The House That Breathed”

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When Marta first saw the house at 17 Brzasków Street, she immediately felt a strange tightness in her chest. It was old, wooden, leaning to one side, as if something had been trying to tip it over for years. And yet—she bought it. The price was absurdly low, and she desperately needed a change.

She moved in late afternoon. The very first evening, she noticed a strange atmosphere in the house. The air was heavy. Not the usual stuffy kind—heavy, as if someone were breathing down her neck. She heard faint creaks, but they weren't the typical sounds of a moving floor. The creaks had a rhythm. Inhale. Exhale.

Marta assumed it was exhaustion.

--

That night, something even stranger woke her. A whisper.

She didn't understand the words, but it was close. Very close. As if someone were leaning close to her ear.

She sat up in bed, her heart pounding. The room was empty. She checked the wardrobe, under the bed, even behind the curtains. Nothing.

When she returned to bed, the house was "breathing" again. This time louder.

As if it sensed fear.

--

The next day, she decided to search the house more thoroughly. An old, rickety staircase led to the attic. She climbed slowly, the flashlight beam dancing across the dusty beams.

And there—right in the center—stood an armchair. An ordinary, old armchair. But dust settled around it as if someone had sat in it regularly, for years, even though no one had lived there.

The worst part was that when she touched the armchair… it was warm.

Like someone's body.

Marta ran downstairs, gasping for breath.

--

The whisper came again in the night.

This time louder. Clearer. He repeated the same thing over and over again:

**—Don't run. Don't run. Don't run…**

Marta covered her ears, but the voice didn't come from outside. It was *in her head*.

And the house was breathing faster and faster.

As if it were getting excited.

--

On the third night, she decided to leave. She grabbed her keys and bag and went to the door.

The door didn't budge.

As if the house were holding it from the inside.

Marta tugged harder. And then she heard something that made her blood run cold.

**Laughter.**

Quiet, raspy, right behind her.

She turned slowly.

The light went out. The entire house was plunged into darkness.

And then she saw two bright spots in the darkness—like eyes reflecting the moonlight. They were staring at her from the end of the hall. Motionless. Too high up to be human.

Something moved toward her.

Not quickly.

Calmly.

Confidently.

Like a predator with the whole night ahead of it.

--

When the house was found a few months later, it was completely empty.

Marta had vanished without a trace.

Except for one spot in the attic—an armchair covered in a thick layer of dust.

And the imprint of someone's body.

As if someone were sitting there again.

Waiting.

And breathing.

--