Briar Hollow's

There was a house in the forest behind our city. Everyone called it Hollow. No one knew who built it or why it remained. He said it was cursed. The family had lived there once and disappeared overnight. Something awful was left.

Of course, I didn't believe in him. But now I wish I had done it.

It was at the end of October that Jared and his friends dared to go to Hollow with them. "One night," they said. "We just look at it, maybe we take some photos. Nothing is crazy."

I wanted to impress them. I wanted to stop being a calm, shy kid with no one paying attention to. So I said yes.

Wir Packten Taschenlampen, Ein Paar Snacks, Und Jared Brachte eine alte Polaroidkamera Mit, die er auf em dachboden seines vaters gefunden hatte. "For evidence," he said with a smile. The grin faded as he approached the forest.

That night, the trees looked darker than usual. The deeper we went, the more it calmed down. The wind seemed to hold his breath.

And then we saw it.

The family wasn't that big, but there was some limp bone of something I once felt proud of. The veranda was wrong, the board was missing, and the door was hanging like a ghen's mouth. All the windows are broken. Ivy raw his side like a vein.

"I won't go," tweeted Jake.

"Chicken," Jared teased.

None of us laughed.

We've come in. The floor squealed beneath us as if it were a whispering warning. The dust was thick enough to fill the air in the clouds and taste it. The furniture was still moldy and half protected, covered in spirit-like leaves of life left behind.

Jared took a photo.

Cameras made this tough click of old school. The photo started sliding and he wielded it around and jokingly asked if the ghost wanted to pose.

We explored the room in the

room home. The kitchen still had plates in the sink. A high chair was sitting on a long fireplace. Upstairs we found peeled wallpaper, a bedroom filled with animals with glassy eyes, and a mirror in the hall, impoverished in poverty, which showed little reflection for us.

Jared took more photos. One of them - invented in the hall upstairs - was blurred behind us. Like a figure. shadow. An ambiguous person.

We stared silently at it.

"I don't remember anyone standing there," I whispered.

"Maybe the movie is bad," Jake offered too early.

But the atmosphere had changed. cold. heavy.

, when you hear: Blow... Drag... Toump... Pull…

It came from the attic.

No one spoke. We stared at the ceiling above, where something was moving. slow. intentionally.

Thump. Pull.

Jared was, of course, Jared, so he laughed nervously and said, "Hell No", snapped Jake, but Jared has already gone to the attic.

We followed. We didn't want to. However, staying alone in this house has gotten worse.

The roof floor door creaks. The stairs were steep and narrow. All the steps moaned under our weight.

It was pitch black on the top. Jared clicked on the flashlight. The rays cut through the darkness, old piles of boxes, broken rocking horses, -

a little on the horn.

I thought it was a lot of dirt. But it moved.

It was beautiful. thin. Dry leather-like skin above the bones. My limbs were too long, and I was wrong. His head slowly turned towards us, revealing two broad white eyes that we saw through us.

I couldn't breathe.

Jared lifted the camera, so he protected it. click. flash.

This cried out. A terribly high screeching thrusts into the air like a blade. Then it was raw - not walking, but raw - to us. I ran

Jared fell in the middle of the stairs. I don't know how I got it or how I left the house. I remember only until the trees open and the city light greet us like red.

Jared didn't talk much after that. He stopped sleeping. He burned each individual, photograph.

Sometimes he said he could see it in his dreams.

And he disappeared one night.

The window was open. His camera is gone.

Everything they found was the photographs left in his bed.

Showed the interior of

Marde.

in the attic.

And then back to the corner there. I smiled only this time.

People still say that the hollow is just an old house. What I imagined. This trauma makes the kids believe they've gone crazy.

But I know the truth.

There's something in this house. It carries the skin like a coat and waits for it to pique your curiosity. For those who dare to do it.

And if you find yourself near Briar Hollow, don't go in.

Whatever you ask.

You see regardless of what you think.

That's because you see you.

And I remember it.