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Blog & StoriesEthan had spent the night at his best friend Ryan’s house. It was just a typical sleepover—movies, snacks, and staying up way too late. When the sun came up, he grabbed his stuff and walked home, exhausted but happy.
As soon as he stepped through the front door, his mom turned to him with a serious look.
“Why did you sneak out last night?” she asked.
Ethan frowned. “I didn’t. I was at Ryan’s all night.”
His mom’s face darkened. “No, you weren’t. I let you in around 2 a.m. You walked straight to your room and shut the door.”
Ethan shook his head, confused. “That wasn’t me.”
His little brother, Jake, peeked in from the hallway. “Yes, it was,” he said quietly. “I saw you. You looked right at me before you went to your room.”
A chill crawled up Ethan’s spine.
“I wasn’t here,” he repeated.
But his mom wasn’t convinced. “Ethan, I know my own son. I unlocked the door myself.”
That night at Ryan’s, they had played around with an old, homemade Ouija board. They had laughed about it, messing with the letters, but nothing had happened. Or so they thought.
Ethan didn’t sleep much that night. The thought of something—or someone—that looked just like him walking into his house made his stomach turn.
The next morning, his mom called him from the hallway. “Ethan, come here.”
He walked over, and she pointed at his bedroom door. The carpet outside it had left imprints—footsteps leading in. But none coming out.
Ethan never touched a Ouija board again.
And sometimes, late at night, he swore he heard his bedroom door creak open—when he knew he hadn’t moved.
