The House at Raven’s Hollow

M Mehran

No one in our town went near the house at Raven’s Hollow after sunset. They said it was cursed, that shadows moved inside its walls even on the brightest days. I had always laughed at such tales—until the night I dared to enter.


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The Dare

It began as a dare. My friends, eager to prove their bravery, challenged me to spend an hour inside the abandoned house. I shrugged, pretending I wasn’t nervous. “It’s just an old house,” I said.

But as I stood in front of the rusted gates, something in the air felt wrong. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying a faint, almost human sigh. I swallowed hard, convincing myself it was just the breeze.


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First Steps

The front door groaned as I pushed it open, the sound echoing like a scream down the empty hallway. Dust hung in the air, thick as fog. Broken furniture lay scattered, and cobwebs draped the corners like ghostly curtains.

I flicked on my flashlight, its beam trembling in my hands. Every creak of the floorboards made me jump. I told myself I’d stay only an hour—but as soon as I stepped further in, a strange chill ran down my spine.


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The Shadows

It started subtly. I saw a shadow move at the edge of my vision, though I was alone—or so I thought. Each time I turned, nothing was there. But the sense of being watched grew stronger.

I reached the living room, where an old portrait hung crooked on the wall. The eyes seemed to follow me, their painted gaze unnervingly alive. Then, in the corner, I thought I saw someone—or something—sitting in the shadows. My heart pounded, but I convinced myself it was imagination.


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Whispers in the Dark

As I climbed the staircase, whispers began. Faint, almost inaudible, but unmistakable. “Leave… now… leave…” They came from the walls, the floors, everywhere at once.

I froze, gripping the railing. My flashlight flickered, and in that brief darkness, I could feel breath against my neck. I spun around, but no one was there. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the whispers, yet they persisted.


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The Room at the End

I remembered the last dare: to enter the room at the end of the hall. The door was partially open, its hinges squealing in protest as I pushed it further. Inside, the air was colder. My breath turned to mist.

The room was empty—except for a mirror, framed in blackened oak. I stepped closer, and my reflection stared back. At first, it was normal. Then, slowly, it smiled. A smile I hadn’t given it.

I stumbled back, tripping over the carpet. The reflection moved, independent of me, its grin widening, eyes gleaming with malice. I tried to look away, but the mirror seemed to pull me in, whispering promises of darkness I could not resist.


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The Escape

I ran. Down the stairs, through the living room, past the portrait whose eyes now seemed furious. The whispers became screams, echoing from every corner. The shadows stretched, reaching for me with cold, skeletal hands.

The front door was in sight, but it slammed shut before I could touch it. Panic surged. I slammed my shoulder against it, once, twice, three times. Finally, it gave way. I burst into the night, gasping for air.

The wind had stopped. The house stood silent, still as if nothing had happened.


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The Mark

I told my friends what I saw. They laughed, but I could see the doubt in their eyes. That night, I realized that some stories are not made up. Some houses remember the people who enter. Some mirrors remember faces—and hunger for more.

The worst part came the next morning. On my arm, I found a small, dark mark shaped like a claw. I didn’t remember being scratched, but the pain was sharp, real. And when I looked in the mirror, my reflection was slightly… different. Smiling back at me.


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The Lesson

I never returned to Raven’s Hollow. I avoid daredevils, abandoned places, and mirrors at night. But the memory follows me. Every time I see a shadow flicker, every time a whisper brushes my ear, I wonder if the house is still calling me.

Some nights, I wake to find the mark glowing faintly, reminding me that the boundary between us and the darkness is thinner than I ever imagined.

Raven’s Hollow is waiting. And it remembers.