The Silent Room - Part 2

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Amelia didn’t sleep that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—the gaunt figure, his hollow eyes staring back at her from the shadows. The memory of his cold, invisible grip haunted her. She tried to convince herself it was just her imagination, a trick of the light, but deep down, she knew it wasn’t.


Determined to shake the fear, she spent the next day trying to forget the nightmare of the previous evening. But something wasn’t right. As she drove home from work, her car’s radio began to flicker, static cutting in and out. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him again—standing on the side of the road, watching her. This time, there was no mist to obscure him. His pale, lifeless form stood stark against the setting sun, his hollow eyes fixed on her car as it sped past.

Amelia’s heart raced. How could he be there? She had left him behind at the mansion. Trying to calm her mind, she told herself it was another trick. But the feeling of being watched clung to her. As she pulled into her driveway, she hesitated, scanning the quiet street for any sign of him. There was nothing. But the fear gnawed at her, a constant, creeping presence.

That night, things escalated. As she lay in bed, the temperature in her room plummeted. Frost began to creep up the windows, and the silence became deafening, like the silence in that room. She sat up, breath visible in the freezing air, and there he was—standing at the foot of her bed, his mouth open in a silent scream.

Amelia scrambled out of bed, her body trembling as she backed toward the door. But when she turned to flee, she saw her reflection in the bedroom mirror. And there, in the reflection, the figure wasn’t standing at the foot of the bed anymore. He was standing right behind her.

Amelia bolted from the room, the terror gripping her tighter with each passing second. She ran down the hall, but no matter how far she went, the feeling that he was right behind her wouldn’t go away. She made it to the living room and collapsed on the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest.

In the silence that followed, she realized the truth: he hadn’t stayed at the mansion. He had followed her home. The gaunt figure, the specter, was now bound to her. She was never truly alone.

And in the corner of her living room, in the reflection of the large mirror she had forgotten to cover, he stood—waiting, watching.

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