Everyone on Maple Street believed House Number 13 was haunted.

Not because anyone had actually seen a ghost.

Not because someone had disappeared.

But because every night, exactly at twelve o’clock…

Someone laughed.

Not a normal laugh.

A loud, strange, echoing laugh that spread through the empty street.

“Hahahaha…”

It lasted exactly one minute.

Then everything would fall silent again.

For fifteen years, no one dared to enter the abandoned house.

Children ran past it without looking back.

Taxi drivers refused to stop nearby.

Even the police avoided it after sunset.

---

Ryan Parker had just moved into the neighborhood.

Unlike everyone else, Ryan didn’t believe in ghosts.

He was twenty-six, worked as a freelance journalist, and loved strange mysteries.

The moment he heard about House Number 13, he smiled.

“A laughing ghost?” he said.

“Sounds like the easiest story of my career.”

His elderly neighbor, Mrs. Martha, nearly dropped her teacup.

“Young man…”

“Don’t joke about that house.”

“People who go inside… don’t come out after dark.”

Ryan chuckled.

“Maybe the ghost just doesn’t like visitors.”

Mrs. Martha looked at him seriously.

“I’m warning you.”

“The last man who investigated that house left town the very next morning.”

Ryan leaned in.

“What happened to him?”

“He never told anyone.”

“But whenever someone mentioned the house…”

“He would start shaking.”

Now Ryan was even more interested.

That night, he packed his camera, flashlight, notebook, and voice recorder.

At exactly 11:45 PM, he climbed over the rusty gate.

The front yard was covered in dry, dead leaves.

The windows were shattered.

The front door slowly creaked open on its own.

Ryan smiled.

“Nice welcome.”

Inside, dust covered every piece of furniture.

Old family portraits still hung crooked on the walls.

Everything felt frozen in time.

Then…

The grandfather clock struck midnight.

One.

Two.

Three.

Twelve.

Suddenly…

The laughter began.

“Hahahahahaha…”

It came from upstairs.

Ryan turned on his flashlight and slowly climbed the wooden stairs.

The laughter grew louder with every step.

Finally…

He reached the last room.

The door was slightly open.

He pushed it gently.

The room was empty.

No one.

No ghost.

Nothing.

Then…

A deep voice spoke right behind him.

“You’re late.”

Ryan spun around so fast he dropped his flashlight.

Standing in the darkness…

Was a man in a bright yellow clown costume.

He wasn’t holding a knife.

He wasn’t holding a weapon.

He was holding…

A plate of freshly baked cookies.

The clown smiled.

“You must be the new neighbor.”

Ryan blinked.

“What?”

The clown sighed.

“I’ve been waiting for someone brave enough to come here.”

He offered a cookie.

“Chocolate chip?”

Ryan stared at the cookies.

Then at the clown.

Then back at the cookies.

“This…”

he whispered,

“…is not how I imagined a ghost meeting would go.”

The clown laughed again.

And this time…

Ryan realized something shocking.

The famous midnight ghost laugh…

Belonged to the clown standing right in front of him.

But one question still remained.

If he wasn’t a ghost…

Then who had been living inside this abandoned house for the last fifteen years?