The Haunting at Blackwood Mansion

The moonless night was thick with tension as we drove towards Blackwood Mansion, an infamous place known for eerie occurrences. My hands trembled as I sat in the passenger seat of a hearse, driven by Ethan Blackwood, a man who seemed almost too comfortable with the macabre. Ethan, with his cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, drove in silence while strange, chant-like music played from the car speakers. The atmosphere was nothing short of unsettling, but it wasn't just the music or the mansion that had me on edge.

I glanced down at myself, feeling ridiculous in my get-up. I had soaked one of my dad's old shirts in a concoction of salt and red ink, turning it into a makeshift protection charm. My head was adorned with a bright red baseball cap, the sides of which had talismans taped to them, hanging like bizarre tassels. If that wasn't enough, I had tucked even more talismans into my belt for extra protection. Ethan had insisted that my wardrobe should scream "don't mess with me," though it was more "don't look at me" at this point.

Ethan caught my uneasy silence and snorted, "You look like you're about to rob a spirit, not face one. Lighten up, man."

I couldn't even respond; my eyes burned like they were on fire. Earlier, Ethan had convinced me to let him apply some "special spirit-seeing drops" to my eyes. The moment the liquid hit my eyes, it was as if I had rubbed them with chili peppers. "You said I'd see ghosts, not go blind!" I had shouted at him, but Ethan just waved me off, claiming it would work. Now, tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision to the point that even if there was a ghost in front of me, I wouldn't have seen it.

We arrived at Blackwood Mansion, its looming structure bathed in moonlight, casting sinister shadows over the grounds. Ethan parked the hearse, turned off the eerie music, and stepped out, pulling me with him. The moment we approached the mansion's gates, a gust of icy wind whipped past us, sending chills down my spine. Strangely, the cold air soothed the burning in my eyes, and my vision started to clear.

The mansion seemed different, more alive somehow, as though its shadows moved with intent. The wind was no longer just a breeze but something more conscious, like a presence watching us. I tried to convince myself it was just my overactive imagination.

"You only put that spirit-seeing stuff on me. Why didn't you use it?" I asked, desperate for a distraction from the ominous aura of the mansion.

Ethan chuckled. "Didn't I tell you? I've got a natural third eye. Born with it."

I had read about the so-called "third eye" in paranormal forums, but hearing it from Ethan made it seem real and far more terrifying. Before I could press further, Ethan led me toward the mansion's entrance. The massive doors groaned as we pushed them open, revealing the decaying grandeur of the once-beautiful estate.

The place felt heavy, like the air was thick with something other than dust. As we cautiously explored the lower floors, I couldn't help but whisper, "Maybe the ghosts took the night off? We could come back tomorrow, right?"

Ethan smirked, shaking his head. "We haven't checked upstairs yet. That's where the real action happened."

Reluctantly, I followed him up the creaky staircase. Every step I took felt like it echoed louder than the last, the groaning wood beneath us adding to the tension. Despite my rising panic, I knew Ethan was right. If I wanted to succeed as the host of The Friday Phantom, I couldn't keep running from haunted places. I needed to toughen up. I squared my shoulders and steeled my nerves. For the sake of my job and my future, I had to face whatever was in this house.

"You know, Ethan," I said, trying to pump myself up, "you're right. I need to stop being scared. No one's here to watch me fail, so I might as well embrace it. If something's in here, I'll face it."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "You've got more guts than I thought, mate. Lead the way."

Emboldened, I grabbed a peach wood stick from my satchel—one of the few items said to repel spirits—and marched forward, shouting, "Come out and face me!"

Nothing happened. There were no creaks, no sudden chills, just silence. I began to relax, thinking perhaps this night would end peacefully after all. But as we reached the landing of the second floor, my courage began to wane. The air felt different up here—heavier, colder. Every instinct I had screamed to turn back, but I pushed forward, Ethan close behind.

We approached a door at the end of the hallway. Ethan pulled out a small, golden amulet from his bag and nodded for me to step aside. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a white candle, lighting it to cast a dim glow in the darkened room. He reached for the drawer of a dusty dressing table, the very place where, according to the rumors, a vengeful spirit would appear.

I stayed back, holding my breath as Ethan tugged the drawer open. It let out a long, eerie creak, but when we looked inside, there was nothing—just dust.

"Guess the ghost didn't get the memo," Ethan muttered, slamming the drawer shut. The loud noise startled me, and just as I was about to relax, there was another sound—a faint thud from the bed behind us.

I spun around, squinting through the dim light. Something, or someone, was under the bed.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I waved my stick towards the bed. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

Ethan rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by my dramatic display. "You're not going to scare a ghost like that," he scoffed, pushing me aside to check the bed. But as he reached the bed frame, the noise grew louder—a deep, rumbling thud followed by a piercing scream.

Before I could react, a figure bolted out from under the bed—a woman. She screamed at the top of her lungs, "There's a ghost!" In her panic, she grabbed a cheap toy water gun and started spraying me with what I could only assume was some kind of protective liquid. Black water sprayed across my face, drenching me.

I froze, utterly confused. Ghosts didn't use water guns, right? And then, just as my mind was trying to catch up, two more people burst out from the shadows, one from behind a curtain and another from a wardrobe, both armed with identical water guns. They sprayed me with more black liquid as they shouted incoherently.

"What the hell is happening?" I finally managed to shout.

Ethan had disappeared—probably to laugh at me somewhere. The three figures in front of me, meanwhile, continued their assault with water guns. Finally, one of the guys with a water gun stopped and squinted at me. "Wait, guys! He's not a ghost. Look at his shadow!"

The others stopped and turned toward me, finally noticing the long shadow I cast from the candlelight. The woman, a short girl with large glasses that reflected the candlelight, slowly lowered her water gun, looking embarrassed. "Oops."

"Oops?!" I barked, furious. "You just sprayed me with—what is this, dog's blood?!"

One of the men, a tall guy with messy hair, stepped forward sheepishly. "Uh… it's black dog's blood. We thought you were… you know… a ghost."

I blinked, stunned at their idiocy. These people were ghost hunters? "Who the hell are you guys? And what are you doing here?"

The girl puffed up her chest, her confidence returning. "We're your fans! We know you—you're Ethan Collins, from The Friday Phantom!"

For a moment, I didn't know whether to laugh or scream.