Peoria's Newest Haunted House

It began as a schoolhouse, erected in the 1950's. A modern symbol of progress for a growing town. Classrooms were bright and polished. Children ran the halls with laughter echoing off the walls. But less than a decade later, the stories began. At first, it was subtle: cold drafts in sealed rooms, objects moving slightly when no one was near, a growing sense of unease among staff. Then came the reports of children seen talking to people who weren’t there. Rooms didn’t appear on blueprints. Locals complaining of a low hum—like something breathing.

By the 1960's, the building had become something else entirely.
Witnesses—few and scattered—spoke of students vanishing during recess, of doors refusing to open. The janitor was found catatonic in the boiler room, wide eyed, mouth open in a scream he couldn't make. Then, on an ordinary weekday, everyone inside vanished.
No signs of struggle. No bodies. No notes. Just silence, and the building itself—pristine, undisturbed. Experts investigated. And Nothing. The only clue: footsteps heard late at night, pacing the halls long after the building was sealed shut. The floors trap shadows not cast by light. Every hallway a lesson in fear.

Eventually, the town ignored the building. But those who lived nearby knew the truth. The building hadn’t
died. It had evolved. They say VIBE became—aware. It remembers everyone who ever feared it. It feeds on the echoes of terror, twisting memories into something tangible. The rooms are no longer spaces—they are traps of recollection. Hallways bend and warp. Windows show you your past, but only the moments you’ve buried.

The building doesn’t haunt you with ghosts. It becomes them! And now, for the first time in years, the doors are open again. No one opened them. No one had the key. The locks simply...clicked. The rusted handles... turned. The building doors creaked open on their own. Something inside is calling. Not for help—but for witnesses. The town pretends it doesn’t notice, but lights have been seen flickering behind the boarded windows.

A low vibration is said to pulse through the ground—just strong enough to be felt beneath the soles of your feet. Those who get too close say they can hear it. Not a sound. A presence. Like a heartbeat humming.