The village of Ravenswood had always been shrouded in mystery. A thick mist clung to its cobblestone streets, and the dense forest that surrounded it seemed to whisper secrets to those who dared to listen. At the heart of the village stood an abandoned mansion, the Blackwood Manor, its gothic architecture looming like a specter over the town. No one dared to enter it after sundown. Legends spoke of a curse—those who ventured inside never returned the same.
Ethan Grayson, a journalist obsessed with uncovering the truth behind urban legends, arrived in Ravenswood one fateful evening. He had heard tales of the manor’s eerie past—a family that had mysteriously vanished, doors that locked on their own, and the echoes of a woman’s laughter filling the air at midnight. The locals warned him to stay away, but Ethan was determined. With his camera and flashlight in hand, he set foot inside Blackwood Manor.
The air inside was damp, thick with the scent of decay. Dust motes danced in the dim beam of his flashlight. The grand staircase, though covered in cobwebs, stood sturdy, leading to the upper floors where shadows seemed to shift on their own. Ethan’s heart pounded as he stepped forward, his every footfall echoing through the hollow halls.
As he moved through the manor, he documented everything—the rotting furniture, the peeling wallpaper, the antique piano covered in dust. But something felt off. The air was too still, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Then, he heard it—a whisper, soft and almost inaudible. He spun around, but there was no one there.
His fingers trembled as he adjusted his camera, determined to capture any paranormal activity. The whispers grew louder, morphing into faint giggles. Ethan followed the sound, his steps cautious. It led him to a bedroom, its door slightly ajar. Pushing it open, he found a child’s rocking chair moving back and forth on its own. He swallowed hard, his breath shallow.
Then, the laughter stopped.
A sharp knock sounded from the wardrobe in the corner. Ethan felt a cold sweat break across his brow. Against his better judgment, he approached it and slowly pulled the doors open. Empty. Just old clothes hanging lifelessly. He exhaled in relief, but as he turned away, the wardrobe doors slammed shut behind him with a deafening bang.
Panic surged through him. He stumbled back, gripping his flashlight tightly. The whispers returned, now filled with malice, swirling around him like an unseen force. The room felt smaller, the air heavier. A sudden gust of wind extinguished his flashlight, plunging him into darkness. His pulse quickened as he fumbled with the switch, but it refused to turn back on.
Then, he felt it—icy fingers brushing against his neck. He jerked away, his breath coming in ragged gasps. A dim, bluish glow emanated from the mirror across the room. Through its fogged surface, he saw her.
A woman in a tattered black dress, her face obscured by a veil, stood behind him. Her head tilted unnaturally to one side, and though her eyes were hidden, he could feel them piercing into his soul. Ethan spun around, but there was no one there. His reflection, however, remained distorted in the mirror, grinning wickedly at him.
Fear gripped him. He bolted for the door, yanking it open and sprinting down the hallway. The walls groaned, and the portraits lining them seemed to watch him flee. The whispers turned into agonized screams, filling his ears, his mind, his very being.
He reached the staircase, but the moment he stepped onto it, the wood beneath his feet gave way. He plunged into darkness, the sensation of falling endless. And then, nothing.
Ethan woke to silence. He was lying on the cold marble floor of the manor’s grand hall. Groaning, he pushed himself up. His flashlight was still clutched in his hand, but his camera was nowhere to be seen. He staggered toward the door, desperate to escape.
As he reached for the handle, he saw his reflection in the glass window beside it. His breath caught in his throat.
It wasn’t his reflection.
The figure staring back at him had hollow eyes, its lips stretched into an unnatural grin. He raised a trembling hand to his face, but his reflection didn’t move. Instead, it whispered, "You shouldn’t have come."
Please Wait...
30 seconds remaining
NextThe door burst open, and Ethan stumbled outside, gasping for air. The village was still and quiet, as if nothing had happened. But as he turned back to the manor, he saw her—standing in the window, watching him.
The whispers would never leave him. Not now. Not ever.
0 Comments