I moved into the old Victorian house on Elm Street in October. It had been abandoned for years, but a real estate company had recently restored it to its former glory, and as a broke college student, the rent was too good to pass up. Even though the house had a history of strange occurrences, I’m a firm believer in logic and reason. I thought I could handle it. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
The first few weeks were uneventful, just like any other house. There were the usual creaks and groans of an old building, but nothing that sent chills down my spine. But then, the dreams started. I’d dream of a tall, shadowy figure standing at the foot of my bed, staring at me with piercing red eyes. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding, but nothing would be there.
The dreams became more frequent, and I noticed strange occurrences around the house. Objects would be moved or disappear altogether, only to reappear in the most unlikely places. I’d hear footsteps on the stairs, whispers in the night, and sometimes, a low, guttural growl that seemed to come from the walls themselves.
I tried to convince myself it was just my overactive imagination playing tricks on me. But one night, after staying up late studying, I saw it. A dark figure standing in the hallway, staring at me with those same red eyes from my dreams. It disappeared as soon as I turned on the lights, leaving me to question my sanity.
But I couldn’t ignore the evidence any longer. Something was in the house with me, and it wasn’t friendly. I decided to do some research, digging through old newspapers and town records, desperate for an explanation. That’s when I found the story of Benjamin Hawthorne.
Benjamin was a doctor who had lived in the house in the late 1800s. He was accused of using his patients for gruesome experiments, trying to unlock the secrets of life and death. He claimed he had made contact with a being from another plane of existence, one that fed on human fear. When the townspeople found out, they stormed his house and hanged him from the oak tree in the front yard.
Now, over a century later, it seemed Benjamin’s dark legacy was far from over. But I couldn’t just move out – I had no money and nowhere else to go. So I tried to ignore the malevolent presence in my home. I’d stay up late with the lights on, drowning out the whispers with loud music. But the dreams persisted, and the apparition continued to haunt me.
The night that changed everything started like any other. I was lying in bed, trying to sleep despite the icy feeling of dread that had settled in my chest. As I started to drift off, I suddenly felt a weight on my chest, as if someone was sitting on me. I opened my eyes, and there it was: the shadowy figure, its red eyes mere inches from my face.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. I felt the life being drained from me as the figure’s cold, invisible hands tightened around my throat. In a last, desperate attempt, I managed to whisper, “Benjamin Hawthorne, I command you to leave this place!”
And just like that, the figure vanished. I gasped for air, my heart pounding in my ears. The room felt lighter, as if a dark cloud had been lifted. I never saw the figure again, but I’ll never forget the terror it inspired in me.
So here I am, sharing my story with you. I don’t know if the being was truly Benjamin Hawthorne, or something even more sinister. But one thing is certain: the entity that haunted that house on Elm Street fed on fear, and I was its unwilling prey. I’ve since moved to a new place, and my life has returned to normal. But the memories of that house still haunt me.
If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, remember my story. Speak the name of the one who brought the darkness, and maybe, just maybe, you can banish the evil that lurks within the shadows. But be warned: some things are better left undisturbed, and there are forces in this world we may never truly understand.
As for the old Victorian house on Elm Street, it remains empty to this day. The real estate company never managed to find a new tenant, and rumors of its haunted past continue to circulate. I sometimes drive by it, unable to shake the feeling that the red-eyed figure is still there, waiting for its next victim.
But one thing is for sure: I’ll never set foot in that house again. The terror I experienced was too real, too vivid to be the product of an overactive imagination. And now, by sharing my story with you, I hope I’ve made you more cautious of the unseen dangers that may lurk in the shadows of our world.