The Shadow in the Window

"The Shadow in the Window"

On the outskirts of a small, foggy town, there stood an old, decrepit house that no one dared to enter. The locals called it the Blackwood Manor, a place of whispered legends and chilling tales. They said that anyone who stayed there after midnight would see it—the shadow in the window.

One stormy evening, a young journalist named Clara arrived in town. She was fearless and determined to uncover the truth behind the stories. Armed with her notebook, camera, and a flashlight, she decided to spend the night in Blackwood Manor.

The house loomed over her as she approached, its windows dark and lifeless. The creaking front door groaned as she pushed it open, revealing a grand but decaying interior. Dust covered every surface, and cobwebs hung like curtains.

Clara set up her equipment in the living room. Midnight was hours away, but the atmosphere was already oppressive. The wind howled outside, and the rain lashed against the windows.

As the clock struck twelve, Clara began to feel uneasy. The air grew colder, and an unnatural silence settled over the house. She turned her flashlight toward the staircase, and that’s when she heard it—a faint whisper.

“Leave…”

Clara froze. The whisper was soft, almost a breath, but it came from upstairs. Summoning her courage, she climbed the creaking staircase, her flashlight beam trembling with her hand.

At the top of the stairs, she found a long hallway lined with doors. One door at the end stood ajar, a faint light flickering from within. Clara approached cautiously, her heart pounding.

As she pushed the door open, she saw a bedroom frozen in time. A rocking chair creaked slowly by the window, though there was no breeze. On the floor lay an old, cracked mirror. Clara picked it up, and as she did, the reflection in the mirror shifted.

Behind her, in the window, was a shadow—a tall, faceless figure with hollow eyes.

Clara spun around, but the window was empty. She turned back to the mirror, and the shadow was closer now, its hollow eyes staring directly at her.

“Leave…” the whisper came again, louder this time.

Terrified, Clara dropped the mirror, and it shattered into pieces. The room plunged into darkness as the flashlight flickered and died. The whispers grew into a chorus, filling the room with unintelligible murmurs.

Suddenly, the rocking chair stopped, and the whispers ceased. In the silence, Clara felt a cold hand on her shoulder.

She screamed and ran, stumbling down the stairs and out of the house. When she reached the safety of her car, she looked back at the manor.

In the window of the room she had just fled, the shadow stood, watching her.

Clara never spoke of that night again, but she left the town the next morning and never returned. Blackwood Manor remained, its windows dark—except for the one where the shadow waited for the next visitor.

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