The Shadow at the Window

The clock struck midnight, and the house was eerily quiet. Sam had always prided himself on being fearless. Growing up, he devoured every ghost story he could find and dismissed the tales of haunted houses and restless spirits as mere fiction. But tonight, his skepticism would be put to the ultimate test.

Sam had recently inherited his grandmother's old house on the outskirts of town. Locals would whisper about its dark history: strange happenings, unexplained disappearances, and that shadowy figure many claimed to have seen lurking around the windows. Sam chalked it up to small-town superstition.

The first few nights in the house were uneventful. But on the fourth night, something changed.

As Sam read in the living room in the dark, he thought he saw something dart from his peripheral vision. Turning toward the window, out on the lawn, the pale light of the moon struggled to cling to the normalcy of the night-a night where nothing seemed displaced.

Sam shook his head and chuckled to himself, "Your mind's playing tricks on you," he told himself.

But as the hours ticked closer to 1 a.m., such a feeling of unease set in. The room got colder, and the quietness was oppressive. That was when he heard it-the slight tapping at the window.

Sam froze. It was deliberate, rhythmic, almost as if someone, or something, was trying to get his attention. Slowly, he again turned his gaze to the window, and this time, he saw it.

A dark figure was standing just outside, its features shrouded in the dark. It didn't move, didn't flinch, but Sam knew it was staring at him. He felt the panic grip him, but he made himself move.

Grabbing a flashlight, he bolted to the front door and threw it open. The cold night air bit his skin as he shined the light toward the window. There was no one there.

Panting, Sam shut and locked the door. He tried to reason it all out again: "Maybe just a trick of the light… or perhaps just somebody passing by." Yet he knew better.

Sleeping would never be possible that whole night, because this tapping would return and get louder and louder, becoming more insistent than ever, but every time he turned his head around, the dark figure wouldn't be there anymore.

The next morning, desperate for answers, Sam went to the town's library. He ransacked through old newspapers and records, finding out the dark truth about the house. Decades ago, a man named Edward lived there. He was a recluse, rumored to practice dark rituals. One night, he just vanished into thin air.

Locals believed that Edward had summoned something, and it wasn't going anywhere.

As the evening wore on, the sun setting, Sam knew it was time to confront his nemesis. He sat in the living room, lantern in hand, clutching his grandmother's Bible.

The tapping started, and he didn't budge. Instead, Sam walked over to the window and opened it.

The shadow was there, its form now more defined. It had hollow eyes and a grin that stretched unnaturally wide. Sam held up the Bible, his voice shaking as he began to say a prayer.

The figure let out a guttural growl, its form twisting and writhing. With one final shriek, it dissipated into the night.

The next morning, Sam gathered his things and was never seen stepping into the house again. He sold the house to the town, and it remained standing, abandoned, a silent testament to what horrors hid inside.

Sam never mentioned that night ever again, but one thing he knew for sure: The shadow in the window wasn't just any story. It was as real as anything else. And it was watching.

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Tonight, dare you look out of your window?