The Forgotten House

 

The Forgotten House

There was a house at the end of Black Hollow Road, a house that nobody would approach. It stood vacant for decades, its windows glazing blankly like empty eyes, its walls whispering with the echoes of the past. They said anyone who ventured in never came out the same—if they came back at all.

Amy and her friends, Jenna and Mark, were explorers. They were not daunted by myths. On a cold October night, they had gone into the house, armed with flashlights and brashness. "It's only an old, rotten building," Amy mocked as they opened the door, which groaned like a dying creature.

Inside, there was stale air, thick with dust and something more—something vile. The house seemed to awaken around them, its wooden floors creaking under their feet as if it were emerging from a long slumber.

They separated, going into different rooms. Jenna went into what was once a bedroom for a child. A wooden rocking horse sat in the corner, immobile but strangely watching her. The walls were covered with scribbles—faded crayon marks of stick figures with blank eyes and pointed smiles. "Guys, you gotta see this," she yelled…….

In the hallway, Mark looked at a staircase to the basement. A gust carried a whisper by his ear—soft, insistent. It sounded like the voice of his mother. She had died five years before.

"Come down, sweetheart," the whisper enticed.

Against his better judgment, Mark descended, flashlight trembling in his hand. At the bottom, the light flashed, and he noticed a heap of old dolls, their glassy eyes shattered, their smiles askew. In the dim light, something moved—a shadow that was not his.

Amy noticed a mirror on the wall upstairs, its surface rippling like water. When she drew near, her own reflection did not move. It smiled, first. Then, it spoke in a whisper, "You shouldn't have come."

The door slammed hard and shut. Jenna screamed. Mark sped up from the basement, his face ashen. "We have to go. Now!"

Amy turned around, but her reflection did not. It remained, grinning grotesquely as if something else had taken its place.

The house groaned, the walls exhaling in an unhuman cadence. Shadows lengthened in unnatural ways, ripping at their heels. The air grew heavy with a sickening laugh—a child's, but not of this earth.

They tried to run for the front door, but it would not budge. A heavy, guttural voice pulsed from the walls. "Stay. Play with us.".

The rocking horse in the bedroom creaked back and forth by itself. The basement door swung open and the dolls came crawling out, their stiff, unnatural movements toward them.

Amy screamed as cold, skeletal hands wrapped around her wrists, dragging her toward the mirror. She watched her reflection ahead of her, safe on the other side.

"No!" she shrieked, struggling, but the hands drug her in.

The next moment, the house was still. The door creaked open, and Mark and Jenna rolled out onto the lawn, gasping. They glanced over their shoulders—but Amy was gone.

The house stayed still, dark, as if nothing happened. Only the mirror inside her retained her reflection, frozen, shrieking silently.

A week passed, and the house lay empty again. Waiting.

And Amy's reflection? She was still there, smiling.