The Shadow at Blackwood Manor
It was a cold, misty night when Clara arrived at Blackwood Manor. The old house stood on the edge of a dark forest, its tall towers almost touching the clouds. The moonlight made the stone walls look silver, but the shadows made them seem alive. As Clara walked through the heavy iron gates, she heard the wind whisper through the trees. The sound was like a soft warning.
Inside, the hall was lit by only a few candles. The flames danced, throwing strange shapes on the walls. A large portrait of a stern-looking man hung above the fireplace. His eyes seemed to follow Clara wherever she went. She shivered but told herself it was only her imagination.
That night, Clara stayed in the west wing. The room was large but cold, with a four-poster bed covered in dusty curtains. At midnight, she awoke to the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Heavy. Echoing. She opened the door, but no one was there. The candle in her hand flickered, as if afraid.
In the distance, she heard a faint voice calling her name. “Clara… Clara…” The sound came from the locked library, a room no one had entered for years. She felt her heart race but followed the voice. The library door opened on its own with a long, creaking sound. Inside, a single book lay open on a table. Its pages were yellow, and the words were written in strange, old handwriting.
As she reached out to touch the book, the window burst open. A cold wind blew through, and the candles went out. In the darkness, Clara saw the figure of the man from the portrait. His eyes glowed faintly, and he whispered, “Leave… before it is too late.” The next morning, Clara packed her bags. She left Blackwood Manor without looking back.