Chapter 334

Sofia had always been a quiet girl, the kind who would sit in corners of rooms, reading thick books in the dim light, her gaze often lost in the words. But lately, her attention had been drawn to something else. Something that wasn't there, but always was. Something that had been a shadow in her life for weeks now. It had started with the strange dreams.

The first one had been small. She could barely remember the details, but she knew it had felt different. The second, however, was clear. She was in a large room, a room she had never seen before. Cold, hollow.

The air was thick with something she couldn't name. There was a man standing in the corner, watching her with eyes that burned with some deep, ancient sorrow. His face was pale, as if he had been dead for a long time. His mouth was stretched thin, like he was trying to speak but couldn't.

Sofia woke up with a start, her breath shallow. Her body was drenched in sweat, but the room felt as cold as the one in her dream. She was alone, but the sense of being watched lingered. Her pulse hammered in her chest. She had never been so unsettled.

In the days that followed, it only grew worse. She began to feel the man's presence when she was awake. His gaze would settle on her when she passed by a mirror. She would catch a glimpse of his reflection, always in the corner, his face hidden beneath the hood of his long, dark coat.

His presence pressed down on her, suffocating, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. The cold would hit her unexpectedly, a sudden chill that spread through her bones and left her shivering uncontrollably.

She tried to ignore it at first. She told herself it was just her imagination, that it was the stress of exams, the pressure of her life pulling her apart. But it didn't stop. It couldn't. It was like something was getting closer, creeping into her every waking moment.

Sofia lived in a small house in the Swedish countryside, tucked between the woods and the lake. The house was old, the kind with creaky floors and faded wallpaper. She had lived there all her life with her mother, but her mother had been distant for months now.

She was always in her room, mumbling to herself, her face pale and sunken. Sofia's father had died when she was little, and her mother had never been the same since.

One evening, after another sleepless night, Sofia sat at the kitchen table, staring at the mug of lukewarm tea in front of her. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional rattle of the old house settling. It was then that she heard the knock.

It was faint, but it was there. A single, sharp knock at the door. Sofia froze, her heart racing. She wasn't expecting anyone. The knocking came again, louder this time. She slowly rose from the table, her legs unsteady. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she walked toward the door. She opened it, but no one was there.

Just the cold.

A gust of wind blew through the doorway, and Sofia stepped back, her mind racing. She could feel it again—the presence. She turned to look down the narrow path that led to the woods, but there was nothing.

Yet she knew. She knew that something was out there, waiting.

That night, the dream returned. This time, the man spoke. His voice was rough, like he hadn't used it in years, like he hadn't spoken in centuries. His words were muffled at first, but soon they became clearer.

"Help me," he said.

Sofia woke up, her heart pounding, her body shaking. But this time, she didn't feel alone. She felt him in the room, his cold presence wrapping around her like a shroud. She could almost hear him, could almost see him.

She turned her head slowly, her eyes searching the dark corners of the room, but there was nothing. Only the shadows, empty and silent.

The next morning, Sofia found herself standing in front of the attic door, a place she had avoided for years. The door was old, its paint chipped and cracked. The knob was cold to the touch, but she turned it, and the door creaked open.

The air inside the attic was thick, stale. Dust hung in the beams of light that filtered through the narrow windows. She took a step forward, her feet scraping against the wooden floor. The room was filled with old, forgotten things—boxes, chairs, discarded clothes. But something caught her eye. At the far end of the room, a large mirror stood against the wall.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She didn't know why, but she felt drawn to it. She walked towards it, her footsteps heavy on the floor. As she reached the mirror, she stopped, staring into her own reflection. But it wasn't her reflection that made her breath catch.

It was the man.

He stood behind her, his face pale and cold. His eyes were dark, like deep wells of sorrow and regret. His mouth moved again, as if trying to speak, but his words didn't reach her ears. She tried to turn, but her body wouldn't obey. She was trapped in the mirror, trapped in his gaze.

In that moment, she realized the truth.

The man wasn't just a dream. He wasn't just a shadow. He was real, and he was here.

She had seen him before. A long time ago, in the old pictures her mother kept hidden in a box. The man was German, a soldier from the war. Her mother had known him. Sofia had never understood why her mother refused to speak about it, why she would turn pale and fall silent whenever the past was brought up. But now, Sofia understood.

The man had been part of something terrible, something her mother had tried to forget. But he had never forgotten. And now, he was here, looking for something—something only Sofia could give him.

She tried to pull away, but her reflection held her captive. His hand reached out from the mirror, cold and insistent, grasping at her. She screamed, but no sound came from her mouth. Only the silence of the house answered.

Days passed, and the presence of the man grew stronger. It followed her everywhere she went, in the reflection of windows, in the glances from the corner of her eye. Her mother, however, didn't seem to notice. She was lost in her own world, mumbling nonsense in her room.

Sofia couldn't take it anymore. She needed answers.

One evening, she found herself at the lake, standing at the edge, staring at the water. The moonlight cast long, thin shadows across the surface. It was cold, too cold for her to be standing there, but she couldn't move.

The man was behind her. His cold breath grazed her neck, and his presence wrapped around her, suffocating her.

"Please," she begged, her voice barely a whisper. "What do you want from me?"

The water shifted, and she turned just in time to see his reflection rise from the depths, his eyes full of pain and sorrow. She stepped back, but her feet slipped on the rocks, and she tumbled into the lake. The cold water engulfed her, dragging her down.

But it wasn't the water that killed her.

It was his hands, cold and relentless, pulling her deeper, dragging her into the darkness beneath.

Sofia's body was found the next morning, floating lifeless on the surface. The authorities said it was an accident, that she had drowned.

But the lake had claimed more than just her body. It had claimed her soul.

Her mother was never the same again, though she never spoke of the man who had haunted them. And Sofia's name faded from the memories of those who knew her. But in the quiet of the old house, in the cold silence of the lake, her spirit still wandered, searching for answers, searching for peace.

And the man? He never left.