Deep in the heart of the countryside, there was a legend about a house that no one dared visit after dark. It was known as the Hollow Manor, a place that seemed to swallow light, sound, and even time itself. The house had been abandoned for decades, but it was said to be alive with something far older than anyone could remember—something that never let its visitors leave.
One evening, three friends—Tom, Claire, and Michael—decided to test their courage. They were skeptical of the local legends and eager for a thrill. Armed with flashlights and bravado, they drove up the winding path to the manor, arriving just as the sun dipped below the horizon. The house stood in silhouette, its dark windows like hollow eyes watching their every move.
"Just a house," Tom said with a shrug, but his voice wavered slightly.
As they approached the front door, it creaked open on its own. The inside was worse than they expected. Cold air wrapped around them like icy fingers, and the shadows seemed to crawl along the walls, twisting unnaturally.
They explored the downstairs, finding only dust-covered furniture and the remnants of a life long forgotten. But it wasn't until they reached the second floor that things began to change.
At the top of the staircase, Claire froze. She heard it first—a soft, distant whispering that echoed down the hallway. Michael turned pale, gripping his flashlight tighter. "Did you hear that?" he whispered.
They pressed on, their curiosity winning out over fear, following the sound down the hallway to a door at the very end. Unlike the rest of the house, this door was pristine, as if it had just been installed. Tom reached for the handle, but before he could turn it, the whispering stopped. The silence was so thick it felt like the house itself was holding its breath.
Suddenly, the door swung open on its own, revealing a small, dimly lit room. In the center of the room stood an old mirror, its surface covered in a layer of grime. As they stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind them, trapping them in complete darkness.
Tom's flashlight flickered and then went out. Claire tried to scream, but no sound came out. It was as if the air had been sucked from the room.
Then, slowly, the mirror began to clear, but instead of reflecting the room, it showed something else—an image of the three of them, standing in the room, but with something behind them. A figure, tall and gaunt, its face obscured by a shadow, loomed just out of sight.
They turned, but there was nothing there.
Suddenly, the figure in the mirror moved, stepping closer to their reflections. It reached out a hand, pressing it against the glass, and with a terrible, ear-piercing screech, the surface of the mirror shattered, sending shards flying in every direction.
When the dust settled, Claire, Tom, and Michael were gone. The house was silent once more.
Days later, when the police came looking for the missing friends, they found no trace of them—except for a new reflection in the mirror at the end of the hallway. Three faces, pale and terrified, stared out from the glass, their mouths open in silent screams
