It was a cold, moonless night when Sarah’s car broke down near the old, abandoned Ravenwood House, a place soaked in paranormal legends. Locals whispered that those who entered never came back, their screams forever trapped in the eerie whispers of the wind.
With no phone signal and the forest pressing in, she pushed open the rusted door. The air smelled of dust and decay, and shadows moved strangely across the peeling wallpaper. A broken grandfather clock ticked — though it had no hands.
She called out, voice trembling.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
Silence. Then—a whisper, soft but close:
“You shouldn’t have come…”
The lights flickered. A mirror on the wall shimmered—not reflecting her—but a figure standing right behind her, pale and grinning. She turned swiftly—nothing there. Yet the floorboards creaked as if invisible feet crept closer.
Heart racing, Sarah tried the door, but it wouldn invisible feet crept closer.
Heart racing, Sarah tried the door, but it wouldn’t open. The house seemed alive, feeding on her fear. On the second floor, she found old portraits. Each time she looked again, the faces moved—eyes bleeding, mouths screaming.
Suddenly, her reflection spoke from the mirror:
“Now you belong here.”
And as the house swallowed the last echo of her scream, the clock chimed for the first time in years…