Going to G City was never in my plans. If I’m being honest, I had no reason to go back. No unfinished business, no nostalgia pulling at me—nothing.

Yet, when C called, something in his voice made my stomach tighten.

"You need to come," he said. Not should—not want—but need.

C was a childhood friend, one I had barely spoken to in years. We grew up in the same crumbling apartment complex, but after college, life had taken us in separate directions. The only times we saw each other were the rare, half-hearted reunions over New Year's.

Now, out of nowhere, he was getting married.

"It’s important," he insisted. "Please. Just come."

----------------------------------------

Three days later, I landed in G City.

C picked me up from the airport, his face sharper than I remembered—leaner, more tired. His once-carefree grin was forced, as if pulled into place by invisible strings.

We drove in silence for a while. The city gave way to winding roads, then scattered farmhouses, then nothing but empty stretches of land. The further we went, the heavier the air felt. By the time we stopped, the sky had darkened, the trees pressing in on us like silent watchers.

The village was unlike anything I had expected. Narrow stone paths twisted between ancient houses, the kind you’d see in forgotten history books. Wooden beams, curved roofs, doors with rusted metal rings. Time clung to this place like a shroud.

C led me through a courtyard that smelled of damp earth and something else—something faint, like burnt incense long since gone cold.

"You’ll be staying here," he said, gesturing to a room at the far end of the corridor. "It’s quiet. You’ll like it."

Something about the way he said that made me uneasy.

C picked me up from the airport, his face sharper than I remembered—leaner, more tired. His once-carefree grin was forced, as if pulled into place by invisible strings.

We drove in silence for a while. The city gave way to winding roads, then scattered farmhouses, then nothing but empty stretches of land. The further we went, the heavier the air felt. By the time we stopped, the sky had darkened, the trees pressing in on us like silent watchers.

The village was unlike anything I had expected. Narrow stone paths twisted between ancient houses, the kind you’d see in forgotten history books. Wooden beams, curved roofs, doors with rusted metal rings. Time clung to this place like a shroud.

C led me through a courtyard that smelled of damp earth and something else—something faint, like burnt incense long since gone cold.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"You’ll be staying here," he said, gesturing to a room at the far end of the corridor. "It’s quiet. You’ll like it."

Something about the way he said that made me uneasy.

That night, I met C’s fiancée.

She was beautiful—almost unreal. Pale skin, delicate features, long, ink-black hair that never seemed to stay still. When she smiled at me, I felt an irrational urge to look away.

Dinner was lavish, but the air was stiff with unspoken things. The elders barely spoke, their eyes flicking toward C when they thought I wasn’t looking. Even the air felt wrong, pressing too tightly against my skin.

Afterward, as I prepared for bed, C knocked on my door.

"There’s something I need to tell you."

His face was pale, his voice low.

"About this house," he continued, glancing toward the window. "It…doesn’t want us here."

My skin prickled. "What do you mean?"

He hesitated, then sighed. "It’s easier if I just show you."

From his pocket, he pulled out an old blue-screen phone, the kind we used as kids.

"It rings," he said. "Every night. 3 AM."My chest tightened. "Who’s calling?"

C swallowed. "I think… it’s my father-in-law."

The words made my stomach lurch.

"But… he passed away, didn’t he?"

C nodded. "Years ago. Before we got married. He hated me. Never thought I was good enough for her. And this house… it was his."

The weight of his words pressed against me. Something about this place, about the silence between the walls, suddenly felt suffocating.

That night we were waiting in my room until…

The first time the phone rang, I was half-asleep.

A shrill, unnatural sound cut through the room, vibrating against the wooden floor. I sat up, heart hammering. C’s phone lay on the bedside table, its screen glowing in the dark.

No caller ID. No number.

Just ringing.

C stirred from his futon. He didn’t move to answer it.

"Don’t pick up," he whispered. "No matter what."

I turned away, squeezing my eyes shut. The ringing stopped.

Silence stretched.

Then, a voice.

Low. Hoarse. Wrong.

"Why won’t you answer?"

My breath caught. The voice didn’t come from the phone.

It came from inside the room.

By morning, C looked worse than ever. Dark circles bruised his eyes, his hands trembling as he poured tea.

"It started months ago," he admitted. "I tried everything. Blocking the number, getting a new phone, even getting rid of this one. But it always comes back. Always."

"And the voice?" I asked.

C hesitated. "It’s him. Her father."

He looked out the window, his face unreadable.

"He told me I should leave. That I don’t belong here. That this house will never accept me."

I swallowed hard. "And if you don’t leave?"

C’s fingers tightened around the cup.

"Then he’ll make sure I do."

That night, I locked my door. I told myself I wouldn’t get involved, that this wasn’t my problem. But when the clock struck 3, the air shifted.

The temperature dropped. My breath curled white in the dark.

Then—

The phone rang.

This time, it wasn’t just C’s.

It was mine.

A slow, eerie vibration against my nightstand. The screen flickered, numbers warping into unreadable symbols.

I stared, frozen.

Somewhere outside, footsteps scraped against the gravel. Slow. Deliberate.

The phone stopped ringing.

I exhaled.

Then a whisper slithered through the room.

"…You finally hear me."

The closet door creaked open.

And something breathed inside.

I left the next day, making a vague excuse about work. C didn’t ask me to stay. He just nodded, as if he had expected it.

But sometimes, even now, when my phone rings in the dead of night—

I hesitate before answering.

Because there’s one thing I never told C.

The voice I heard inside that house… it wasn’t a man’s.

It was a woman’s…

And she was whispering my name.

That’s why I know I can’t help C. Some things are beyond saving.

But you’ll understand soon enough.

Next time, let me tell you what happens… when a ghost doesn’t just haunt you—

but wants to play.