The Hollow Eyes

The town of Hawthorne was quiet, nestled between dense woods, with only the occasional sound of birds or the distant hum of wind to break the stillness. But, as with many sleepy towns, there were stories—old stories—stories that people whispered about after dark.

And then, there was the house on Maple Street.

The house had been abandoned for as long as anyone could remember, a decaying shell at the end of the block that no one dared approach. Its windows, once bright and inviting, were now dark, their glass cracked and smeared with years of dirt. The lawn, once neatly trimmed, had grown wild with weeds, almost as though nature itself was trying to reclaim it.

Despite its forlorn appearance, the house held a dark fascination for the people of Hawthorne. Locals said that on nights when the moon was full, you could see strange shadows moving behind the windows, and if you stood too long, you could feel eyes watching you, cold and unblinking.

Everyone knew the stories—the house had once been home to the Vance family, a quiet couple with two children, all of whom mysteriously disappeared one summer night. There were no signs of a struggle, no ransom note. Just an empty house, left behind, and a police investigation that turned up nothing. The authorities declared the family dead, though they never found their bodies. Over the years, rumors swirled—some said they had been murdered, others that they had been taken by something far darker.

Now, all these years later, there was one person who wasn’t afraid to explore the place—Lena Rivers. She was an investigative journalist, known for her fascination with the paranormal and all things that went bump in the night. When she heard the stories about the house on Maple Street, something tugged at her. There was something more to it—something the townspeople weren’t saying. She had to find out.

Late one night, Lena parked her car at the end of the street. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the street as the wind rustled the leaves in the trees. She grabbed her flashlight and a notebook, her heart racing with anticipation and unease.

The house stood at the end of the block, just as she remembered from the photos. A heavy silence hung in the air, as if the world was holding its breath. She walked toward it slowly, her footsteps soft against the grass. As she drew closer, she could see the broken windows more clearly. The front door, once painted a welcoming shade of blue, was now warped and crooked, hanging loosely on its hinges.

She hesitated at the threshold but pushed the door open with a creak, stepping into the darkness inside.

The air was thick with dust and stale air, the smell of mold and rot overwhelming. The walls were covered in peeling wallpaper, and the floors were littered with broken furniture, as though the house had been abandoned in a rush. It felt... wrong, as though the house had been waiting for her.

Lena’s flashlight flickered as she moved deeper into the house. She made her way through the hallway, her steps tentative, as she explored room after room, each one more decrepit than the last. But there was something else, something that chilled her to the bone. The deeper she went, the more oppressive the silence became. It was suffocating, as though something was in the air, watching her, waiting for her to notice.

She came to the stairs. The wooden steps creaked under her weight as she ascended, the darkness pressing in around her like a physical force. At the top of the stairs, there was a long hallway, and at the far end, a door stood slightly ajar.

Her breath caught in her throat. It was the only door that wasn’t covered in dust, as if someone—or something—had been inside recently.

With a mixture of dread and fascination, Lena approached the door, her hand shaking as she reached for the handle. The door swung open with a soft groan, revealing a room that was almost entirely untouched by time.

It was a child’s room—small, with faded blue walls and a single bed in the corner, the sheets rumpled but clean. A small dresser sat against the wall, and a faded toy box lay in the corner, its lid slightly askew. It was odd. Everything looked normal—too normal, in fact. It felt as though the room hadn’t been abandoned, but preserved, waiting for someone to come back.

Lena’s flashlight flickered again, and she moved to the dresser. As her beam swept across the room, her eyes fell on the mirror above it. It was cracked, but the reflection... it was wrong. The shadows in the reflection shifted unnaturally, and for a moment, Lena could have sworn she saw figures in the glass, watching her with hollow, empty eyes.

She froze. Her breath caught in her throat as the temperature in the room seemed to drop. She turned quickly, but the room was empty. No one was there. The shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally across the walls, twisting and warping in ways that defied reason.

And then, the whispers began.

Faint at first, barely audible, but growing louder. It was a voice—no, many voices, layered over one another. She couldn’t understand the words, but the tone was unmistakable. It was pleading, desperate. As if something trapped inside the walls of the house was begging for release.

Lena’s heart raced. She needed to leave, needed to get out. But as she turned toward the door, she froze.

There, standing in the doorway, was a figure. A woman, tall and gaunt, her face obscured by shadows. She wore an old, tattered dress, and her hands hung limply at her sides. But the eyes... Lena could see them now, hollow and dark, as though they were nothing but empty pits staring into her soul.

Lena’s mouth went dry as the woman took a step forward, the sound of her feet dragging across the floor echoing in the stillness. The whispers grew louder, more frantic, as if the walls themselves were alive with the voices of the past.

The figure stopped in front of Lena, its hollow eyes never leaving hers. The air was thick, heavy with the weight of centuries of sorrow and anger. And then, the woman whispered, her voice a rasping, breathless sound.

“Leave... before they see you.”

Lena stumbled back, her pulse hammering in her ears. The woman stepped closer, her eyes widening, revealing nothing but darkness.

With a scream, Lena turned and ran, the whispers growing louder, the shadows closing in around her. She reached the stairs, her legs giving out as she scrambled down, barely able to breathe through the terror that gripped her.

As she burst out of the front door and into the cool night air, she looked back at the house, expecting to see it just as it had been before. But the house had changed. The windows were no longer dark, and the door was no longer open.

It was as though nothing had ever happened.

The house on Maple Street stood silent once more, as if waiting for the next curious soul to come along and uncover its dark secret.

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