Shadows of the Cursed Manor

One particularly dark and cold winter night, deep within the woods, stood an old and abandoned mansion, known by the locals as “The Devil’s Manor.” For years, it had stood without an occupant, its towering spires and dark windows resembling eyes, watching passersby from afar. The manor had a terrifying reputation. No one dared to venture near it — rumors said that spirits from the other world inhabited the house, searching for souls.

A young man named Vilius had heard all these legends. He grew up in a nearby village, where people were taught from a young age to fear the manor. The local folk said that once, centuries ago, the master of the house — a count — was a particularly cruel man, infamous for his bloodlust and rumored dealings with dark forces. The count was not only merciless to his enemies but to his own family, servants, and slaves. One stormy night, tragedy struck. The manor burned, and the family was said to have been burned alive.

Since then, the manor had been abandoned and cursed, and everyone who entered it disappeared without a trace. People whispered that the count never found peace, even in death, and his soul remained trapped inside the house. His family, along with all the servants, were cursed to wander there forever. On cold nights, when the wind carried strange noises from the manor, the village elders would warn the young: “Stay away from that place, or it will devour your soul.”

Vilius, despite the warnings, was young and curious. He couldn’t believe such stories could be true, so he decided to visit the manor with his friends, determined to prove the tales were nothing but foolish old folklore. Along with three of his friends, he made plans to venture into the haunted place. They brought flashlights, snacks, and courage in their hearts. The winter night was bitterly cold, the sky was clear, and the moon shone brightly, as if eager to reveal the darkness’s secrets.

When they arrived at the manor, the group hesitated. Vilius stood in front, while his friends Tomas, Linas, and Austė felt a twinge of doubt. “Maybe we should go back,” Austė suggested nervously. But Vilius smirked and replied, “It’s just a story. Let’s go inside and prove there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

The manor’s doors were heavy, the wood rotting, but surprisingly, they opened with ease, as though welcoming them in. Inside, the air was stale and filled with the scent of dust and decay. The house felt much larger inside than it appeared from the outside. The floors creaked beneath their feet, and the air was unnaturally cold. Everything around them looked frozen in time — old furniture, moldy paintings, and crumbling ceilings. Yet the silence was the most unnerving part. It wasn’t the normal stillness of an empty house — it was the oppressive quiet of something waiting.

Suddenly, Tomas heard a noise coming from a distant corner. “What was that?” he whispered, though he knew no one could answer. They moved deeper into the manor, exploring its eerie halls. Their flashlights flickered, casting shadows that danced around them. Each new room seemed creepier than the last: massive doors leading to empty chambers, a grand staircase winding up to the second floor. All four of them felt the growing weight of dread, but no one wanted to admit they were scared.

As they reached the main hall, the flashlights abruptly went out. Only the moonlight, filtering through cracked windows, illuminated a large mirror hanging above a fireplace. The light reflected off the mirror, and even though the room was pitch black, in the mirror, they could see their reflections — except something was wrong. In the reflection, there were shadowy figures standing beside them, figures that didn’t exist in reality. Austė screamed, “What is that? We need to get out of here!” But the doors they had entered through were now shut tight.

As they tried to retreat, Vilius felt something cold clasp around his wrist. He turned around, but no one was there. Yet in the mirror, the shadowy figures began to move. They were coming closer. Linas began whispering a prayer, though he had never been religious before. Tomas stood frozen, while Austė frantically tried to get the flashlights working again, to no avail.

“We shouldn’t have come here,” a voice whispered from the shadows in the mirror. Vilius felt a chill run down his spine. This was no imagination. This was real. The air in the room grew thick, making it hard to breathe. Suddenly, the mirror cracked, and from it poured a thick, black smoke. What had been mere shadows were now real, tangible figures, moving toward them.

The doors remained shut, and the group found themselves unable to move, as if their feet were glued to the ground. Tomas ran toward a window, trying to break it, but the glass didn’t even crack. “They’re coming… they always come,” the voice whispered, now clearly emanating from the smoke. In the shards of the broken mirror, the group could see not only themselves but also those who had vanished centuries before — the count’s family and their servants. Their faces were twisted in fear, their hands outstretched, pleading for help.

Suddenly, the smoke began to form into the shape of a man — a figure dressed in dark, tattered clothes. It was the count. His eyes were hollow, yet they burned with an insatiable hunger. His hands reached toward Vilius. “You came at the wrong time… you shouldn’t be here,” the count said, his voice echoing through the room. The shadowy figures moved closer, time seemed to stand still. Tomas, Austė, and Linas were swallowed by the smoke, disappearing as if they had never existed. Vilius tried to scream, but his voice was caught in his throat.

The last thing he saw was the count’s face — cold, empty, and eternal. At that moment, Vilius knew he would never leave this place, just like those who had come before him.