Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I moved into a HAUNTED HOUSE. This is my SCARIEST Story | Scary Stories

Episode Date: February 7, 2025

Story written by Stephen & Rachel of Lighthouse Horror. For usage rights or more information, please contact us at [e-mail] Cover Art from Ninerio More of the artist’s works at ninerioarts  Original YouTube link: I moved into a HAUNTED HOUSE. This is my SCARIEST Story.         Merch: lighthousehorror.shop For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Darren Curtis Music - YouTube  Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every week, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

My name is Roger, and if you were to ask me how my life is going, I wouldn't know where to start. I guess the easiest way to put it is this. It's not where I thought it'd be. I'm 34, a single dad, and I've just moved back to the town I swore I'd leave behind forever. I don't hate this place, but it holds a lot of memories and not all of them are good. My son, Finney, and I are living next door to my parents, in the old house I grew up in. Small, but it's enough for the two of us. Finney's the only thing in my life that really makes sense anymore.

He's five, with the kind of energy that could power a city. He's obsessed with his stuffed clownfish. The thing's old and ragged now, but he won't go anywhere without it. He calls it Big Finn, because of its oversized fins, and honestly, it's the cutest thing. Sometimes, I catch him talking to it like it's his best friend. Kids have a way of finding joy in the smallest things, don't they? I wish I could be more like that. I wasn't always like this.

Quiet, tired, frustrated. Back in high school, people used to say I was the guy who had it all figured out. Got good grades, made the football team, and he dated Sarah, the prettiest girl in town. I thought life was this big, bright thing just waiting for me to grab it. But that was a long time ago. Now, Sarah's gone. Cancer took her two years ago. And I'm just trying to figure out how to keep going. Lost my job six months ago. It wasn't anything fancy, just a warehouse gig that paid the bills,

but it was steady. Then the layoffs came, and I was one of the first to go. And that's when things really started to feel heavy. My savings ran out faster than I thought, and the bills piled up. I try to keep things normal for Finney, but you can't hide everything from a kid. He's smart, like his mom. He knows when something's off, even if he doesn't say anything. Moving back home wasn't my first choice. I've got a complicated relationship with my parents. They're good people, don't get me wrong,

but they've always had this way of making me feel kind of small. My dad's the kind of guy who thinks a man should be able to pull himself up by his bootstraps no matter what. And my mom, well, she's kind, but she's always fussing. Sometimes I feel like she's still trying to raise me, even though I'm a grown man with a kid of my own. I don't drink around Finney. I promised myself I wouldn't do that to him. By once he's in his bed, I'll pour myself a glass. Or two. It takes the edge off, you know.

It's not something I'm proud of, but it helps. At least that's what I tell myself. I keep the bottles hidden in the garage behind a box of old tools. Out of sight, out of mind. Those first few weeks back in town, they were tough. The house smelled like it'd been closed up for years, even though my parents said they'd kept it clean. I spent the first few nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the creaks and groans of the old place. It felt strange being back in my childhood bedroom, especially with Finney sleeping in the room next door.

He didn't seem to mind, though. To him, it was all one big adventure. One thing about small towns is that everyone knows everyone's business. I couldn't go to the grocery store without running into someone I used to know. They'd ask the same questions. Have you been, Roger? What brings you back? I'd give them the same polite answers. I'm doing fine, you know, just needed a fresh start. Nobody pushed you hard, but I could see the pity in their eyes.

I spent a lot of time fixing up the house, gave me something to do, kept my hands busy. The roof needed patching, the sink in the kitchen leaked, and the front door was sagging in the middle. My dad came over a few times to help, but mostly he just supervised, offering advice I didn't ask for. I bit my tongue and nodded along. Wasn't worth a fight. I will tell you this. Life is not easy, but I'm trying. Every day, I wake up and remind myself why I'm doing this.

For Finney, for his future. He deserves a good life, better than the one I've been able to give him so far. far. I don't know what's waiting for us here, but I'm hoping it's something better, something we're staying for. For now, that's enough. At least I'm trying to make it enough. Life in town didn't come with a lot of opportunities, but I tried my best. I drive around, filling out applications at every place that had a help wanted sign in the window. Grocery stores, hardware shops, even the diner where I used to take Sarah on dates. Didn't matter. I just needed something steady, something that would let me keep the lights on and food on the table. But nobody was hiring, at least not full time.

It's just slower right now, they tell me. Try again in a month or two. A month or two felt like forever when you got bills palling up. I didn't have the luxury of waiting around. That's when I started picking up odd jobs. A neighbor needed his gutters claimed. A guy on the other side of town had a lawn lawnmour that wouldn't start. Somebody else wanted help moving furniture into storage. The work wasn't steady, and it wasn't always enough, but it was something. Every morning I'd check the community bulletin board at the coffee shop or ask around to see if anyone needed help. Some days I'd get lucky and find a few hours of work. Other days, I'd come up empty and spend the afternoon worrying about how I'd make ends meet.

The hardest part wasn't the work. It was leaving Finney behind. I didn't like the idea of him being alone, but I didn't have much of a choice. My parents lived right next door, and my mom was happy to come over and keep an eye on him. At least that's what she called it. Most of the time, she'd park herself in the recliner in the lawn. living room, turn on the golden girls, and doze off halfway through an episode. Don't worry about a thing, Roger, she'd say. I'll take good care of him.

And she did, in her own way. Finney didn't seem to mind. He'd sit on the floor with Big Finn, building towers out of blocks, or coloring pictures in one of his books. Sometimes he'd poke his head into the living room to see if grandma was still awake, but most of the time he kept himself entertained. And for a while, everything seemed fine. I was keeping busy, and the money trickled in just enough to keep us afloat. The house felt less strange, too. I fixed up most of the little things that had been bothering me. The leaky sink, the squeaky floorboards, the stuck cabinet doors. wasn't perfect, but it was starting to feel like home again. And then one morning, I noticed a small patch of dark mold on the wall in the kitchen.

It was right by the baseboard, no bigger than my hand. I figured it must have come from a leak somewhere, maybe in the plumbing behind the wall. I made a mental note to check it out later, but with a job lined up that day, I didn't have time to deal with it right then. When I got home that evening, the mold patch looked a little bigger. I frowned, crouching down to get a closer look. It was strange. It didn't feel damp or slimy, just dark, like it soaked into the paint somehow.

I grabbed the sponge and some cleaner and tried scrubbing it off, but it didn't budge. I told myself I'd deal with it over the weekend when I had more time. A few days later, another patch of mold showed up, this time in the hallway. Wasn't near any plumbing, which made even less sense. I tried not to let it bother me, but it was hard to ignore. The house was old, sure, but this kind of thing hadn't been a problem before. I told my dad about it, hoping he'd have some advice. That's probably just the weather, he said.

These old houses tend to hold out of moisture, you know. I might want to check the roof, though. Could be a leak. The roof was the last thing I wanted to deal with. But I nodded and said I'd take a look. Meanwhile, the patches kept spreading, slowly but surely. I'd find them in corners behind furniture, even on the ceiling in the bathroom. It wasn't just the house that was changing either.

Finney started acting a little different. He was still his cheerful self most of the time, but he'd started talking about someone he called Wall Man. Wallman said Big Finn needs a bath. He announced one afternoon while I was fixing a wobbly chair. Wallman? I asked, glancing up from my work. He's my new friend, Finney said matter-of-factly. He lives in the walls.

I forced a smile. Oh, yeah? Okay, what does Wallman look like? Finney shrugged. I don't know. He doesn't come out. He just talks to me when I'm playing. I chuckled, though it didn't feel natural.

Kids in their imaginations, right? Still, something about it made me uneasy. Maybe it was the way he said it, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Wallman doesn't bother Grandma. Finney added. He only talks to me. I ruffled his hair, trying to brush it off.

Well, tell Wallman to be nice, okay? Okay, Daddy, he said with a grin. And just like that, the conversation was over. Not long after, things started to change. Against all odds, I landed a steady job. Wasn't glamorous, stocking shelves at the local hardware store, but it was a paycheck. That was more than I'd had in months. The hours were long and the pay wasn't great, but it felt good to have somewhere to go every day. It felt normal, like I was getting back on track.

The downside was I wasn't home as much. Most days, I didn't get off until late in the evening. I'd come back to find my mom snoozing in the recliner, the TV humming quietly in the background. She and Finney had their little routine. They'd bake something in the afternoon, usually a pie or cookies, and she'd let him eat as many as he wanted. There was always a half-eaten pie on the counter when I got home, crumbs scattered everywhere, and Finney waiting up to tell me about his day. He was always excited, bubbling over with stories about his imaginary friend, Wallman. Wallman says there's a secret room under the stairs.

Winnie said one night, his eyes shining as he clutched Big Finn. I ruffled his hair. Secret room, huh? You find it? No, but Wallman says it's there. He told me about it when Grandma fell asleep. He said. Wallman knows a lot of things.

I smiled trying to play along. Oh, yeah? What else does he know? He knows about the kids who used to live here. Finney began. There were three of them. A boy named Charlie, a girl named Rosie, and another boy, but wall man says I'm not supposed to say his name. I froze for a moment. Charlie and Rosie, huh?

Grandma tell you about him? Finney shook his head. No, no wall man told me. Charlie had a red wagon, and Rosie liked to draw pictures of flowers. She didn't like pink, though. She liked purple. It was the kind of detail that made me pause. Finney was creative, sure, but the things he described felt specific.

Too specific for a five-year-old who'd never heard any stories about this house before. Still, I brushed it off. Kids have wild imaginations, I told myself. Probably just a mix of things he'd overheard and some things he'd made up. All right, Finney, I said, kissing the top of his head. Time for bed, buddy. He pouted, but didn't argue. Night, Daddy.

Night, Big Finn. The days turned into weeks, and life settled into a routine. I'd wake up early, yet Finney. Fennie fed and dressed, and then head off to work. Mom would come over in the afternoons, and they'd bake or play games until I got home. Finney seemed happy, and for a while, so was I. But little things started happening around the house. At first, it was easy to ignore. A mold patch appeared on the living room wall, just like the ones I'd scrubbed off in the kitchen and hallway. I cleaned it as best I could, but within a few days it was back. Then more spots

showed up, creeping along the baseboards and up toward the ceiling. Probably just the humidity, I muttered to myself, though deep down I wasn't sure. Finney, meanwhile, was talking to the walls more often. I'd catch him in his room, sitting cross-legged on the floor, whispering to no one in particular. What are you doing, bud? I asked one evening. I'm talking to wall, man, he said without looking up. He says the walls are full of old things. Old things, huh? Like what? Bones. He said matter of factly. He says animals used to live in here, and now their bones are still hiding. I laughed nervously. That's interesting, Finney. But you know, there aren't any bones in the walls, right? He shrugged. Wallman says there are. I didn't think much of it at first.

Kids say strange things all the time. But a few days later, I opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink and froze, tucked in the corner behind a stack of cleaning supplies, was a small pile of bones. They were bleached white and brittle, like they'd been here a long time. I stared at them. Finney, I called. He came running, big fin dangling from his hand. Yeah, Daddy?

Did you put these here? I asked. He frowned. No, wall man says he doesn't need him anymore. My mouth went dry. Finney? We've talked about making up stories, haven't we? These aren't toys. Don't touch them, okay? He nodded solemnly. Okay, Daddy.

I gathered the bones in an old rag, and threw them out in the garbage can outside. I told myself there were probably just leftovers from some animal that got into the house years ago. Still, the whole thing left me feeling unsettled. Over the next week, I found more bones. They were always in odd places, stuffed in the corner of the coat closet,

hidden inside an old shoebox in the basement, even tucked into one of my boots. Each time I'd throw them out telling myself there had to be a logical explanation. Maybe they'd been here all along, and I was just now noticing them, because the house was old and falling apart. But it was hard to shake the feeling that something wasn't right. The mold patches kept growing too, spreading across the living room walls like dark, creeping veins. No matter how much I scrubbed, they all. came back. And Finney, he kept talking about the wall man. He'd tell me about their conversations,

about the secret places in the house and the kids who used to live here. Wallman says Rosie's flowers are still here, he said one night while I was tucking him in. I frowned. What flowers, buddy? The one she drew. Wallman says they're hiding under the floor. I forced a smile. All right, that's enough stories for tonight, okay? Time to get some sleep. Okay, Daddy, he said, yawning. Good night.

I closed his door softly, but the uneasy feeling that'd been gnawing in me all week didn't fade. I tried to push his side, telling myself I was just tired. But no matter how much I wanted to believe that, this house had a way of remind. minding me that something was not right. The mold was the worst of it. What had started is small patches had grown into something I couldn't ignore. It wasn't just creeping along the walls anymore. It was almost taking shape.

One morning, I walked into the living room and froze. The mold had formed what looked like a man's outline, tall and thin. With arms stretching down to his sides, it wasn't clear or detailed, but it was enough to make my stomach turn. Later, I muttered to myself, I'll deal with this later. But later never seemed to come. Between work and trying to keep things normal for Finney, I didn't have the time or the energy to figure out what was happening. I scrubbed at the mold with everything I had, but it always came back. And every time I turned around, it seemed worse.

Finney was changing too. He'd always been full of energy, bouncing around the house, chattering about Big Finn and his little adventures. But now he was quieter. He still talked about Wall Man, but there was something different about the way he spoke. He wasn't as excited. His words felt heavier, like they carried a weight I didn't understand. One afternoon, I found him sitting on the floor of his room, his crayons scattered around him. They were rolling across the hardwood one by one, but he didn't seem to care. He was staring at the corner of the room. His head tilted slightly, like he was listening to

someone. Finney, I said, stepping inside. What are you doing, buddy? He didn't look at me. Talking to Walman. Yeah. What's Wallman saying? Finney finally turned his head, his expression unreadable. He doesn't like you, Daddy. The words hit me hard. What do you mean, Finney? He's He says you don't belong here. Finney replied. His voice so matter of fact it made my skin crawl. He says you're making it worse. I knelt down beside him, forcing a smile.

You know, wall man isn't real, right? He's just pretend. Finney shrugged, picking up a crann. He doesn't like it when you say that. I didn't know what to say. So I ruffled his hair and told him it was time to wash up for dinner. As he walked past me, I glanced at the corner he'd been staring at. It was just an empty wall, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone.

Over the next few days, the mold got worse. The shape of the man in the living room was more distinct now. It wasn't just a vague outline anymore. It had features ahead, shoulders, arms that seemed to stretch toward the floor, and it was moving. And now was it for me. Once I noticed that, I admitted something was very wrong with this house, and I couldn't ignore it anymore. Dad, I said that evening, sitting in an old booth at a local diner. What do you know about the house?

He looked up from his plates, frowning. What do you mean? I mean, is there anything weird about it? Anything I should know? My dad leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. That house is old, Roger. Older than you probably realize. It's built back in the 1800s, long before your grandparents bought it.

Why are you asking? There's been some strange stuff happening. I began. Mold, I can't get rid of. Finney talking about imaginary friends, you know, that kind of thing. My dad's frown deepened. Imaginary friends, huh? Yeah, I said.

He calls it wall man. My dad rubbed a hand over his face, looking uncomfortable. You ever hear the name Robert Brandy? I shook my head. No. Should I have? Maybe. He said.

Brandy used to own that house. I was back in the 1930s, 40s. Folks around town. They said he wasn't. It wasn't right in the head. There were rumors about him. Bad ones. What kind of rumors? I asked.

My dad hesitated, then leaned in closer, lowering his voice like someone might overhear. People said he killed folks, travelers, mostly, hobos and drifters who passed through town. Back then, nobody kept track of that kind of thing. It weren't any forensics, no internet. If someone went missing, it was just forgotten. I stared at him, and they think he buried them in the house? I asked. That's what people said, my dad replied, in the walls, under the floorboards.

But they couldn't prove anything. When Brandy died, they didn't find any bodies, you know, and just storing. I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Why the hell didn't you tell me this? I didn't think it mattered, he said. The house has been in the family for decades. Nobody's ever had any problems with it. Until now, I thought.

I got up from the table, my hand's shaking. I need to go. Roger. My dad called after me. Don't go scaring yourself over old ghost stories. That house is just a house. I didn't answer him. As I drove back home, all I could think about was Finney.

The mold, the bones, the things he'd been saying. And the wall man. The drive back home felt like it took forever. My dad's words echoed in my head, but all I could think about was Finney. When I pulled into the driveway, something felt off. The house was too quiet. Normally I'd see my mom through the front window, snoozing the recliner, the glow of the TV casting a warm light. But the window was dark, and there was no sign of her. I rushed inside, the door slamming behind me.

Finney, I called. Mom? Where are you? No answer. My heart hammered in my chest as I moved from room to room. The living room was empty. The recliner still rocking slightly, as if someone had just gotten up. The kitchen was quiet, the half-eaten pie from earlier, untouched on the counter.

Finney! I said again louder this time. Panic started to creep in as I checked his bedroom. His bed was empty. The covers thrown back like he'd gotten up in a hurry. Big Finn lay on the floor, abandoned. I tore through the house, checking every corner, every closet, even the basement. He wasn't there.

My mom wasn't there. It was like they'd vanished. And that's when I saw it. The mold. It was worse than ever, spreading across the line. living room wall and thick dark patches. The shape of the man was fully formed now, his outlines sharp and menacing. It felt like he was staring at me. Where's my son? I said. Where is he? The house seemed to creak in response, the sound low and groaning.

My chest tightened as rage boiled over. I grabbed the sledgehammer from the corner, the same one I'd been using to fix up the porch, and I turned back to the wall. You want to play games? Fine. I swung the sledgehammer with all my strength, and the dry wall crumbled under the impact. Dust and debris filled the air as I swung again and again, the sound of breaking wood and plaster drowning out everything else. My arms ached, but I didn't stop.

I couldn't stop. Behind the wall was a crawl space I'd never known existed. It was dark and cramped, the air thickened stale. I crawled inside, the flashlight from my phone casting long, eerie shadows. And then I saw him. Finney, I said. He was curled up. in the corner, his little face streaked with dirt. When he saw me, his eyes lit up, and he scrambled

toward me, throwing his arms around my neck. I held him tight, clutching him to my chest. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his small hands gripping my shirt. Wall Man said you wouldn't come. I forced to smile. Let's get out of here, okay? nodded, and I carried him out of the crawl space. The living room felt different now, lighter somehow, like the weight of the house had shifted. The mold was still there, but I didn't care. I just needed to get us out. Didn't even bother packing. I grabbed the duffel bag, stuffed it with a few changes of clothes, and threw Big Finn inside. Finney clung to me the whole time. His little arms wrapped around my neck

like he was afraid to let go. I carried Finney to a neighbor's house that was a friend, asking them to watch over him, while I called the police and went back to the house to look for my mom. Thank God I found her quickly. She'd fallen off the back porch, telling me it felt like someone had pushed her. Her leg was badly bruised, maybe broken,

and I sat with her until the police and paramedics arrived. At least she was safe. I told the police everything. I didn't know what else to do. I told them about the crawl space, the bones I'd found, and the strange things that had happened in that house. They took my statement and promised to investigate. A few weeks later, they called me back.

They'd gone into the house and found dozens of bones scattered in crawl spaces and walls all over the property. They couldn't tell if they were human or animal. least not right away. The detective I spoke with said they'd send them off for testing and update me as soon as they knew more. But the update never came. I called a few times, but they always said the same thing. The investigation's ongoing.

Months passed, and life started to feel normal again. We never went back to that house. I finally saved up enough to rent a small apartment. It wasn't much, just a two-bedroom unit in an older complex, but it was ours. Finney was thrilled when I told him we were moving, and we spent days packing up our things at Uncle Dan's, making sure not to forget Big Finn. The new place felt like a fresh start. The walls were clean.

The carpet was new, and there was no mold to scrub away. For the first time in a long time, I felt like we could breathe. Finney adjusted quickly, making the space his own. He decorated his room with drawings and hung up a poster of sea creatures I found at a thrift store. Big Finn had his usual spot on the bed, propped against the pillow like a king. One evening, a few weeks after we moved in, I decided it was finally time to give Big Finn a proper bath. The poor toy was looking worse for wear. its colors faded, and it seems frayed.

Finney was hesitant at first. He hated being apart from his favorite toy even for a little while, but I promised him Big Finn would come out cleaner and happier. We filled the kitchen sink with warm, soapy water, and gently placed the stuffed clownfish inside. Finney stood on a stool beside me, carefully scrubbing the toy with a washcloth. His little tongue stuck out in concentration.

Big Finn deserves this, he said seriously. He's been through a lot. As we worked, Finney suddenly grew quiet. He looked down at Big Finn. Then up at me. Daddy? Yeah, bud. I'm sorry, he said.

I frowned, wiping soap, suds off my hands. Sorry. For what? For spending so much time with Wallman. I know he was mean to you. I should have told him to go away. You don't have to be sorry, Finney.

You didn't do anything wrong. I should have got us out of that house much sooner. I love you, son. Finney smiled. And just like that, the heaviness is. the room lifted. We finished cleaning Big Finn, rinsing him off and wringing him out as gently as we could. Finney insisted on drying him with a towel himself, patting the toy carefully until it was only slightly damp. As I watched my son, his small hands working to make sure his

toy was just right, I realized how far we'd come. The house. It all felt like a bad dream now. something we didn't need to carry with us anymore. Life was good, and my son was safe.