Standing in front of an old mirror, the fear of the unknown begins.
Behind the reflection, a presence is seen that has not been called.
Silence, darkness, and distorted laughter combine to create the horror of the last night.

Ceiling Drip

Cold water dripped onto my face. I looked up and realized it wasn’t water—it was her hair, soaking the ceiling above me.

Under the Stairs

Dust drifted as something shifted beneath the stairs. When I knelt to look, black eyes stared back, already knowing I would.

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👉 This face is not human...

Her mouth opened beside my ear. No sound came out, yet my name formed inside my head, syllable by syllable, like it was being carved.

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The Door That Breathes

The bedroom door swelled inward, then relaxed, like lungs pulling air. Fingertips pressed through the wood from the other side, leaving dents that slowly faded—never fully gone.

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The Quiet Song

Night-time French Quarter alley with wet cobblestones; a shuttered vintage coffee shop; an old man in shadow playing a trumpet; a young woman holding a phone with a faint livestream chat overlay; a wall of aged Polaroids.
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