The Forgotten Room of Holloway Mansion

Lena Caldwell had never believed in ghosts—at least, not until the day she stepped into Holloway Mansion.

The mansion had been abandoned for decades, its tall, wrought-iron gates now rusted and overgrown with ivy. Nestled in a quiet part of the countryside, the house had once been a grand estate. But rumors of strange disappearances, unexplained deaths, and eerie noises that drifted from the mansion’s broken windows had turned it into a local legend. The mansion was said to be cursed, its rooms haunted by the restless spirits of the Holloway family.

Lena, a determined journalist, wasn’t one to be swayed by ghost stories. She had spent years debunking myths, investigating paranormal claims, and getting to the bottom of mysteries that others were too scared to explore. Holloway Mansion was just another story waiting to be uncovered, and she was ready to expose the truth. Armed with only a flashlight, a recorder, and her camera, Lena entered the mansion late one foggy evening.

The air inside was thick and heavy, as though it had been trapped for years. Every step she took echoed through the vast, empty halls. The wallpaper was peeling, and broken glass crunched beneath her boots as she made her way deeper into the house. Portraits of the Holloway family still hung on the walls, their eyes dark and vacant, watching her every move.

As Lena ventured through the mansion, she felt an unsettling chill, like a draft that followed her from room to room. She wasn’t sure if it was just her imagination running wild or something far more sinister. But what caught her attention the most was a door—a door at the end of a long hallway that was unlike any other. It was not broken, nor was it covered in dust. It seemed untouched by time, almost as though someone had been using it recently. The door was locked, but a strange, metallic sound came from the other side, like someone scraping their nails against the wood.

Compelled by a mix of curiosity and caution, Lena forced the door open with a gentle push. Inside, she found nothing but a single room, small and windowless, with bare, cracked walls. The only piece of furniture in the room was an old wooden chair, positioned in the center of the room. The chair seemed oddly out of place—newer than the rest of the house, and far too well-kept. But it was what lay beside the chair that made Lena’s blood run cold.

On the floor, in a dark, sticky stain, was a handprint. It was fresh, like someone had just touched the ground, but there was no one around. A sense of dread crept up Lena’s spine, but she pushed the fear aside. This was what she had come for: the truth.

She stepped closer to the chair and began to inspect it, running her fingers over its smooth, polished surface. But as she did, something strange happened. The air grew colder. The room seemed to darken, and the shadows shifted in the corners of her vision. The feeling of being watched intensified.

Suddenly, she heard it—a low, guttural whisper from behind her. “Leave this place…”

Lena spun around, her flashlight sweeping the room, but there was no one there. Her heart pounded in her chest. Was she imagining things? Or was something in the room with her?

Then the whispers came again, louder this time—voices, overlapping, speaking in unison.

“We are waiting…”

The floor beneath her feet seemed to tremble, and the air became thick with an unnatural presence. Lena took a step back, her mind racing. She knew she had to leave—but her feet wouldn’t move. She was rooted to the spot, a strange force holding her in place.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something. A faint glow was emanating from the walls, from the cracks in the old wood, and it grew brighter, almost blinding. And there, in the glow, was a figure. A shadowy shape that seemed to float above the chair, its features indistinct, but its eyes—those hollow eyes—were unmistakable.

The figure moved toward her slowly, its presence suffocating, its gaze burning into her soul. She could feel her breath catching in her throat, her pulse hammering against her temples. The whispers now surrounded her, echoing in every corner of the room. “Leave… or join us…”

Lena stumbled backward, finally able to tear herself away from the force that had held her in place. Her flashlight dropped to the floor, casting erratic shadows against the walls. She ran, not knowing where she was going, her heart racing, her body trembling with fear. She had to get out. She had to escape.

The moment she stepped out of the room, the door slammed shut behind her, as if the house itself was trapping her inside. She sprinted down the hallway, the whispers growing louder with every step. “It’s too late. You’re already one of us…”

Lena reached the front door, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the handle. She yanked it open and ran into the foggy night, not stopping until she was a safe distance away. When she looked back at the mansion, the lights flickered on in the windows, and for just a moment, she thought she saw a figure standing behind one of the panes, watching her.

She didn’t return to the mansion, nor did she speak of what happened that night. But when she played the audio recording from her visit, the whispering voices were still there, clear as day. And on her camera, there was a final image—a photo of the chair, but now, in the seat, there was something else: a pair of hollow eyes, staring back at her.