One stormy night, I was driving home through the dark woods. The rain lashed against the windshield, and the wipers could barely keep up. I had taken a shortcut, but now I was lost. My phone had no signal, and the GPS was useless.
As I turned a sharp bend, I saw an old, abandoned house up ahead. It was dilapidated, with broken windows and a sagging roof. But it was my only hope for shelter. I pulled up to the front door and knocked. There was no answer, but the door creaked open on its own.
I stepped inside, and the air was thick with dust and the scent of decay. The floorboards groaned under my feet. I called out, but there was only silence. I decided to wait out the storm in the living room, which had a large, ornate fireplace.
As I sat there, I noticed a portrait above the fireplace. It was a painting of a woman, her eyes following me wherever I moved. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was alive. Suddenly, the fire in the fireplace roared to life, and the room was filled with an eerie glow.
I turned back to the portrait, and the woman’s eyes were now wide with terror. She was mouthing words, but I couldn’t hear her. And then, I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. I spun around, but there was no one there. I bolted for the door, but it was locked from the inside.
Panic set in as I realized I was trapped. The house was alive, and it wanted my soul. I screamed, but my voice was drowned out by the howling wind and the creaking of the house. And then, everything went black.
When I woke up, I was back in my car, soaked to the bone. The storm had passed, and the sun was rising. I looked back at the house, but it was gone. All that remained was an empty field. I drove away, but I could still feel the cold hand on my shoulder, and I knew that the soul – crushing encounter was far from over.
