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midnight walk
#WritcoStoryPrompt2
A wet leaf fell on her shoulder making her jump in fear. Startled she shifted from her hiding place behind the bush
A wet leaf fell on her shoulder, making her jump in fear. Startled, she shifted from her hiding place behind the bush, her breath catching in her throat. The dim light of the overcast afternoon barely penetrated the dense foliage, casting twisted shadows that seemed to flicker and writhe in the corners of her vision. She'd been crouching here for what felt like hours, every rustle and creak of the forest amplifying her anxiety.
The old house loomed just beyond the clearing, its dilapidated frame and broken windows staring at her like hollow eyes. Legend had it that the place was haunted, but she wasn’t sure if it was the ghost stories or the unsettling silence that made her shiver. She took a deep breath and peered through the branches, her heart pounding so hard it seemed to drown out all other sound.
As she watched, a figure emerged from the shadows of the house—a tall, gaunt man with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. His gait was unnervingly smooth, almost gliding across the uneven ground. He carried an old lantern, its flickering light casting long, distorted shadows that danced around him like mocking specters.
A chill ran down her spine as she realized that he wasn’t alone. From the corner of her eye, she caught glimpses of more figures, their shapes barely discernible but definitely there, lurking in the murky darkness. They seemed to be gathering, converging on the house with an eerie purpose.
The ground beneath her felt unnaturally cold, seeping through her shoes, as if the earth itself was pulling her down. Panic surged through her, but she forced herself to stay silent and still. She had to find a way out, but every direction seemed to lead deeper into the maze of twisted trees and tangled underbrush.
Suddenly, a soft voice, barely more than a whisper, drifted through the trees. “You’re not alone,” it said, the words barely audible but distinct in their sinister clarity.
She whipped her head around, but the forest was empty, the only sound her own ragged breathing. Desperately, she tried to remember how she had arrived here, but the memory was a haze, like something seen through a foggy window.
The lantern’s light bobbed closer, casting a sickly glow on the nearby trees. Her fingers tightened around the branch she held onto, knuckles white with fear. She had to get out—had to escape before whatever was happening here reached her.
As the figures drew nearer, she could see them more clearly. They were draped in tattered clothes, their faces hidden by dark veils or shadows. They moved with a purpose, their heads bowed as if in prayer or incantation. The realization struck her with a jolt—they were performing some sort of ritual.
The thought made her blood run cold. She turned to flee, but the forest seemed to close in on her, the path back to safety growing more convoluted and obscure with each step. The figures were now almost upon her, their murmurs growing louder, more insistent. She could feel their gaze, the weight of it pressing against her from all sides.
As she stumbled through the underbrush, her mind racing, she heard the voice again, this time clear and unmistakable. “Welcome to the end,” it said.
And then, with a sudden burst of clarity, she saw the way out—a narrow path that had somehow appeared, leading into the gloom. Without hesitation, she darted toward it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind her, the forest seemed to explode in a cacophony of whispers and footsteps, closing in on her retreating form.
She burst through the trees and onto a road, the damp air of the outside world feeling like a cold slap against her skin. She turned back once, but the forest was just a dark, impenetrable wall. The figures, the house, and the ritual seemed to dissolve into the fog of the evening, leaving her with only the pounding of her heart and the taste of fear still lingering in her mouth.
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A wet leaf fell on her shoulder making her jump in fear. Startled she shifted from her hiding place behind the bush
A wet leaf fell on her shoulder, making her jump in fear. Startled, she shifted from her hiding place behind the bush, her breath catching in her throat. The dim light of the overcast afternoon barely penetrated the dense foliage, casting twisted shadows that seemed to flicker and writhe in the corners of her vision. She'd been crouching here for what felt like hours, every rustle and creak of the forest amplifying her anxiety.
The old house loomed just beyond the clearing, its dilapidated frame and broken windows staring at her like hollow eyes. Legend had it that the place was haunted, but she wasn’t sure if it was the ghost stories or the unsettling silence that made her shiver. She took a deep breath and peered through the branches, her heart pounding so hard it seemed to drown out all other sound.
As she watched, a figure emerged from the shadows of the house—a tall, gaunt man with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. His gait was unnervingly smooth, almost gliding across the uneven ground. He carried an old lantern, its flickering light casting long, distorted shadows that danced around him like mocking specters.
A chill ran down her spine as she realized that he wasn’t alone. From the corner of her eye, she caught glimpses of more figures, their shapes barely discernible but definitely there, lurking in the murky darkness. They seemed to be gathering, converging on the house with an eerie purpose.
The ground beneath her felt unnaturally cold, seeping through her shoes, as if the earth itself was pulling her down. Panic surged through her, but she forced herself to stay silent and still. She had to find a way out, but every direction seemed to lead deeper into the maze of twisted trees and tangled underbrush.
Suddenly, a soft voice, barely more than a whisper, drifted through the trees. “You’re not alone,” it said, the words barely audible but distinct in their sinister clarity.
She whipped her head around, but the forest was empty, the only sound her own ragged breathing. Desperately, she tried to remember how she had arrived here, but the memory was a haze, like something seen through a foggy window.
The lantern’s light bobbed closer, casting a sickly glow on the nearby trees. Her fingers tightened around the branch she held onto, knuckles white with fear. She had to get out—had to escape before whatever was happening here reached her.
As the figures drew nearer, she could see them more clearly. They were draped in tattered clothes, their faces hidden by dark veils or shadows. They moved with a purpose, their heads bowed as if in prayer or incantation. The realization struck her with a jolt—they were performing some sort of ritual.
The thought made her blood run cold. She turned to flee, but the forest seemed to close in on her, the path back to safety growing more convoluted and obscure with each step. The figures were now almost upon her, their murmurs growing louder, more insistent. She could feel their gaze, the weight of it pressing against her from all sides.
As she stumbled through the underbrush, her mind racing, she heard the voice again, this time clear and unmistakable. “Welcome to the end,” it said.
And then, with a sudden burst of clarity, she saw the way out—a narrow path that had somehow appeared, leading into the gloom. Without hesitation, she darted toward it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind her, the forest seemed to explode in a cacophony of whispers and footsteps, closing in on her retreating form.
She burst through the trees and onto a road, the damp air of the outside world feeling like a cold slap against her skin. She turned back once, but the forest was just a dark, impenetrable wall. The figures, the house, and the ritual seemed to dissolve into the fog of the evening, leaving her with only the pounding of her heart and the taste of fear still lingering in her mouth.
© All Rights Reserved
