Shadows of Blackwood Mansion

The eerie silence in Blackwood Mansion had always sent shivers down Ethan's spine. He had braced himself for this moment, mentally preparing for the possibility of encountering something paranormal. Yet, the faint hope of escaping unscathed lingered in his mind. Maybe, he thought, they could slip in, take a quick look, and leave without incident. But as the icy air pressed down on them, those thoughts evaporated in an instant.

Ethan stood frozen, wide-eyed, staring at the spectral figure of the woman before him. Her face wasn't gruesome like in the horror films. Instead, it was deathly pale, her hollow gaze fixed on him. The dim, flickering lights reflected off her gaunt figure, making her more terrifying than any cinematic portrayal of a ghost. This wasn't fiction—this was real.

Sophia, trembling violently beside him, seemed equally paralyzed by the sight. She tried to move, but her limbs felt weighted as if they were filled with lead. Even breathing became difficult, each exhalation visible as a cloud of cold mist. "E-Ethan..." she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible as fear seized her.

Her whisper snapped Ethan out of his trance. He couldn't let Sophia succumb to whatever malevolent force haunted this place. With a shaky breath, he fumbled for the yellow talisman in his jacket pocket. His heart raced as he clutched it tightly. With a surge of desperation, he charged toward the ghost, brandishing the talisman like a weapon.

"My master is Liam Blackwood! Who dares challenge me?" he shouted, hoping to instill fear in the apparition. The boldness of his voice startled even him.

For a brief moment, the ghost hesitated, her cold expression faltering. Was it his voice? His sudden bravado? Ethan didn't know, but he seized the opportunity. Before he could second-guess himself, he lunged toward the spirit, face twisted in defiance, talisman raised high. The ghost wavered, flickering as if caught in a gust of wind before vanishing into thin air.

Ethan didn't waste a second. He grabbed Sophia's hand and pulled her toward the door. "Come on, we're leaving!" he shouted, the adrenaline fueling his frantic pace.

Sophia stumbled, her camera jostling in her grasp, but managed to keep up with Ethan. The two of them bolted down the hallway, their footsteps echoing against the dilapidated walls of Blackwood Mansion. Panic clouded Sophia's thoughts. "My flashlight—it's back in that room!" she gasped, but the thought of going back was out of the question. The terror of what they had just seen outweighed any need for light.

They rushed onward, their heavy breaths filling the air. Ethan's mind raced, trying to remember the layout of the mansion. Where were the stairs? They had to get out before the ghost returned. But just as hope flickered in his chest, they rounded a corner and froze. There, standing in the faint glow from an unseen source, was the ghost once more. Her pale figure blocked their path, the very sight of her sending chills down Ethan's spine.

"It's her!" Sophia screamed, the raw terror in her voice piercing through the silence. She turned and bolted in the opposite direction, pulling Ethan with her.

Ethan's instincts screamed at him to follow her lead. One thing he knew from his childhood scuffles—never give your back to the enemy, even if it's a ghost. But Sophia was already dragging him, her fear giving her superhuman strength. As they ran, a noose suddenly appeared out of nowhere, glowing faintly with a ghostly light, swinging in their path.

"Sophia! Stop! It's a trap!" Ethan shouted, yanking her backward. But Sophia, blinded by fear, was too far gone to heed his warning. She ran straight into the noose, and in an instant, it tightened around her neck, yanking her off the ground.

"Dammit!" Ethan cursed, his mind scrambling for a solution. He had to act fast—Sophia's legs were kicking weakly, her breath strangled by the noose's grip. Panic surged through him, and his mind flitted to something he had read online: the tip of the tongue holds powerful energy, strong enough to repel spirits.

With no time to think, Ethan bit down hard on his tongue, the sharp pain shooting through his body. His mouth filled with blood, but he spat it upward, aiming at the glowing noose above Sophia's head. To his shock, it worked. The rope sizzled, the stench of decay filling the air, and the ghostly noose slackened, dropping Sophia and Ethan to the ground.

Ethan wasted no time. He grabbed Sophia, pulling her free from the noose's remnants and down a hidden staircase they had failed to find earlier. They tumbled down the steps, landing hard at the bottom, bruised and battered. Ethan's vision blurred, his head pounding from the impact. His consciousness faded as Sophia's desperate cries echoed in his ears.

When he came to, everything was different. The musty air of the mansion was gone, replaced by the sterile, cool environment of what seemed like an ambulance. The soft hum of an engine and the distant chanting of a prayer filled his ears. Ethan blinked, trying to focus as his chest burned with the effort to breathe.

In front of him, a young officer—Officer James Carter—stood shaking like a leaf. His wide eyes locked onto Ethan, filled with terror. "You... you're alive?" the officer stammered. But before Ethan could respond, the man's eyes rolled back, and he fainted, collapsing in a heap.

Ethan's head pounded as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. He wasn't in the mansion anymore, but in a modified van, hurtling down a dimly lit road. A sickly yellow light from the streetlamps filtered through the windows, casting eerie shadows. Panic surged through him again. Where was Sophia? What had happened to them?

"Hey! Stop the van! Where are you taking us?" Ethan shouted, staggering to his feet.

The chanting in the front of the vehicle stopped abruptly, replaced by the sound of tires screeching as the van came to a jarring halt. Ethan flew backward, slamming into the metal walls of the van. Groaning, he pushed himself up just as the back door flung open. A figure appeared in the doorway, backlit by the dull glow of a streetlamp.

"Get out," a cold voice commanded.

Ethan blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light. The figure was a young man, about his age, with a cigarette dangling from his lips. His pale skin had a ghostly sheen, and his dark eyes gleamed unsettlingly in the light. A frayed baseball cap sat low on his brow, and a sneer tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Who... who are you?" Ethan asked, his voice shaky.

The man exhaled a plume of smoke, unimpressed by the question. "Nathan Graves," he replied coolly. "You're lucky to be alive."

Ethan jumped down from the van, glancing at the vehicle for the first time. It was an old hearse, its black paint peeling, and the faint smell of incense still lingering in the air. He turned to see Sophia, still unconscious on a makeshift bed inside the hearse, her chest rising and falling faintly. Relief flooded through him—she was alive.

"What the hell happened to us?" Ethan demanded.

Nathan raised an eyebrow, taking another drag from his cigarette. "You and your friend were found unconscious in Blackwood Mansion. When the police arrived, you were both presumed dead. Hospital's too small for a morgue, so they called us to transport you to the mortuary. Then you woke up."

Ethan felt his stomach churn at the casual way Nathan described the ordeal. It was absurd—being mistaken for dead, carted off in a hearse, and then just waking up. Yet the calm demeanor of Nathan made it even more surreal.

"You're telling me... we were declared dead?" Ethan muttered, still processing the information. He glanced back at Sophia. Could she have just been unconscious like him? Or was there something darker at play?

Nathan chuckled softly. "Welcome to the afterlife, mate. You're lucky. Most people don't get a second chance." He flicked his cigarette away and stepped forward, his expression darkening. "But I'd be careful if I were you. The dead don't like it when people come back."