The town of Ashwood lay shrouded in an eternal darkness, as if the sun never rose over its crumbling streets. It was a place where time stood still, where the air reeked of decay and death.
I moved to Ashwood with my family when I was just a child. My parents had inherited an old mansion from a distant relative, and we were forced to leave our old life behind.
At first, I thought the mansion was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. Its towering spires and grand halls seemed like something out of a fairy tale. But as the days went by, I began to realize that something was off.
I would see shadows moving out of the corner of my eye, but whenever I turned to look, there would be no one there. I would hear whispers in the night, but whenever I listened closely, the voices would fade away.
My parents dismissed it as mere childish imagination, but I knew what I saw. And I knew what I felt.
The shadows were watching us.
They were always there, lurking just out of sight. I could feel their presence, a cold and malevolent force that seemed to seep into my bones.
As the days turned into weeks, the shadows grew bolder. I would see them flitting around the edges of the room, their dark forms twisting and writhing like living things.
And then, one night, I saw it. A shadowy figure standing in the doorway of my bedroom, watching me with cold and calculating eyes.
I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. The figure didn't move, didn't speak. It just watched me, its presence filling the room with an unspeakable horror.
And then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the figure vanished.
But I knew it was still there, watching me from the shadows. Waiting for its moment to strike.
The shadows that watch us are always there, waiting and watching. And sometimes, they come for us.
To be continued...