Taunted soul

Mike had always been skeptical of anything supernatural. Ghosts, spirits, and the occult were nothing more than fairy tales to him. He had spent his life dismissing them with a laugh and a shrug. But all of that was about to change.

One weekend, Mike and his friends—Stanley, Kate, and Linda—decided to take a trip to the infamous Blackwood Manor, an old mansion on the outskirts of town. The house had been abandoned for decades, its history tainted by rumors of disappearances and madness. The locals swore the place was haunted, but Mike wasn’t one to believe in such nonsense.

“Let’s make it interesting,” Mike had said. “We’ll spend the night there. If nothing happens, we’ll have a good laugh and call it a weekend adventure. If something spooky does happen, then we’ll leave.”

Stanley, ever the thrill-seeker, had been all for it. Kate, who was more cautious, had reluctantly agreed. Linda, on the other hand, had been uneasy from the start. “There’s something wrong about that place,” she had said, but her warnings had gone ignored.

As they drove up the long, twisted road leading to the mansion, the clouds seemed to gather ominously overhead. The towering structure came into view, its windows dark and shattered, its paint peeling like a wound. Blackwood Manor stood like a forgotten monument to something lost and broken.

The group stepped out of the car, the chill in the air biting at their skin. The house seemed to loom over them, as if it were alive, watching them with an unblinking stare.

“Well, we’re here,” Mike said, trying to mask his unease with a grin. “Let’s see if the ghosts are real.”

Linda shuddered, clutching her jacket tighter around her. “I don’t like it. I really don’t like it.”

But despite her discomfort, they all pushed forward, entering the house through the creaking front door. The inside was even worse than the outside. Dust coated the furniture and floors, cobwebs hung from the ceilings, and the air was thick with the stench of rot. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of wood or the gust of wind rattling through the broken windows.

“This place is a dump,” Stanley said, his voice echoing in the empty hall. “But it definitely has character.”

“Character?” Kate scoffed, wrinkling her nose. “This place feels like a tomb.”

They wandered through the house, taking in the decaying grandeur of the old manor. The hallway stretched out before them, dark and endless. Mike led the way, his flashlight flickering as he walked. “Come on, let’s check out the basement. I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

“Fun?” Linda’s voice cracked. “You can’t be serious. I’m not going down there.”

“Chicken,” Stanley teased, nudging her playfully.

“Yeah, chicken,” Mike echoed, his tone lighthearted. “We’re just here to have a good time, right?”

Reluctantly, Linda agreed to follow. The group made their way down the narrow stairs, the air growing colder the further they descended. At the bottom, they found themselves in a damp, musty room filled with old furniture, forgotten relics, and stacks of decaying books. The darkness felt almost tangible, pressing in on them.

As they explored the basement, the floorboards above them creaked, as if someone—or something—was walking around upstairs.

“Did you hear that?” Kate asked, her voice shaky.

“Probably just the house settling,” Mike replied, though his own heart was starting to race.

Suddenly, Linda gasped and pointed toward the far corner of the room. There, in the shadows, was a large, antique mirror—tall and ornate, with an intricate frame. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, but its glass still seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

“Who would leave this here?” Stanley asked, walking toward it. “It looks like it belongs in a museum.”

Linda took a step back, her face pale. “We shouldn’t be here.”

Mike dismissed her worries with a wave of his hand. “Relax, Linda. It’s just a mirror. It’s probably been here for years.”

He stepped forward and wiped a hand across the dusty surface, revealing the reflection of the group. The moment his fingers touched the glass, a low, ominous hum filled the air. At first, it was faint, barely audible, but then it grew louder, until it was a buzzing, oppressive noise.

“What the hell is that?” Kate whispered, her eyes wide with fear.

The hum continued to build, almost as if the house itself was alive. Mike turned to face his friends, but the reflection in the mirror… wasn’t the same.

It was subtle at first—a slight shift in posture, a flicker in their movements. But as they stared, they realized something was horribly wrong. In the reflection, the four of them were still standing, but their faces were twisted, contorted in expressions of pain and fear. Their eyes—dark and hollow—stared back at them with a malevolent intensity.

“Mike… what’s happening?” Linda stammered, her voice trembling with terror.

The hum grew louder, more urgent, and then—just as suddenly as it started—it stopped. The reflection in the mirror changed.

The faces of the group were now grinning—a sinister, mocking smile that didn’t belong to them. Their eyes glowed, faintly, but it was enough to send a chill down their spines.

Stanley stepped back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “This isn’t right. We need to leave. Now.”

But as he turned toward the door, the room seemed to warp around them. The walls shifted, the floorboards creaked louder, and the very air felt thick with dread. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang.

“We’re trapped!” Kate screamed, her eyes wide with panic.

Mike tried to force the door open, but it wouldn’t budge. The reflection in the mirror seemed to mock him, twisting and turning with grotesque abandon. He reached out to touch it again, but the moment his hand brushed the glass, a cold, bony hand grabbed his wrist from behind.

He spun around, but there was nothing there. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it. A figure. Pale and emaciated, with hollow eyes that stared at him with unbridled fury.

The figure stepped forward, its mouth opening in a silent scream. As it did, the whispers returned—louder this time, overlapping and chaotic.

"You shouldn’t have come."

"You’re mine now."

The figure reached out and touched Mike’s face, its cold fingers sending a shock of terror through him. His body froze, his breath caught in his throat. And then, it spoke—its voice a low, rasping whisper.

"You don’t believe in ghosts? Believe now."

The ground beneath Mike’s feet seemed to give way as the world around him spun. The last thing he saw before everything went black was his reflection in the mirror—his face twisted into that same horrible grin, his eyes glowing with a sickly light.

When Mike opened his eyes again, he was back in the basement, but everything was wrong. His friends were gone. The room was empty. The only thing that remained was the mirror—now cracked, the reflection showing only Mike, smiling.

But it wasn’t his smile.
It was the smile of the taunted soul now trapped inside of him.