The Johnson family stood in front of their newly acquired Victorian house, a grand structure looming against the twilight sky. It was a picturesque home, with its intricate woodwork and sprawling porch, but there was an unsettling air that seemed to cling to it, like a lingering fog. Sarah Johnson, the mother, tried to shake off the unease that crept up her spine as she smiled at her husband, Tom, and their two children, Emma and Jake.

“Just think of all the memories we’ll make here!” Sarah exclaimed, her voice bright against the growing darkness. “A fresh start in a charming old home!”

Tom nodded, though his gaze lingered on the windows that flickered with a strange light, as if someone—or something—was watching from within. “Yeah, it’s beautiful. Just needs a little work,” he replied, forcing a grin.

Emma, a curious twelve-year-old with wild curls, darted up the steps, her excitement palpable. “Come on, Jake! Let’s check out our new rooms!” she called, her voice echoing through the empty hall.

Jake, still clutching his favorite stuffed bear, followed hesitantly, his wide eyes surveying the creaking staircase and peeling wallpaper. “I don’t like it here,” he murmured, trailing behind Emma.

As the children raced inside, Tom and Sarah exchanged a concerned glance. They had heard the stories—the whispers of the boy who once lived here, a child consumed by anger. But they had dismissed the tales, believing them to be nothing more than local folklore meant to scare off potential buyers. After all, ghosts weren’t real. Right?

As the family unpacked, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls. The air grew colder, and a low creaking noise echoed from somewhere deep within the house. Sarah shivered and pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders. “It’s just the house settling,” she reassured herself.

Later that evening, the family gathered in the living room, surrounded by boxes. They laughed and shared stories as they prepared their first meal in the house. But the laughter was short-lived.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from upstairs, causing everyone to jump. “What was that?” Emma whispered, her voice trembling.

“Probably just a raccoon or something,” Tom said, trying to sound confident. “I’ll go check it out.” He climbed the staircase, each step creaking under his weight. The rest of the family exchanged uneasy glances.

As Tom reached the top, he noticed that the door to the attic was slightly ajar, a faint light flickering from within. He pushed it open cautiously, revealing a dusty room filled with old furniture draped in white sheets. Cobwebs hung from the corners like ghostly curtains. The flickering light drew him closer—a single candle flickered on an old desk in the center of the room.

Before he could process what he was seeing, a loud crash echoed from behind him, and the door slammed shut with a force that rattled the walls. Tom turned sharply, heart racing. “Emma! Jake!” he shouted, pounding on the door.

Downstairs, the children stood frozen, fear etched on their faces. The air grew thick with tension as shadows twisted and swirled in the dim light. A low, chilling laugh filled the room, echoing off the walls.

Sarah rushed toward the staircase. “Tom!” she screamed, but the laughter grew louder, drowning out her voice. The temperature dropped suddenly, and a gust of wind blew through the house, extinguishing the candlelight.

“Mom!” Jake cried, clutching his bear tighter, tears welling in his eyes.

The walls seemed to close in around them, and the oppressive presence of the house settled like a dark cloud over the family. They had entered Karl’s domain, and he was not pleased with their intrusion.

As the echoes of laughter faded, the family found themselves standing in the darkness, trapped in a house that would soon reveal its true nature dwelling haunted by the rage of a boy who never left.