House Of Leaves Novels & Stories

I finally pulled into her driveway and immediately knew something was wrong. I walked up to the door. It was opened slightly, so I walked in. "Leah? Are you here?" I called out nervously. The floor boards creaked under as I smashed heavy steps on it. "Leah this isn't funny. Stop joking around," I said. I walked a little further into the strangely empty house searching for her. Suddenly, behind me, I heard a noise. I spun around only to see Leah standing in a doorway but wait.... There wasn't a door there before. I looked again and noticed that the door was actually a part of the wall. It opened out to reveal a small room with a fridge, a small bed, and one chair.

The lantern flame shivered as if it could feel the sound. “Poios eísai…?” (Who’s there?) Red points opened in the dark—two at first, then another pair lower, wrong in their spacing. The light wobbled in his hands. He took a step back; the rack bit his spine. A shape uncoiled from shadow. Long where it shouldn’t be, jointed where bone had no right. The smell came first—iron and damp stone and something like old meat that remembered being warm. “Boítheia!”

"Ah, Bàbá ọmọ Adéyẹmí ní mi sir. A ní ìsinmi ní ilé ìwé l'aṣè wà." "Ò dà, ẹ o ṣ'aṣèyọ̀ri." The old man prayed for us. "Amin," we said and bid the old man farewell. We continued walking till we got to a beautiful, modest house, quite different from the mud houses around. The bungalow sat at the end of a long, weed-choked driveway. Becca stepped onto the tiled floor, her footsteps leaving clear prints of the mud. It was a beautiful house—large windows, heavy royal-blue brocade curtains, and a well equipped kitchen—but it felt weird.

After signing the intent to purchase agreement and receiving a deposit, I never went back to that 'home' again. I found a short-term rental at a hotel near my office and moved all my important belongings and documents there. On the afternoon of the third day, I received a tearful phone call from Sloane. Her voice trembled with unmistakable terror. "Graham! Did you... Did you sell the house?" She was practically screaming. "Some men showed up today. They looked vicious. They said the house is theirs now! They told us to get out immediately! Was this you?"

A bad feeling washed over me. I threw the door open, and my eyes went wide. My once-pristine leather sofa was buried under piles of clothes. Some had even fallen onto the rug, stomped over with muddy footprints. Toiletries from the bathroom were strewn across the floor, leaking everywhere. The refrigerator door hung wide open, and I spotted chips and snacks scattered all around. If it weren't for the familiar curtains, I'd have thought I walked into the wrong apartment. What pushed me over the edge—my Lego sets that I'd displayed on either side of the TV had been knocked to the floor and smashed to pieces.

The heavy oak doorframe of the nursery felt like it was pressing in on my chest, squeezing the air out of my lungs until the room spun in a sickening grey haze. The swirling ash from the closed spatial rift drifted lazily down onto the ruined floorboards, settling over the wooden blocks Leo had been stacking just hours ago. "Leo!" I screamed, the sound tearing raw and jagged from the back of my throat.

He had no idea how he made it to the morgue, but eventually he snapped out of it. "You'll have to brace yourself, Mr. Terrason," said the forensic doctor, but he sounded so far away. The white sheet was pulled back. The body was burned beyond recognition, but the diamond ring on the finger struck Samuel like lightning. His chest tightened until he couldn't breathe. The room spun. He nearly collapsed, catching himself against the wall. "No… this isn't possible…" His hand hovered over the ring, trembling, then recoiled as if burned. Reality was worse than anything he'd imagined.

Automatic. A crow pecked at Louise’s azalea bush, its feathers gleaming oil-slick black. It cocked its head at me, one eye glowing faintly red, and dropped a moth-eaten playing card—the King of Spades—at my feet before vanishing. Louise hauled me through the front door, oblivious to the crow, her grip vise-tight. The living room stank of mildew and old bourbon, the air syrupy with decay. Overhead, the bulb flickered like the Greyhound sign’s dying gasp. *Birmingham: DEPARTED.* My legs moved, but I was floating outside myself, watching the girl with scraped knees and hollow eyes stumble past the rusted stove, its burners cold as Louise’s laugh.

I stopped and moved my head a little, straining on my tiptoes to see if what I thought I was looking at really was a house. It was, but it was an odd house. At least, from this angle, it looked different than any house I’d ever seen. It was a two-story house, but it wasn’t straight, and it’s dark exterior looked almost black. The feeling I’d had that this part of the woods wasn’t right carried over to the house, and a sinister feeling overcame me.

by newlyweds, George and Kathy Lutz. They were informed of the murders but bought the house anyway. They moved in on December 18, with Kathy’s three children by a previous marriage: Daniel, nine; Christopher, seven; and Melissa, fi ve. According to the Lutzes, they immediately experienced horrible phenomena. Voices told them to “get out”; there were swarms of fl ies in the cold of winter; Kathy had nightmares about the murders; the apparition of a “demon boy” who could shape-shift into a demonic pig was seen; green slime oozed from walls; a crucifi x hanging on a wall was turned upside down; Kathy’s face transfi gured before George into a horrid hag; mysterious noises sounded in the middle