The Most Haunted Street: My Year in a Cursed Cottage

I was twenty-six, freshly assigned to a new base, when everything went sideways. Within a week of arriving, I was deployed overseas, having barely unpacked or met a soul. A bad fall tore something in my hip, and I was sent home early on crutches, unable to walk. I returned to a city where I knew no one, all my belongings still in storage, and no place to live. I was staying temporarily with someone I'd thought was a friend, but he turned out to be deeply unsettling, so I was desperate to leave.

I found a listing for an old cottage with charm to spare. I've always loved old things, so I jumped at it. The rental agent looked strangely shocked when I said I wanted to see the place, though she seemed relieved someone finally would. That should have been my first warning.

The neighborhood was silent in an eerie way. I never once saw a neighbor, though a car always sat outside the identical twin house next door. Church bells rang, but no one entered the church. Cats roamed everywhere. Inside, the house had creaky floors, crooked walls, and doors that wouldn't fully shut.