A sharp, almost imperceptible sound shattered the silence of the night. It wasn’t the noise of a modern alarm, but something more sinister — a long, drawn-out creak, like the groan of rusty metal. Something in the house seemed to be breathing. The thieves exchanged glances, trying to hide their unease. The gang leader, a solidly built man, signaled them to continue. “Don’t be scared of the shadows,” he whispered.
The first man slipped through the window, but as soon as he set foot on the floor, the air in the room changed. It was cold, suffocating, almost hard to breathe. He held his breath, trying to regain his balance. The others followed, each with their hearts pounding wildly in their chests.
Inside, it smelled of old, moldy things and something sweet, like a perfume forgotten for decades. The room was almost empty, except for a worn armchair and a table full of extinguished candles. On the walls, old black-and-white photographs with stiff faces and eyes that seemed to follow you.
“Guys, something’s not right here,” one of them muttered, kicking a board that creaked under his weight. The leader shot him a sharp look: “Shut up and look for the money. Under the mattress, that’s what they said.”
They climbed the stairs slowly, each step accompanied by the horrifying creak of the wood. When they reached the bedroom, the door was ajar. Inside, moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, illuminating an old bed. The mattress looked exactly as the neighbors had described: bulging in the middle, as if hiding a treasure.
One of the thieves hurried to lift the mattress, but as he did, a guttural scream filled the room. The mattress didn’t hide money. It hid… something that shouldn’t have existed. From the darkness beneath the bed, two skeletal arms, covered in dry skin, wrapped around him and pulled him underneath with inhuman strength.
His screams froze the blood of the others. They tried to pull him out, but something was dragging him with colossal force. In a matter of seconds, he was gone. Under the bed was only darkness.
“Get out! Get out now!” the leader shouted, but before he could move, the door slammed shut with a deafening bang. The windows closed suddenly, and the temperature dropped so much that steam came out of their mouths.
From the darkness of the room, laughter began to echo… a thin, hoarse laugh that sent chills down their spines. “You shouldn’t have come here…” an old voice whispered, almost like an echo from another world.
One of the thieves, desperate, pulled out a knife and tried to force the door, but something invisible lifted him off the ground and slammed him against the wall. Blood trickled down the peeling wallpaper. The other two began to scream, pounding their fists against the door, but it was futile. The room had become a cage.
Suddenly, in the middle of the room, the silhouette of an old woman appeared. Her white hair flowed like water, and her eyes burned with a demonic red. “Did you come for my money?” she asked, and her voice made the walls tremble. “Take it… but you will pay with your life.”
A whirlwind of shadows surrounded the thieves. Their screams faded in seconds. When morning came, the house was silent. The bedroom door opened by itself, and on the bed, untouched, lay a pile of banknotes… and three black masks stained with blood.
Since then, no one has dared to enter that house. And the old woman? No one has seen her ever again.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for how characters are portrayed and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
