You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

 IM ACTUALLY GONNA BURN THIS WHOLE STATE WHAT THE FUCK

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The final update

 Hello everyone- it’s Edwin again. I’m posting here to say that it’s over. Today, I packed my things and moved in with Cody. Since I couldnt sell the house, we burned it down.  I’m sick of living in fear and discomfort because my fucking walls breathe. I’m sick of this bullshit. I’ve been so paranoid that I almost KILLED my boyfriend. I would like to thank Raisa and wish her luck. With this final post, our story comes to a close. Unless something new happens, I will not be posting here again. I will also not be posting on Reddit.  It’s kind of sad to think that this will be the last time I post on blogger- but I guess that’s just how these things work.  I’m so glad this is finally over. With that, it’s time for me to say goodbye Signing out one last time, -Edwin Bryce. {and now, a note from the author} My name is Brutus- I’m the fourteen year old author of this ARG. I had a lot of fun with this story in the beginning and I was working on it non-stop- but I guess I ju...
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Friday, January 23rd, 2026

I’m starting this blog because something is wrong with my house. I know how that sounds. I don’t care. This is not a creative writing exercise and it’s not a metaphor . If it turns into one later, that’s on me, not the walls. THE WALLS ARE BREATHING. Not like lungs. Not in a horror-movie way. It’s closer to how a building settles, except it happens too often and it reacts to things it shouldn’t be able to hear. Before anyone asks: no, I’m not on anything yes, I checked for gas leaks yes, I Googled it yes, I regret that I live alone. I’ve lived here long enough to know the normal noises. Pipes . Wind . Neighbors pretending they don’t slam doors at 2 a.m. This isn’t that. It mostly happens at night, when everything else stops moving. The wall behind my bed will… adjust. Like it’s making room. Like it’s correcting something slightly off. If I get up, it stops. If I put my hand on it, it stops faster. That’s the part I don’t like. I’m not scared. I want that on record. I’m annoyed. I work,...
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i saw something today. someone named raisa. her walls are breathing. the same way mine do. the same slow swell, the same pause before settling. she didn’t ask me anything. she didn’t send a story. just a video. proof. you can’t see much. a dark hallway. a hand pressed against the wall. but you can hear it. the wall inhales, holds, exhales. steady. alive. unmistakable. there’s a rhythm to it that mine doesn’t have. hers almost feels deliberate. underneath it, a heartbeat. faint, but there. constant. i replayed it. tried to listen for patterns. i muted the sound. the wall still moves. it doesn’t need me to notice. it doesn’t need me at all. i haven’t replied. i don’t know what to say. acknowledgment won’t fix anything. and maybe that’s the point. we’re not alone in this. but that doesn’t make it better. it just makes it bigger. — edwin
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