Scary Bedtime Story – The House on Chicken Legs

Once upon a time, in a quiet village near the dark forest, there was a story no one wanted to believe. They said deep inside the woods stood a strange, old house — one that could move.

It had legs. Chicken legs.

Most people laughed at the idea. But not Mira.

Mira was 12 years old and loved scary stories. She had read all the ghost books in the village library. So when she heard an old woman whisper, “The house walks at night,” she decided she had to find it.

One cloudy evening, just before sunset, Mira packed a flashlight, some bread, and her lucky charm — a small silver bell. Then, without telling anyone, she walked into the woods.

The forest was quiet. Too quiet.

Branches snapped under her feet. The sky turned orange, then purple. Night was coming.

Just when she thought of turning back, she saw it.

A small wooden house stood between two trees. But the strangest part?

It wasn’t touching the ground.

The house stood on two giant, scaly chicken legs. The legs were still, but they looked strong — like they could run at any moment.

Mira froze.

She wanted to run. But her feet didn’t move.

Then, suddenly, the house turned. Slowly. The legs shifted, and the house faced her. One step. Two steps. It was walking toward her.

Mira hid behind a tree. Her heart beat so loudly, she was sure the house could hear it.

The house stopped.

A creaky voice came from inside. “Who’s there?”

The front door opened. An old woman stepped out. Her skin was gray, her eyes were yellow, and her long fingers ended in sharp nails.

“I smell fear,” she said.

Mira tried to stay silent, but the woman’s head snapped toward her hiding spot.

“You can’t hide from me,” the woman whispered.

Mira ran.

She ran as fast as she could, branches scratching her arms, her flashlight bouncing in her hand. She didn’t look back — not even when she heard footsteps that weren’t human.

They sounded like claws on stone.

She tripped and fell. Her flashlight rolled away.

The night was too dark.

She reached for her bag and felt the silver bell. Without thinking, she rang it.

Ding!
Ding!
Ding!

The sound echoed through the forest.

Suddenly, everything stopped.

The footsteps vanished. The air felt warm again.

Mira slowly got up and looked around.

The house was gone.

The trees were quiet. The moon was out. She walked back home, shaking and tired.

The next day, she told her grandmother everything. Her grandmother listened quietly, then showed Mira an old photo.

In the photo stood the same house on chicken legs.

“That’s Baba Yaga’s house,” she said. “She walks the forest, looking for lost souls. That bell? It was given to our family long ago — to protect us.”

Mira never went back to the forest.

But sometimes, on quiet nights, when the wind blows just right, she hears a sound in the trees. A creak. A claw. A whisper:

“I smell fear…”