The Forgotten Watcher

Deep in the countryside lay an old farmhouse, abandoned for decades, its walls shrouded by ivy and its windows coated with dust. No one could recall the last family that had lived there; any memory of them had faded like the peeling paint. Locals whispered that strange things happened there, that something sinister still lingered within the decaying walls. But for Jonah, an amateur photographer in search of eerie locations, the farmhouse was the perfect subject.

The evening he arrived, the sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the fields. Jonah parked his car a few yards away and gazed up at the farmhouse. It was a tall, skeletal structure, its dark silhouette blending into the fading light. With his camera slung over his shoulder, he approached the entrance, the door slightly ajar as if it had been waiting for him.

Inside, the air was stale, carrying a faint odor of mold and something... sharper. He dismissed it, more focused on the visuals. The floor creaked beneath him as he made his way through the rooms, photographing everything: the faded wallpaper, the empty picture frames, the eerie stillness that seemed to envelop each corner.

In one of the rooms, he found a large, dusty mirror propped against the wall, its glass fogged but intact. He aimed his camera, taking a shot of the reflection. As the flash went off, he thought he saw something—a shadow moving just behind him. He whipped around, but the room was empty.

Brushing it off as a trick of the light, he continued, feeling a slight unease creeping in. The house seemed to close in on him, the shadows lengthening, shifting. Every so often, he’d catch a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye, but each time he turned, there was nothing there. Just shadows and silence.

Then he entered the attic. A narrow staircase led him up to a space thick with dust and cobwebs, untouched for years. In the center of the attic was an old wooden chair, facing a window. It looked oddly out of place, as though someone had been sitting there, waiting, watching the world outside.

Drawn to it, Jonah approached and brushed his hand over the chair's back. That was when he noticed something unusual: a faint indentation in the dust-covered seat, as if someone had recently sat there. A chill crept down his spine, but he raised his camera, drawn to capturing the haunting image. As he looked through the lens, his heart froze.

There, standing in the reflection of the attic window, was a figure—a tall, gaunt man with hollow eyes, staring directly at him.

Jonah gasped, stumbling backward, nearly dropping his camera. He turned around, his eyes darting through the dim attic, but no one was there. His breath came in shallow gasps as he clutched his camera, glancing back at the window. The figure was gone.

Convinced he was imagining things, he took a steadying breath and tried to rationalize. Perhaps it was just the reflection of a shadow, a trick of his own mind. But as he reviewed the photo he’d just taken, his blood ran cold. The man was there, clear as day, staring straight at him with a gaze so intense it felt like a warning.

He bolted down the stairs, his only thought now to get out of the house. But as he passed through the narrow hallway toward the exit, he heard it—the sound of soft footsteps, heavy and deliberate, following him.

He quickened his pace, his heart pounding as the footsteps grew louder, closer. Just as he reached the door, he felt a cold hand brush against his shoulder. He spun around, but the hallway was empty, shadows clinging to the walls. Fighting the urge to scream, he shoved the door open and burst out into the night, not stopping until he reached his car.

When he looked back, the farmhouse loomed in the darkness, silent and still. But in the attic window, he saw him—the figure, watching from the shadows, his gaze fixed on Jonah, unblinking, unwavering.

He sped away, vowing never to return. But the nightmares started that night.

Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in that attic, facing the window. The figure’s face was clearer now, each feature burned into his memory. And when he awoke, he could still feel the cold weight of the figure's stare, as though he had brought something back with him, something that wouldn’t let go.

Thank you for joining me on this chilling journey. If you enjoyed the story, please give it a like and share it with those who dare to look into the darkness.