Jacob had moved into the old Victorian house on Maple Street just six months ago. It had been abandoned for years, its last occupant, an old woman named Mrs. Wexley, had died under mysterious circumstances in the Room 313. The townsfolk whispered of curses and spirits trapped within its walls, but Jacob, a pragmatic software engineer, dismissed these as mere superstitions. However, tonight, he couldn’t ignore the chills creeping down his spine.
Jacob glanced at the clock—it was almost midnight, the same time Mrs. Wexley had reportedly died. He had found an old journal in the attic that belonged to her, detailing a ritual she claimed allowed her to speak with her late husband. Curiosity had gotten the better of Jacob, and he decided to recreate the ritual detailed in the journal.
One minute to midnight.
He sat at the ancient oak desk in what used to be Mrs. Wexley’s study—Room 313. The air felt unnaturally cold as he lit the candles positioned in a circle around him, the flickering flames casting evil shadows on the walls.
30 seconds.
He opened the journal to the marked page and cleared his throat, ready to recite the incantation. The room grew colder, a shiver running through his body.
10 seconds.
Midnight Conversations
Midnight struck, and the candle flames turned blue, casting a ghostly glow. Jacob felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as a faint ringing filled the room. It came from the old rotary phone on the desk—one he had never seen working.
“Hello?” Jacob’s voice trembled as he answered.
“Is it you, Harold?” A woman’s voice, fragile and distant, echoed through the receiver.
“No, my name is Jacob. I’m… I live here now,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Harold used to say the living should not meddle with echoes of the past,” the voice continued, a note of sadness in her tone. “Why did you call me, young man?”
Jacob swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, I was just curious. Mrs. Wexley, is there anything you wish to tell someone? Anything unfinished?”
A pause. Then, a whisper, “The shadows took Harold from me. He was trying to protect me. They never leave, you know. They’re listening now.”
Jacob’s eyes darted around the dimly lit room, the shadows seeming to swirl and dance on the walls. “Who are they?” he asked, a knot forming in his stomach.
“Those that dwell between the ticks of the clock. They hunger for the living. You shouldn’t have called, young man.”
Suddenly, a loud crash came from downstairs. Jacob jumped, his heart racing. “What was that? Mrs. Wexley, what should I do?”
The Shadows Stir
“The shadows are restless. They know you now. You must—”
The line went dead, plunging the room back into silence. Jacob stood up, his hands trembling, and blew out the candles. He should have listened to the townsfolk, should have respected the whispered warnings.
As he turned to leave, the temperature in the room dropped further, his breath visible in the air. The shadows seemed to close in around him, and a faint whisper echoed through the room, “Never alone…”
Jacob bolted from the room, the echo of Mrs. Wexley’s last words chilling him to the bone. He knew then that the house would never truly be his, haunted by past whispers and restless shadows that lurked in the corners of his vision. The mystery of Room 313 remained, a cold reminder of the thin veil between the living and the echoes of the dead.
Do not miss The Cursed Tree Door: Secrets of the Sinister Woods
Find more twisted stories and creepy tales, send us YOUR CREEPY STORIES, or join the Bonfire Discord Community to find more Horror geeks to discuss.
-
Creepy Meter | How Creepy it was?
