maybe not at the fians or desperation. If you're here, show yourself, I said. I'm always trembling, but steady enough. I'm not afraid of you, but that was a lie. My hands were shaking and my heart was racing. But I felt ridiculous standing there and talking to an empty room. I knew that I had to do something, though, And then it happened. The sound came from the basement floor. My stomach dropped. I never liked being in there. It was cold, dark, and full of things that didn't want to deal with, literal and metaphorical. But now there was no avoiding it. I grabbed the flashlight and stood at the top of the stairs, staring down to the pitch black abyss. My breath caught in my throat as I reached for the door handle. And even with the lights on, that place always seemed dark. Still I watched It's a dim orange light at the base of the stairs flickered and stayed on. You're imagining things, Lisa, I whispered to myself. Just go down there and prove it. But as I took the first step, the voice came again, clear this time and louder. Hello. I froze. My flashlight shook in my hand, the beam flickering wildly across the walls. It wasn't just a voice, it was my voice. Hello. The sound dragging it out like it was tasting it. I stumbled back, my foot catching on the top step. The flashlight slipped from my grasps, clattering down the stairs and plunging into the basement. I didn't wait. I ran. I ran out of the basement, out of the house into the night. The cold air hit me like a slab, but I didn't stop running until I was standing in the middle of the street, gasping for I never went back inside that night. I spent the next few hours in my car, watching the house from a distance, half expecting to see something or someone watching me from the windows, but the house was silent. It was still. The next morning, I called the locksmith, I had every lock replaced, and then asked him to help me check every inch of the house for signs of an intruder. They found nothing. No forced entry, no hidden cameras, no footprints, but mine. One of the guys still begged me to call the police or get help if it happened again. Despite all that and the search, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone but in that house, I haven't heard anything since. I've made peace with the fact that I'll never really know what happened in that house? Was it all in my head, a trick of my imagination? That was there? Something else, an actual presence, a shadow, something waiting for me to slip back into my old habits. I've stopped talking to myself entirely. It's silly, I know, but I can't risk it because what if the silence wasn't empty? What if it's just waiting for me to speak first? Hello. Scary Story podcast is written and produced by me Edwin Kovaru. Yes, if you want to submit a true story to put in our listener story episodes, make sure you send it to me at Hello at scarystory dot com. We just need a couple more to be able to turn it into an episode. Also, thanks to our Scary Plus members for making this possible and to support my show. You can try out scary Plus over at scaryplus dot com to listen to the stories without ads right here in the same app try for free for two weeks, and then it's four and any nine a month after that, you can cancel whenever, no questions asked. Links to everything, including how to get in touch or in the description of this episode, Thank you very much for listening keep it scary. Everyone see you soon.