The Whispering Shadows of Blackwood Manor

As Eleanor Carter's car sped to a stop at the edge of Blackwood Forest, torrents of rain fell relentlessly. The old manor loomed ahead, its jagged silhouette cutting through the stormy sky like a forgotten nightmare. She hadn’t planned on coming here—not after the stories, not after what had happened to her brother.

But the letter had changed everything.

*"Eleanor, if you’re reading this, I’ve already gone into the house. There’s something here—something that calls to us. Don’t follow me… unless you want the truth." *

The ink had been smudged, as if written in haste—or fear. And now, standing before the decaying gates of Blackwood Manor, Eleanor couldn’t shake the feeling that the house was watching her.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔

The front door groaned as she pushed it open, the scent of mildew and something metallic filling her nostrils. Her flashlight flickered, casting long, trembling shadows along the peeling wallpaper. The air was thick, almost suffocating, as if the walls themselves were inhaling.

Then she heard it—the whisper.

*"Eleanor…"*

Her breath hitched. It had sounded like her brother’s voice, but that was impossible. He had vanished inside this house three months ago. The police had found no trace of him—only his journal, filled with frantic scribbles about "the shadows that move when you’re not looking."

She stepped further inside, her boots sinking into the rotting floorboards. The whispers grew louder, overlapping in a chorus of voices—some pleading, some laughing, all wrong.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒓

A cold draft slithered down her spine as she entered the grand hall. The portraits on the walls were all defaced, their eyes scratched out. Except one.

A painting of a woman in a black dress, her gaze unnervingly lifelike. Eleanor’s pulse quickened as she realized—the woman’s eyes were following her.

Then the whispers stopped.

Silence.

A floorboard creaked behind her.

She spun around, her flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. Nothing. But the air grew heavier, pressing against her skin like unseen hands.

*"You shouldn’t have come back,"* a voice hissed—this time, right beside her ear.

Eleanor stumbled back, her heart hammering. The flashlight flickered again, and in that split second of darkness, she saw them—tall, shapeless figures standing at the edges of the room, their forms shifting like smoke.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

She ran, her breath ragged, down the hallway toward the only place she hadn’t checked—the basement. The door was slightly ajar, a sickly green light pulsing from within.

The stench hit her first—rotten flesh and something sweet, like decayed flowers. Then she saw them.

Bodies.

Dozens of them, strung up like grotesque puppets, their faces frozen in silent screams. And among them—her brother. His eyes were open, his lips sewn shut with black thread.

A shadow moved behind her.

Eleanor turned slowly, her blood turning to ice.

The woman from the painting stood before her, her mouth stretching into a smile too wide for a human face.

*"Welcome home,"* she whispered.

## "Another" is claimed by the House. The last thing Eleanor saw was the shadows lunging at her, their forms twisting into something monstrous. The flashlight shattered against the floor, plunging the room into darkness.

Outside, the storm raged on.

And Blackwood Manor stood silent once more—waiting for the next curious soul to step inside.

The next morning, the police found Eleanor’s car abandoned at the edge of the forest. The only clue? A single page from her journal, clutched in the hands of a decaying corpse near the manor’s gates.

It read:

*"The gloom is alive. And they're starving." *

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Would you dare step inside Blackwood Manor? Some say if you listen closely on stormy nights, you can still hear Eleanor whispering from the walls… begging for help. Or warning you to run.