We Were About to Move into a New Rental Home When a Facebook Message Warned Us: “Don’t. You’ll Regret It.”

When we came across what seemed like the perfect rental home in a pleasant neighborhood, we were convinced we’d struck gold. But not long after, unsettling things began happening inside the house whenever storms rolled in. Unwilling to live in constant fear, my wife and I came up with a clever plan of our own.

Moving day was supposed to be joyful. Emily, my wife, and I had spent weeks boxing up our belongings and imagining our future in this new place. But even before we officially moved in, we received a disturbing warning telling us to stay away from the house.

The rental was a lovely craftsman-style home tucked away in a quiet cul-de-sac. Our landlord, Adam, came across as a friendly older man. The current tenants, a young couple named Ben and Sarah, were present during the walkthrough and stood off to the side.

They were kind and welcoming, exchanging names, surnames, and phone numbers with us. As a farewell gesture, they even gave us a basket of homemade muffins. The house itself was immaculate, clearly well cared for, and looked almost brand new.

Emily and I immediately fell for it. Sunlight poured through the windows, the layout felt modern and comfortable, and we could already picture our furniture in every room. We left buzzing with excitement, certain we’d made the right choice. But that feeling didn’t last long.

Later that evening, while packing the final boxes at our old place, my phone vibrated with a Facebook notification. A stranger named “Bee Warned” had sent me a friend request along with a message. Curious and uneasy, I opened it.

The message read: “Find an excuse. Tell the owner you’ve changed your mind, but DO NOT move into that house. You’ll regret it soon. He didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

I froze, staring at the screen. The account was brand new, with no photos or posts. Before I could reply or even show Emily, the account vanished.

“Everything okay?” Emily asked, setting down a box.

I hesitated. The message had rattled me, but I didn’t want to frighten her without proof. “Yeah,” I said. “Probably just spam.”

I tried to convince myself it was some strange prank, but the warning lingered in the back of my mind.

Once we moved in, I braced myself for trouble. Instead, everything seemed perfect. Adam appeared honest and attentive. The house felt calm and welcoming. I eventually convinced myself the message was nothing more than a tasteless joke.

For three weeks, life in our new home was wonderful. The neighborhood was peaceful, the house was cozy, and the excitement of finally settling into our dream rental pushed away any lingering doubts. Then, one stormy night, everything changed exactly as we’d been warned.

It began with the wind. Strong gusts whipped through the trees, rattling the windows as Emily and I prepared for bed. When I reached to turn off the lamp, it flickered wildly, flashing bright and dim before going out completely and then turning back on in a way that felt unnatural, straight out of a horror movie.

“That’s unsettling,” Emily said, laughing nervously.

“It’s probably just the storm,” I replied, though my voice betrayed me. I turned off the lamp, crawled into bed, and pulled the covers up like a frightened child.

But the wind only grew louder. And it wasn’t just wind. It carried strange sounds, faint whispers that seemed to slip through the walls and floorboards. Then came the creaking, like footsteps pacing just outside our bedroom. Emily grabbed my arm.

“Do you hear that?” she whispered.

I nodded, my heart racing. The lights flickered again before the power went out entirely, plunging the house into darkness.

“Stay here,” I whispered. Using my phone as a flashlight, I slowly opened the bedroom door. The creaking stopped instantly. The hallway was empty. I checked the other rooms. Nothing. Yet the air felt heavy, charged, as if the house itself were waiting.

When I returned, Emily was sitting upright, pale and shaken. “This place feels… wrong.”

“Let’s try to sleep,” I said, though neither of us managed to close our eyes for the rest of the night.

Despite being adults in our mid-thirties, we felt like terrified children. With the power out, all we had was silence punctuated by the same eerie noises that drifted through the house until morning.

When I woke up, there was a message from Ben, one of the former tenants.

“So… do you believe us now?”

A chill ran through me. I immediately replied, asking what he meant.

His response left me stunned.

“Sarah and I didn’t want to scare you, but we experienced the same thing. Flickering lights, strange drafts, noises from cracks and gaps that don’t make sense. It only happens during bad weather. We told Adam repeatedly, but he ignored us and refused to fix anything.”

He went on to explain that when they finally decided to move out, Adam offered them a deal. He waived their last month’s rent in exchange for their silence and asked them not to warn future tenants.

“Honestly, we were just desperate to leave,” Ben wrote. “So we agreed.”

My stomach dropped. I asked why they hadn’t warned us sooner.

“We tried,” Ben replied. “That Facebook message was me. You didn’t listen. We just wanted to come clean. I’m sorry you’re dealing with this.”

Everything suddenly made sense. We hadn’t been unlucky. We’d been set up. Adam knew exactly what he was doing.

I told Emily everything. She was just as shocked, and we agreed that Adam wouldn’t get away with this. That night, we came up with a plan.

After tracking the weather for a few days, we scheduled a “meeting” with Adam under the pretense of discussing small repairs. We left the front door slightly open and discreetly set up a hidden camera in the living room.

The storm arrived right on schedule. The wind howled. The lights flickered. Then the whispers started, faint at first, growing louder, almost like conversation. Adam’s confidence crumbled as he looked around, clearly unnerved.

“What’s that noise?” he called out. We didn’t answer.

A sudden gust slammed the front door shut. A loud bang echoed from the attic. Adam turned pale. His phone had no signal. He tried forcing the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. Eventually, he sank to the floor, shaking, unaware that we were nearby watching everything.

Once the storm reached its peak, we stepped out. Adam looked at us in panic. “Where have you been? What’s happening here?”

“We’ve been dealing with this since day one,” I said firmly. “And we know you’ve ignored these issues for years.”

“I didn’t realize it was this bad,” he stammered.

“Well, now you do,” Emily said. “And we won’t let it continue.”

To our surprise, Adam didn’t argue. He promised to start repairs the very next day.

And for once, he kept his word. He returned with contractors who sealed drafts, fixed wiring, and reinforced every creaky board. Within a week, the house felt transformed.

When we told Ben and Sarah, they were shocked.

“We never thought he’d change,” Sarah said.

“It wasn’t easy,” I admitted. “But we couldn’t live like that, and we couldn’t let anyone else suffer either.”

Now, the house is everything we dreamed it would be. As I write this, rain taps gently on the roof. There’s no howling wind, no flickering lights, no whispers. Just the quiet comfort of a home finally at peace.

If you enjoyed this story, there’s another one with a similar theme you might like. In it, a tenant pours time and money into her landlord’s garden — only to be evicted afterward, forcing her to take action.