My name is Angela, and I have a story to tell you. It’s a story of terror, one that I will never forget for as long as I live. It all started when I moved into my new house in the countryside. It was an old, Victorian mansion, with creaky floorboards and drafty windows. I was excited to start my new life there, but little did I know what horrors awaited me.
At first, everything seemed normal. I spent my days exploring the sprawling grounds and getting to know the locals. They were friendly enough, but there was always something off about them. They would whisper amongst themselves when they thought I wasn’t listening, and their eyes held a strange, almost malevolent glint.
It wasn’t long before strange things started happening in the house. Doors would slam shut on their own, and I would hear footsteps in the hallway when no one else was home. At night, I would wake up to find my bedroom door open, even though I had locked it before going to sleep.
At first, I tried to brush it off as my imagination playing tricks on me. But as the weeks went on, the occurrences became more frequent and more terrifying. One night, I woke up to find a dark figure standing at the foot of my bed. It was shrouded in shadow, and I couldn’t make out any features, but I could feel its malevolent presence looming over me.
I tried to scream, but my voice was caught in my throat. I was paralyzed with fear, unable to move or even breathe. The figure just stood there for what felt like an eternity, before finally dissipating into the darkness.
After that night, I knew that I had to do something. I started researching the history of the house, and what I found chilled me to the bone. It turned out that the house had been built on the site of an old asylum, where countless patients had suffered and died under horrific conditions.
As I delved deeper into the history of the house, I began to uncover more and more secrets. There had been rumors of satanic rituals being conducted on the grounds, and of a mysterious cult that still operated in the area to this day.
I knew that I had to leave the house, but every time I tried to pack my bags and go, something would happen to stop me. My car would break down, or the roads would be blocked, or some other strange and inexplicable obstacle would arise.
Eventually, I realized that I was trapped. The house had claimed me as its own, and I was powerless to escape its grasp. Every night, I would lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old mansion, and wondering when the next terror would strike.
And so, I remain here, alone and terrified, trapped in this house of horrors. If you ever come across my story, I urge you to stay away from that cursed place. For once it has claimed you, there is no escape.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. I had given up all hope of ever leaving that accursed house. But then, something happened that changed everything.
It was a dark and stormy night, and I was huddled in my bed, trying to ignore the sounds of the wind howling outside. But then, I heard something else - a faint scratching sound, coming from the walls.
At first, I thought it was just the wind rattling the old shutters. But the scratching continued, growing louder and more insistent. And then, I heard something else - a low, guttural growling sound.
I knew then that I was not alone in the house. There was something else there with me, something that was not of this world.
I tried to call for help, but my phone was dead, and the landline had been cut off. I was completely cut off from the outside world, and I knew that I was in grave danger.
I could hear the scratching and growling getting closer, and I knew that I had to act fast. I grabbed a flashlight and made my way down to the basement, where I had heard the sounds coming from.
The basement was dark and musty, with cobwebs clinging to the walls. But as I shone my flashlight around, I saw something that made my blood run cold.
There, in the corner of the room, was a small, trembling figure. It was a child, no more than six years old, with matted hair and ragged clothing. But there was something off about the child, something that made me feel like I was looking at a creature from another world.
Before I could react, the child began to speak. Its voice was low and raspy, and it spoke in a language that I couldn’t understand. But its message was clear - it was here to claim me, to take me away to some other realm of existence.
I tried to run, but the child grabbed onto my leg, its grip surprisingly strong. I kicked and screamed, but it was no use. The child was dragging me towards some unknown fate, and I knew that I was powerless to stop it.
But then, something miraculous happened. The child suddenly released its grip, and disappeared into thin air. I was left alone in the basement, shaken but unharmed.
I made my way back up to the main floor of the house, and I knew that I had to leave. I packed my bags and fled, never looking back.
To this day, I don’t know what happened in that house, or what the child was trying to do. But I do know one thing - I will never forget the terror that I experienced there, and I will never set foot in that house again.
After leaving the house, I realized that I had been changed by my experiences there. I was plagued by nightmares, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was following me, watching me from the shadows.
In an effort to move on from the trauma, I sought out therapy and support groups. I told my story to anyone who would listen, hoping that it would help me come to terms with what had happened.
But no matter how much I talked about it, the memories of that house haunted me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had left something behind, something that was still lurking in the shadows, waiting to claim me once again.
Years went by, and I tried my best to move on. But then, one day, I received a letter in the mail. It was from the current owner of the house - they had found something in the basement, something that they thought belonged to me.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I went back to the house. As soon as I stepped through the door, I knew that I had made a mistake. The air was thick with the same malevolent energy that I had felt all those years ago.
I made my way down to the basement, my heart pounding in my chest. And there, in the corner of the room, was the object that the owner had found - a small, wooden box.
I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I wanted to open it. But then, something compelled me to do so. And as I lifted the lid, I felt a cold breeze wash over me.
Inside the box was a single, faded photograph. It was a picture of a group of people, standing outside the house. But there was something off about the picture - the people in it were all distorted and blurred, as if they were moving too quickly to be captured by the camera.
And then, I saw something else - a figure in the background, standing in the shadows. It was the same dark figure that had haunted me all those years ago, the one that had stood at the foot of my bed and watched me as I slept.
I knew then that I had made a mistake by coming back to the house. I grabbed the box and ran, fleeing from the haunted mansion as fast as I could.
As I drove away, I knew that I had finally put the past behind me. But the memories of that house, and the horrors that I had experienced there, would stay with me for the rest of my life.