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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/MemoryStormSurfer on 2024-09-14 00:57:54+00:00.

I never thought I’d be writing something like this, but I’m desperate for help or advice. I don’t know if anyone will believe me, but I need to share what happened.

It all started when my Aunt Meredith died a few months ago. The night she passed, I had this vivid nightmare. I was climbing an endless staircase in a house that kept growing taller. Every time I thought I reached the top, a new floor would appear. My legs ached, my lungs burned, but I couldn’t stop climbing. I knew that if I did, I’d fall all the way down, back to where I started. I woke up gasping for air, my phone ringing with news of Aunt Meredith’s death.

After our parents passed years ago, my sister Emily spiraled down a dark path for a few years, leaving me to forge a bond with Aunt Meredith, who rented a small apartment in the city back then. I spent countless evenings with her, sharing tea and stories while gently petting her cat, Willis.

The reading of Aunt Meredith’s will was a shock. Emily inherited a house none of us knew existed, while I got Willis. The injustice of it burned - Emily, who barely called Aunt Meredith except for money, got a home, while I, despite my decent job, remained trapped in an overpriced shoebox apartment. With the housing market as insane as it is, owning a home felt like an impossible dream for me. Our resulting fight over this uneven inheritance left us estranged for months.

Then, last night, my phone lit up at 2 AM with Emily’s name.

“Liz?” Emily’s voice trembled on the other end. “I need you to come over. To the house.”

The house. That dilapidated two-story in a forgettable neighborhood, with its peeling paint and overgrown yard. The house that should have been mine – or so I’d childishly thought. I swallowed my pride and the bitter taste of jealousy.

“Em, it’s the middle of the night. What’s going on?”

“Please,” she whispered. “I… I want you to have it. The house. Just come.”

I was silent for a moment, then scoffed, “So you’re calling me at 2 AM to tell me you want to give me the house you wouldn’t even let me rent a room in a few months ago? Are you using again?” The irritation in my voice was palpable.

“No!” She clamored. “Just come over. Please.” Each word sounded like it was being dragged over broken glass.

“I’ll come over later today, I promise–”

“I need you now,” she cut me off, her voice rising to a near-shriek. I could hear her crying, gasping on the verge of hyperventilating.

My mind and anxiety raced. What if she was using and alone on a bad trip, riddled with guilt over taking the house instead of sharing it with me? Or what if she was having a panic attack, realizing she couldn’t take care of the place or afford it? Could she be in sleep-deprived psychosis and need help?

I sighed heavily. “Okay, I’m on my way.”

The drive over was a blur of streetlights and confusion – and as I pulled up to the curb, I had to double-check the address. This couldn’t be right. The dilapidated two-story I remembered first seeing a few months ago had transformed. Fresh paint gleamed in the moonlight, the yard was immaculately manicured, and there was even a new porch swing. It looked like it had been plucked from a home renovation show.

Still, as I approached, a chill ran down my spine. Even though the house looked beautiful, shadows seemed to writhe across the facade, the darkness of them unnaturally deep. The air felt thick, oppressive, carrying a coppery scent that made my stomach churn.

I found the front door ajar. “Emily?” My voice seemed swallowed by the musty air. Stepping inside, I was struck by the interior. Modern furniture clashed with antique fixtures. Sleek, minimalist pieces sat beside ornate, centuries-old decorations. It was as if the house couldn’t decide which era it belonged to.

I kept walking as the floorboards creaked ominously under my feet. “Emily!?” I called again.

“Up here.” Her voice drifted down from upstairs, oddly flat.

As I crept up the stairs, I felt like I was wading through molasses. Family portraits hung on the wall, their eyes following my ascent. Each step up felt heavier than the last, dizziness washed over me, and whispers just below audibility swirled around my head.

When I reached the top, I saw Emily standing at the end of the hallway, her back to me.

“Em? What’s going on?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She turned slowly, and I barely stifled a scream. It looked like Emily, but her eyes were wrong – too dark, too empty. When she smiled, it stretched unnaturally wide across her face.

“Oh, Liz,” Not-Emily said, her voice a chorus of others. “I’m so glad you came. We’ve been waiting for you.”

I stumbled backward, my back hitting the hallway wall. Picture frames rattled, accompanied by what sounded like children’s laughter.

“What… what are you talking about? Where’s Emily? Where’s my real sister?”

Not-Emily’s grin widened impossibly further. “Emily is here. We’re all here. And soon, you’ll–”

I ran before Not-Emily could even finish the last sentence. Blind with terror, I crashed down the stairs, slamming into walls as I desperately sought the exit. Behind me, I heard a cacophony of voices – some calling my name with hungry eagerness, others screaming for help.

As I burst through the front door, I heard Emily’s voice – her real voice – call out from somewhere deep within the house. “Liz, help me! Don’t leave me here!”

I froze on the porch, torn between self-preservation and the need to save my sister. In that moment of hesitation, I felt something cold brush against my ankle. I looked down to see a tendril of shadow coiling around my leg, trying to pull me back inside. With a scream, I wrenched myself free, stumbling onto the neatly manicured lawn.

As I caught my breath, I felt a familiar nudge against my leg. Willis? How did he get here? His eyes gleamed in the darkness, and he meowed insistently, looking back at the house. It was almost as if he was urging me to go back in.

Heart pounding, I heard Emily’s continued screams for help, and I realized I couldn’t leave my sister. I had to find her. I ran back inside, and I followed her voice, dodging grasping shadows and whispers that grew teeth.

I found her in the attic surrounded by dust-covered relics and dozens and dozens of mirrors. As I reached for Emily’s hand, I noticed her skin was pale, almost translucent. Her eyes, once warm brown, now reflected the room like polished glass.

Not-Emily’s voice echoed around us, seeming to come from every reflective surface. As she spoke, her mouth moved a fraction of a second after the words, like a badly dubbed film:

“Oh, Liz. Aunt Meredith always said you had your father’s eyes.” Her head tilted at an impossible angle, neck stretching unnaturally. “Come, see for yourself. These mirrors don’t just reflect us; they receive us.”

The temperature in the attic plummeted. My breath came out in visible puffs as Not-Emily continued, her smile widening beyond the confines of her face:

“We’re the legacy this house inherits, piece by piece, generation after generation.” As she spoke, I saw flickers of other faces superimposed over hers – men, women, children, all wearing the same grotesque smile. “The family album is always expanding, and there’s a frame waiting just for you.”

“Emily!” I grabbed her ice-cold hand, but as we turned to flee, the attic door slammed shut. One ancient-looking mirror began to ripple like disturbed water, and the floor beneath us softened and shifted. I leapt for the door, but Emily sank into the now-liquid wood, her eyes wide with terror.

The last thing I saw before the darkness claimed my sister was her reflection in the mirror, now calm and serene, taking its place among the house’s eternal residents.

I managed to wrench the attic door open and tumble down the stairs, my heart pounding in my ears. I didn’t stop running until I was in my car, speeding away from that cursed place.

As I sit here typing this, I’m shaking. I don’t know what to do. Emily’s not just trapped there; she’s become a part of that monstrous dwelling. I can’t go to the police - they’d never believe me. I’m going to start researching, try to find a way to end this. But I’m scared. What if I can’t stop it? What if I go back and become part of the “family portrait”?

I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight, but I am comforted that Willis is here snuggling next to me. Still, as I look at him, I can’t help but wonder… why did Aunt Meredith leave him to me in her will?