The Forgotten Room

Ava Morgan never believed in ghosts. At least, not until she moved into the old Ashwood Manor.

It wasn’t her first choice of a home, but the price was too good to pass up. A grand Victorian house on the outskirts of town, with creaky floors and a history no one wanted to talk about.

On her first night, she heard it—a soft creak down the hall. At first, she blamed the old wood settling, but then she heard it again. A whisper of movement. A door clicking shut.

Her heart pounded as she stepped into the hallway, clutching her phone as a makeshift weapon. But every door was closed, just as she had left them.

She shook it off. It’s just my imagination.

But then she found it.

A door she hadn’t noticed before, at the end of the hall.

Something about it sent a chill down her spine. The paint was different, the knob older than the others. Had she really missed it before?

She reached out, turned the knob, and pushed it open.

Inside, the room was small and dust-covered, with nothing but an old rocking chair and a wooden box in the center of the floor. A cold breeze rushed past her, making the hair on her arms rise.

She hesitated, then knelt to open the box.

Inside were letters. Dozens of them, yellowed with age. She picked one up and read the first few lines.

"To whoever finds this, I need you to listen. My name is Eleanor Ashwood, and I was murdered in this house."

Ava’s breath caught.

She flipped through the letters—each one detailed Eleanor’s life in the house, her fears, and the man she suspected wanted her dead. The final letter, dated October 12, 1921, ended with:

"He’s coming. I hear him outside the door. If I don’t make it out, please don’t let my story die with me."

Ava’s blood ran cold.

A loud creak behind her made her spin around.

The door… was closing.

And in the dim light, she saw it—a shadow moving in the hallway.

The same hallway where, decades ago, Eleanor Ashwood had taken her final breath.

And now, Ava wasn’t sure if she was next.

The Investigation Begins

Ava stumbled backward, clutching the letter in her trembling hands. She wanted to believe this was just some old ghost story, a trick of the mind—but deep down, she knew better.

She rushed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Heart racing, she grabbed her laptop and started searching for any mention of Eleanor Ashwood.

The results shocked her.

Eleanor Ashwood had lived in the house until her mysterious disappearance in 1921. Her case remained unsolved, her body never found. Rumors spread that she had run away, but others whispered that something darker had happened.

Ava’s pulse pounded as she stared at the screen. If Eleanor’s body was never found, then what had really happened?

A sudden thud made her jump.

The sound came from the forgotten room.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the door again. Slowly, she turned the knob, peering inside. The box of letters was still there, but something was different.

A new letter sat on top of the pile. One that hadn’t been there before.

With shaking hands, she picked it up. The ink looked fresh, the paper unstained by time.

"You’re closer than you think. Don’t stop now."

Ava’s breath hitched.

Someone—or something—was guiding her.

And she wasn’t going to stop until she found out the truth.