The Tenant of the Empty House

It was a humid July night in 2014, and I was living with my partner, Daniel, in a rented house on the outskirts of a small town in the Alentejo region of Portugal. The house was old, with thick stone walls and wooden shutters that creaked in the wind, but it had charm. Our neighbors were few and far between, the nearest being a retired couple who lived about a kilometer down the dirt road.

We were watching a horror film on my laptop, propped up on the foot of the bed, the volume cranked up to feel the bass rumble in our chests. The scene was a tense, silent one, with a man wandering through a forest, and the only sound was the rustling of leaves. That’s when I heard it—a long, drawn-out ‘ahhhhhh’, like someone at the dentist. It was soft, almost melodic, but distinctly human. It seemed to come from right outside our bedroom window, which faced the overgrown garden at the back of the house.

I paused the movie, my heart hammering. Daniel looked at me, his eyes wide. ‘Did you hear that?’ he whispered. I nodded. We sat in silence for a moment, listening. The house was quiet, save for the hum of the fridge. Then, as if on cue, the sound came again, but this time it was fainter, as if the source had moved away. It was then that I noticed the strange coincidence—the volume of the ‘ahh’ was lowering in sync with the background hum of the laptop. When I had paused the movie, the hum died, and so did the voice. I felt a chill run down my spine.

We got off the bed, our bare feet cold on the tile floor. The dog, Luna, a black lab mix, was lying at our feet, but as we stood, she lifted her head, her ears perked. We crept to the bedroom door, and I grabbed the handle, the metal cool under my grip. I turned it slowly, the latch clicking softly. The hallway was dark, save for a sliver of light from the living room, which we had left on. The house was an old farmhouse, and the hallway was long, with a bathroom on the left and a spare room on the right. The door to the spare room was closed, and as we stepped out, we heard a low growl from Luna. She was standing at the threshold of the bedroom, her fur raised, staring down the hall toward the spare room.

I felt my throat tighten. ‘Luna, what is it?’ I whispered. She didn’t move. Daniel and I exchanged a look. We had never seen Luna act like this. The growl turned into a low, continuous rumble, like a warning. We took a step forward, and that’s when we heard a soft thud from the spare room, as if something had fallen. Then, a faint, feminine voice called out, ‘Ahhhh,’ again, but this time it was clearer, almost as if it was right behind the door. The voice was not a scream, but a request, like a doctor asking you to open your mouth.

Daniel pushed me behind him, his hand shaking. ‘Who’s there?’ he called out, his voice cracking. The house was silent. Luna’s growl deepened, and she took a step forward, her claws clicking on the tile. She reached the spare room door and sniffed at the crack, then let out a sharp bark. That’s when the door slowly creaked open, just a few inches. Inside, the room was pitch black. And from the darkness, we heard the voice again, but this time it was singing, ‘Ahhhh…’ in a haunting, off-key melody.

I grabbed Daniel’s arm, ready to run, but then Luna suddenly stopped growling. She whined and lay down, her tail wagging slightly, as if she recognized the presence. I was confused and terrified. The singing stopped, and the door creaked shut on its own. We stood there, frozen, for what felt like an eternity. Then, we heard the front door slam, and the sound of footsteps retreating down the gravel path outside. We rushed to the living room window and saw a figure—a woman in a white dress—walking away toward the road, disappearing into the night.

We never found out who she was. The neighbors said they had seen a woman roaming the fields at night, but no one knew her name. We moved out a month later. But sometimes, when I lie in bed, I still hear that ‘Ahhhh’ in the silence, and I wonder if she found another house to haunt.