Darkness clung to the old Harper House like a parasite. No one in the small town of Evermoor dared go near it. The rumors whispered of strange shadows at the windows and voices in the wind. But for Mira Thompson, it was just an abandoned house—and the perfect subject for her horror YouTube channel.
She stepped through the rusted gate with her flashlight cutting through the thick fog. The wooden porch groaned beneath her weight, as if the house recognized a new presence. Mira pressed record.
“Legend has it that Harper House was once home to Edgar Harper, a man who lost his family and… well, himself,” she narrated. “They say he hung himself in the attic. But some believe that the noose he used wasn’t just a tool of death—it was a window to the other side.”
The front door creaked open on its own. Mira’s breath caught, but she forced herself to move inside. The air was stale, carrying the metallic tang of something old and forgotten. Footsteps echoed above. She aimed her flashlight upward.
“Just the house settling,” she whispered, more to herself than the camera.
The staircase groaned with each step. In the attic, the beam that once held Edgar’s noose still stood. The rope itself dangled, unnaturally pristine despite the decades. Mira’s camera screen glitched when she focused on it.
“The noose,” she said softly, stepping closer. “Legend says if you look through it, you can see the spirits trapped between worlds.”
She raised the camera lens to the loop of rope.
Static crackled. The screen showed the empty attic—then a face. Hollow eyes stared directly into the camera. The mouth moved without sound. Mira lowered the camera, but nothing stood beyond the rope. She lifted it again. The figure remained. Its mouth now formed words: Turn around.
Mira froze. The wooden floor behind her creaked. A chill breath grazed her neck. She spun around, but the attic was empty. The camera slipped from her grasp.
The noose swayed.
She bent to retrieve the camera. When she straightened, a man stood beneath the rope, head cocked unnaturally to one side. His eyes were glassy, lips stretched into a grin.
“Death isn’t the end here,” he whispered. “The noose… it lets us see. And once you see, you belong.”
The rope shot toward Mira like a snake. She screamed as it wrapped around her neck, dragging her toward the beam.
The next morning, the police found her hanging, eyes wide in terror. Her camera was untouched on the floor. The footage ended with a frame of the empty noose—now swaying in greeting toward the viewer.
Weeks later, curious thrill-seekers entered Harper House. They found no sign of Mira—only a pristine rope and a new whisper in the wind:
“The noose is a window… and now, she’s watching.