The House That Lit Up at 11:47

The first night Sameer noticed the light, he thought it was a coincidence.

The second night, he checked the time.

11:47 PM.

Exactly.

Across the narrow street from his new apartment stood a house that had clearly been abandoned for years. Its paint peeled like old sunburned skin. The iron gate hung slightly crooked. The upstairs window faced directly into his living room.

And every night at precisely 11:47 PM, a pale yellow light turned on in that upstairs room.

Not flickering.

Not dim.

Just… on.

Night Three

By the third night, curiosity had replaced comfort.

Sameer stood by his window at 11:46 PM, staring.

The street was silent. No cars. No pedestrians. Even the stray cats had disappeared.

11:47.

The light came on.

His chest tightened.

No delay. No hesitation. As if someone inside had flipped a switch at the exact same second.

But he had asked the landlord that morning.

“That house?” the landlord had laughed. “No one’s lived there in decades. The owner moved abroad. It’s locked.”

Locked.

Sameer didn’t sleep that night.

The Power Cut

On the fifth night, something changed.

At 11:40 PM, the electricity in the entire neighborhood went out.

His apartment went dark. The streetlights shut down. The city hummed into silence.

Sameer almost felt relieved.

Tonight, there would be no light.

11:47.

The upstairs window across the street glowed.

Bright.

Stronger than before.

His stomach dropped.

If the power was out everywhere… what was powering that room?

And then he saw it.

A shadow moved behind the curtain.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Human.

The Visit

The next evening, Sameer couldn’t ignore it anymore.

At 11:30 PM, he crossed the street.

Up close, the house felt colder than the air around it. The gate creaked open too easily.

The front door was locked.

But the dust around the lock was disturbed.

As if someone had touched it recently.

He pushed.

The door opened.

Inside

The air inside was thick and stale, like time had stopped breathing.

Furniture sat covered in white sheets. The wallpaper peeled in long strips. The house felt untouched — yet not empty.

He checked his watch.

11:46 PM.

The staircase loomed ahead.

Then—

Click.

A soft sound upstairs.

11:47.

The yellow light spilled from the upstairs hallway.

Sameer forced himself to climb.

Each step groaned under his weight. His pulse thundered in his ears.

At the top of the stairs, a single door stood half open.

Light poured from inside.

He pushed it slowly.

The Room

The room was nearly bare.

One wooden table.

One chair.

And on the table—

An old mechanical clock.

Its hands moved steadily.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

11:47 PM.

And then—

The clock stopped.

The second hand froze.

The light flickered once… but stayed on.

Sameer’s breath caught.

On the wall above the table hung a framed black-and-white photograph of a man.

Below it, a brass plate read:

“1947 — The night he never came home.”

Sameer felt cold all the way through.

11:47.

The same numbers.

The same time.

The Realization

Suddenly, the temperature dropped.

The air felt heavy, charged.

The chair across the table creaked.

Slowly.

As if someone had just sat down.

Sameer’s heart pounded so hard it hurt.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he whispered.

The clock ticked once.

Though it had stopped.

The light brightened.

And then—

A second shadow appeared on the wall.

Not the shadow of the man in the photograph.

Another one.

Standing beside him.

The Next Night

The following morning, Sameer’s apartment was empty.

No forwarding address. No explanation.

Neighbors assumed he had simply changed his mind about the area.

But that night—

At exactly 11:47 PM—

The upstairs window of the abandoned house lit up again.

This time, two shadows stood behind the curtain.

Waiting.