The old house on the edge of the Wychwood seemed to breathe with a silence deeper than the grave. Its windows, shattered teeth in a gaping maw, stared out at a world that had long forgotten it. Young Sarah, newly moved to the quiet, anachronistic town of Oakhaven, felt an inexplicable pull towards the structure. The locals, pale and tight-lipped, only ever crossed themselves when the house was mentioned, muttering about "The Watcher in the Attic."One misty October evening, fueled by a mixture of youthful bravado and a deep, gnawing curiosity, Sarah slipped through the rusted iron gate.
The air within the grounds was stagnant, tasting of wet earth and something metallic, like old blood. The front door, surprisingly unlocked, groaned open into a foyer that was suspended in time. Dust coated everything, yet there was a strange, chilling absence of cobwebs.As she ascended the grand, winding staircase, the silence intensified, pressing against her eardrums. It was a silence that felt observed.
Each step creaked under her weight, the only sound in a world that felt suddenly, terrifyingly empty.Then, she heard it.A soft, rhythmic scratching, coming from the floor above. The attic.Ignoring the frantic pounding of her own heart, Sarah pushed open the attic door. The air up here was colder, biting at her exposed skin. Moonlight filtered through a single, grimy window, illuminating a sparse, empty room.The scratching stopped abruptly."Hello?" Sarah whispered, her voice swallowed by the oppressive quiet.A low, wet sound from the corner made her jump—a sound like something dragging itself across the floor.
Sarah's eyes, wide with terror, scanned the shadows.And that's when she saw it. Not in the corner, but embedded in the wall itself. A mirror, framed in tarnished silver, completely clean of dust.In the mirror's reflection, the attic wasn't empty. Behind her, standing in the doorway, was a tall, skeletal figure in antiquated clothing, its head tilted at an unnatural angle, and its eyes... its eyes were missing, replaced by hollow, swirling voids.Sarah spun around, but the doorway behind her was empty.
The hall beyond was dark and silent.A cold, clammy hand closed over her mouth, silencing her scream. The mirror was directly in front of her now, and in its surface, the skeletal figure was there again, holding her close. Its voice, a dry, whispering static that seemed to come from inside her own head, finally broke the silence."I've been waiting for a new pair of eyes to watch the world through, little girl."The last thing Sarah saw was her own reflection in the mirror, her eyes wide with a terror that would soon be all the new owner needed. The house on the edge of the Wychwood settled back into its deep, observed silence, ready for the next visitor.