In the shadowed corners of the world, where the veil between our reality and the unknown is thinnest, lies a collection of tales that will chill the marrow in your bones. "Whispers Beyond the Veil," penned by the enigmatic Lady Eckland, invites read...
The old farmhouse creaked and groaned as Allison Morgan and Clara Mack made their way through the front door, their flashlights cutting through the inky darkness. Rotting floorboards sagged under their feet as they crept down the dusty hallway, cameras in hand.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Clara whispered, her eyes darting around nervously. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Allison nodded, swallowing down her own apprehension. This was their most daring challenge yet for their YouTube channel Urban Myths. Their viewers were hungry for more extreme content, pushing them further into uncharted territory. But even Allison had to admit this ritual gave her pause.
The Midnight Man. An entity said to torture and kill any who dared summon him. Some legends claimed he was a demon, others said a vengeful ghost. Those who survived till dawn awoke to find their bodies covered in bruises and scratches, inflicted by a malevolent unseen force.
Allison wanted to believe it was just a myth, but there was something undeniably eerie about this house. As they entered what was once the living room, Allison couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched.
“Let’s set up here,” she said, hoping she sounded braver than she felt. The decrepit room seemed frozen in time, furnished with cobweb-covered antiques that may have once felt welcoming and warm. Now everything from the moth-eaten sofa to the dusty piano radiated gloom, like the house itself was waiting with baited breath.
Clara placed candles on the floor as Allison checked her watch. 11:58 pm.
“You ready?” she asked. Clara nodded, holding up her camera.
With shaking hands, Allison lit the candles in a circle and set the last burning one in the center. The sisters cut their fingers and allowed their blood to drip onto the flame. Clara kept filming as Allison recited the words to summon the Midnight Man.
“Midnight Man, Midnight Man, come at your own free will. Midnight Man, Midnight Man, come if you are real.”
The last syllable had barely left her lips when Allison’s candle flickered out, plunging them into darkness. Clara gasped as an icy wind swept through the room, extinguishing the remaining candles.
The girls stood paralyzed. The air felt charged, like the calm before a storm. Clara’s camera focused on the melted wax where the ritual candle had burned just moments before.
“Guess the wind blew it out,” she said with a nervous laugh. But the windows were boarded up tight. Both knew there was no physical way a draft could have snuffed the flame.
Checking her watch again, Allison saw it was 12:01 am. “The game has begun,” she said ominously. “We have until 3:33 am to avoid the Midnight Man.”
