Shadow #7

Ana and Sara hadn’t planned for an ordinary evening while their parents were at a party. Inspired by scary stories from the internet, they decided to have some fun summoning spirits. Ana’s house, large and old, was the perfect place for their experiment—especially the basement, dark and full of old things.

“They say ghosts love silence and darkness,” Sara whispered as they descended the creaky stairs with a flashlight and a candle. Ana tried not to show her fear. Her grandmother often said the basement was “special,” but Ana always dismissed those stories.

In the center of the floor was a large, dusty wooden table. They placed the candle on it, along with a sheet of paper with letters arranged in a circle and a glass, mimicking a spirit board they had seen online. Sara lit the candle and smiled. “Ready?”

Ana sighed. “Of course.”

They sat across from each other and placed their fingers on the glass. Sara quietly recited words she claimed were an ancient incantation for summoning spirits. At first, nothing happened. The candle burned steadily, and the only sound was the faint creaking of pipes above them.

“If you have something to say,” Sara said loudly, “say it now.”

At that moment, the candle flickered, and the glass moved. Ana pulled her hand away. “Stop messing around!”

“That wasn’t me!” Sara replied seriously.

From the silence of the basement came a faint noise, like old objects shifting. Ana froze as Sara glanced toward the corner. The flashlight’s beam caught a dark silhouette. It was small, almost humanoid, but its shape was unclear. The moment they both looked, it vanished into the shadows.

“What was that?” Ana whispered, trying to stay calm.

Sara stood, aiming the flashlight at the corner. “It’s probably just a shadow… or a mouse.” But her voice trembled. As she stepped closer, she saw another shadow move, quick and silent, darting from one wall to the next.

Ana pulled Sara back. “We need to get out of here!”

But as they turned toward the stairs, shadows began to gather on the walls. At first, they were small and indistinct, then larger and more numerous. They moved quickly, overlapping, forming shapes that seemed almost alive. The flashlight began to flicker.

The candle went out.

The basement was now in complete darkness, except for the fading beam of the flashlight. A deep, indistinct whisper filled the room. Ana and Sara clung to each other, pulling toward the stairs. Their steps were unsteady as shadows swirled around them.

“We’re not supposed to be here,” Ana said quietly, trying not to cry. “They told me not to go into the basement.”

“Who told you?” Sara asked, gripping her hand.

“My grandmother… She said the basement was occupied.”

When they finally reached the stairs, the basement door was shut. Sara tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. The shadows drew closer, now clearly visible on the walls—elongated, human-like figures with long arms and crooked necks. The flashlight died.

A scream filled the basement.

The next morning, their parents found the girls huddled on the basement stairs, covered in dust but unharmed. Neither of them wanted to talk about what had happened. Ana insisted that the basement be locked forever.

Even with the door locked, the family claims that on quiet nights, they can still hear whispers and footsteps coming from the basement, as if something is searching for a way out.

Years passed, and Ana’s family avoided the basement entirely. The door remained locked, and the key was hidden away. Despite their precautions, strange occurrences continued to plague the house. Objects left on tables would fall to the floor without explanation, cold drafts swept through the halls even in the heat of summer, and faint whispers could be heard in the dead of night.

One evening, Ana, now older and living on her own, returned to her childhood home to visit her parents. As she passed by the basement door, she noticed something strange—a faint outline of dust had formed on the wood, resembling a handprint. She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat, but convinced herself it was her imagination.

That night, as the family sat together, a loud thud echoed from below. Everyone froze. Her father stood, determined to investigate, but Ana grabbed his arm. “Don’t,” she said, her voice firm but trembling. “It’s not worth it.”

Her father hesitated, then reluctantly sat back down. The sound didn’t come again, but none of them slept well that night.

Weeks later, Sara, who had remained close friends with Ana despite their shared trauma, visited her. Over coffee, Sara admitted that she’d been having recurring dreams about that night in the basement. “They’re always the same,” she said, her hands trembling around her cup. “We’re back there, but the shadows… they call my name.”

Ana didn’t respond, but her pale face said enough. She had been having the same dreams.

One day, Ana found herself standing in front of the basement door, unable to resist the pull of whatever lingered below. Her hand hovered over the doorknob, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn it. Instead, she whispered, “What do you want?”

For a moment, the house was silent. Then, faintly, from the other side of the door, she heard it—a single, drawn-out word spoken in a voice that was not her own: “Stay.”

Ana backed away, her heart pounding, and vowed never to return to the house again.

To this day, the basement remains locked. The whispers persist, growing louder with each passing year, and those brave enough to press their ear to the door claim they hear their own name being softly called from the darkness below.