𝙻𝚘𝚠 𝙻𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜

Chapter 8: The Haunting Apparitions

The gentle breeze blowing through the open window was a welcome respite from the hot, humid air of the day. I had just moved into this house that morning. As the sun set, casting an eerie orange glow through the window, I lay on the bed, engrossed in a book by Rabindranath Tagore. Suddenly, the window flew open. Startled, my heart raced, and I stared at the window for a moment before cautiously getting out of bed to close it.

I sat back down, attempting to resume reading, but the unsettling feeling lingered. Unable to shake off the unease, I went downstairs to talk to the watchman.

The watchman was at the gate, dozing. I woke him up and recounted what had happened. He dismissively shook his head, muttering, "It's just the wind, nothing to worry about."

I didn't buy his explanation. The feeling that something was wrong with this house persisted since I moved in. The watchman shared that he had been working here for two decades and hinted at a dark history. Many had come and gone, some stayed briefly, and others met their demise within these walls.

"Why did they leave? What's wrong with this place?" I inquired, but the watchman remained tight-lipped, only dubbing it a "bad house."

Back upstairs, I tried to ignore the unsettling incident, but my mind couldn't let it go. Later that night, while lying in bed, attempting to sleep, I heard an eerie noise-footsteps on the roof. I sat up, heart pounding, the sound echoing through the silence of the night.

Fear gripped me; I wanted to escape, but I was paralyzed. The footsteps ceased, but I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

Then, in the dim light, a shadowy figure appeared at the foot of my bed. A hideous face with vacant eyes stared back at me-a boy, his features twisted into a grotesque visage. I couldn't move; terror froze me in place as the figure advanced slowly.

My heart raced, the air grew thick, and the room chilled. The boy's unearthly whispers filled the space. In a panic, I stumbled backward, tripping over a chair. As I desperately tried to regain my footing, the boy vanished.

Terrified, I made my way downstairs to escape, but the stairs seemed to stretch endlessly. The air grew heavier, and an oppressive darkness enveloped me. Suddenly, the ugly-faced boy reappeared at the top of the stairs, his malevolent gaze fixed upon me.

I fainted on the stairs, overcome by a paralyzing fear. In the morning, I awoke, disoriented, and covered in a cold sweat. The memories of the night's horrors flooded back. Determined to leave this accursed place, I hastily packed my belongings.

As I left the house, I heard whispers among the neighbours that the watchman had passed away. The same watchman who had kept silent about the house's dark secrets. The horror of that night still lingered, and the spectre of the ugly-faced boy haunted my nightmares for weeks to come. The house, now devoid of life, stood as a silent sentinel to the malevolent forces that dwelled within its walls....
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~ The End ~