Tell me a story. About something scary.

Once, in a small, forgotten town nestled between dark woods and steep hills, there stood an old, dilapidated house at the end of a winding path. The townsfolk spoke of it in hushed tones, recounting tales of a woman named Elara who had vanished without a trace decades ago. The house, known as the Corbin House, had long been shunned. Vines choked its walls, and the windows were clouded and cracked, while whispers of long-lost secrets echoed within its rotting framework. One chilly October evening, a group of four brave friends—Max, Sarah, Oliver, and Chloe—decided to test the myths surrounding the Corbin House. Fueled by adrenaline and the thrill of the unknown, they gathered flashlights, snacks, and courage, setting out just as the sun dipped below the horizon. As they approached the house, an uneasy feeling crept over them, the air thickening like a blanket. The wind howled through the trees, carrying an enigmatic, mournful sound that seemed to call their names. Still, they pressed on, pushing open the creaking front door that felt as though it hadn’t been disturbed in years. Inside, the gloom enveloped them, the air stale and musty. Max joked nervously, his laughter echoing eerily off the walls, but the others only shushed him, feeling the weight of something unnamable. They wandered through the darkened rooms, flashlights illuminating faded wallpaper peeling away from the damp walls like a shedding skin. As they explored, they stumbled upon a staircase spiraling down to the basement, a place that seemed to breathe darkness. Daring each other, they descended the steps, the wooden boards creaking ominously under their weight. At the bottom, they stood before a door, ancient and warped, the wood splintered and covered in dust. Max, feeling brave, pushed it open. On the other side lay a small room filled with remnants—old furniture draped in white sheets, jars lining the walls filled with murky substances, and a large, dusty mirror that dominated one wall. The air felt electric, and an oppressive silence enveloped them. Sarah, drawn to the mirror, stepped forward, her fingers brushing against the glass. It felt cold, sending a chill through her. Suddenly, a loud crash resonated from above. Startled, they turned to look, but all they could hear was their own rapid breathing. They glanced back at the mirror, and Sarah gasped. In the reflection, they saw not just themselves, but a shadowy figure standing behind them—motionless and silent. A woman with hollow eyes and a sorrowful expression, her long hair cascading like dark water. Heart pounding, Sarah spun around, expecting to find someone standing there. But there was nothing. “Did you see that?” she stammered, her voice trembling. The others nodded in disbelief, their previous bravado evaporating into the heavy air. “Let’s get out of here,” Oliver urged, but as they turned to leave, the door slammed shut, trapping them inside the small room. Panic surged through them as they pounded on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The temperature dropped, breath visible in the air as they huddled together, frightened. Suddenly, the mirror began to ripple, like a pond disturbed by a stone. The figure in the glass smiled—a chilling, malevolent smile that sent shivers down their spines. Then, without warning, she reached out, her skeletal hand emerging from the surface, moving towards Sarah. The friends screamed, scrambling back against the wall. Just then, Chloe spotted an old lantern on a shelf nearby. She dashed for it, struck a match, and ignited the wick. The flickering flame flared to life, illuminating the room in warm light, dispelling some of the shadowy chill. As the light grew stronger, the figure in the mirror recoiled, her expression turning from pleasure to rage. With a final, guttural scream that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house, she vanished, leaving only the mirror’s dull surface behind. Miraculously, the door creaked open, as if released from an unseen grip. They dashed through it, fleeing the basement and making their way back up the stairs. They burst through the front door into the night, relief flooding over them as cool air washed away their terror. They ran all the way home, backs turned to the Corbin House, the whispers in the woods quieting as they escaped. Though they never spoke of that night again, the memories haunted them in the dark, and they never returned to the house at the end of the path, for the more they remembered, the clearer the ghostly figure became—not just a forgotten phantom, but something that would forever linger in the corner of their minds.