THE DWELLING OF SHADOWS

Blackwood Manor stood alone on the hill, watching over the small town of Ashbourne with its dark, empty windows.

Abandoned for decades, the house was the subject of whispered stories among the townspeople.

They said the former owners had mysteriously disappeared, leaving behind only echoes of their footsteps and doors that closed on their own in the dead of night.

Oliver Carter, an investigative journalist, decided it was time to uncover the truth. Fascinated by mysteries, he saw the mansion not just as a decaying building but as a gateway to buried secrets.

Armed with a camera, a recorder, and a flashlight, he crossed the rusted iron gates just before midnight, determined to spend the night inside.

The door creaked open, releasing the scent of damp wood and dust. The entrance hall seemed frozen in time—furniture covered in sheets, faded paintings, and a grand staircase leading into darkness. Oliver turned on the recorder.

— This is Oliver Carter, inside Blackwood Manor… No signs of life, but there’s something… strange in the air.

Every step echoed through the house. The walls seemed to listen. The silence was thick, almost tangible.

As he explored the rooms, he found old portraits of a family—father, mother, and a little girl—all with hollow expressions, their eyes following him as he moved.

In the main hall, he found a piano covered by a sheet. He pressed a key, and the out-of-tune note rang through the space. For a moment, he thought he heard light footsteps upstairs.

— If someone’s here… — he started, but his voice faded into the shadows.

He decided to go up. The staircase creaked under his weight, and the air grew colder with each step. The second-floor corridor was lined with closed doors, like silent guardians of old secrets.

When he tried to open the first, it wouldn’t budge. On the third attempt, a door at the far end of the hall creaked open on its own.

Oliver hesitated but stepped inside.

The room was small, with peeling walls and a crib in the center, rocking slowly. The journalist approached—and then he felt it.

The air thickened. An invisible presence loomed around him.

Then, the mirror beside the crib began to fog up, as if someone on the other side was breathing against it. Slowly, words formed on the dusty glass:

“YOU SHOULDN’T BE HERE.”

Oliver stepped back, his heart pounding. The door slammed shut behind him. He turned the knob, but it was locked. The recorder, still running, captured his ragged breathing.

— Who’s there?

No answer.

Then, footsteps. Soft, dragging, circling the room.

He swung his flashlight, but there was no one. Only the mirror reflecting his own image—and something else. Behind him stood a pale woman in a black dress, with hollow eyes and a broken smile.

Oliver spun around in shock, but the room was empty.

A whisper brushed against his ear:

— You came for the truth… Now, it belongs to you.

Fear froze him, but he knew he had to get out. He tried the door again. This time, it swung open on its own.

He sprinted down the corridor, rushing down the stairs. But the house seemed to stretch endlessly, the hallways never-ending.

When he finally reached the front door, it too was locked.

The whisper returned, closer:

— No one leaves.

The clock on the wall read midnight, but the hands did not move.

Oliver clutched the recorder, his voice trembling as he made his final report:

— If anyone hears this… Blackwood Manor is not empty. They are here. I… I can’t get out.

Then, the recorder switched off by itself.

The next morning, Blackwood Manor remained motionless atop the hill, its windows reflecting the gray sky. Oliver Carter was never seen again.

Months later, a group of urban explorers entered the house to film. They found his flashlight lying on the floor, the recorder still with battery, and his camera, with the last photo taken that night.

In the image, Oliver’s reflection appeared in the mirror—but he was not alone.

The hollow-eyed woman stood beside him, smiling.

Since then, they say that if you pass by Blackwood Manor at night, you might hear Oliver’s voice echoing through the halls, whispering the truth he was never able to tell.