This Strange Old House
The old timbers of Blackwood Manor groaned under the weight of over a century of secrets. Inside, two contractors, a young man named Matt and his grizzled veteran boss, John, were wrestling with a stubborn floorboard.
"This place," John grunted, wiping sweat from his brow, "is fighting us every step of the way."
Suddenly, the air grew cold, and the sound of a woman weeping, faint and mournful, echoed from the empty hallway.
"Did you hear that?" Matt whispered, his hammer held aloft.
"Just the wind," John scoffed, though his own hands had stilled. The weeping grew louder, closer, and the temperature plummeted further. The floorboards around them began to creak, not from their weight, but as if an invisible presence were pacing in a circle around them. A child’s toy, a small porcelain doll, slid from beneath a dust-sheeted cabinet, its unblinking eyes fixed on them.
A disembodied whisper, sharp and chilling, cut through the silence. "You don't belong here!"
John didn't wait to argue. He dropped his hammer, grabbed his toolbox, and bolted for the door, yelling at Matt to follow. They didn't stop running until they were back in their truck, the sound of the manor’s front door slamming shut behind them echoing in the sudden silence of the afternoon.
Related Characters
Comments