I don’t even know where to start. Today, something happened that I can’t explain. I feel like I’m losing control, like there’s something inside me that I can’t shut off.

We went to Salem today—some tour thing with the Rebecca Lodge, my mom has sent me on. Everyone was so excited to visit the House of Seven Gables, but the moment we got off the bus, I felt it. That chill. It was warm out, but the air around me felt heavy and cold, like something was waiting for me. I thought I was just being paranoid, but as we got closer to the house, it felt like it was alive.

I didn’t say anything to anyone. How could I? Everyone was laughing, taking pictures, but I couldn’t shake this feeling that something was wrong. The house was dark and old, like it had absorbed every horrible thing that had ever happened inside. It made me nervous. More than nervous. I felt like I was being pulled toward it, like the house knew I was coming.

Inside, it was worse. The ceilings were so low, and everything felt so close. I could hardly breathe. The tour guide was talking, telling us all about the history, but I couldn’t focus. Her voice was strange, almost hollow. It reminded me of those whispers I keep hearing at home—soft at first, then louder, insistent. I felt like something was watching me, following me through every room.

Then we went into that room. The one where women accused of witchcraft hid. I don’t know what happened, but the second I stepped inside, it was like I could feel them. The women. The fear. I know it sounds crazy, but it was like I could hear them—whispering, pleading, trying to tell me something. My chest felt tight, and the air was freezing cold. No one else seemed to notice. No one ever notices.

The walls felt like they were closing in, like the whole house was wrapping itself around me. The whispers got louder, faster, and I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I knew it wasn’t good. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. My feet wouldn’t move.

Then, somehow, I forced myself to leave. I ran out of the house, gasping for air the second I stepped outside. I don’t know how long I stood there, but I couldn’t go back in. I just couldn’t. The others kept going, laughing like nothing was wrong, but I knew. I knew something in there wasn’t right. It was like the house was alive, and it wanted something from me.

The voices stopped when I left, but the feeling didn’t. It’s like the house is still with me somehow, lingering in my mind, waiting for the right moment to whisper again.

I didn’t tell anyone. What could I say? That I felt the presence of women who were dead for hundreds of years? That the house was calling me? They already think I’m weird. They wouldn’t understand. No one ever does.

But I know what I felt. I know I’m not imagining it.

I just wish someone would believe me.