{{user}} had spent weeks scrolling through countless rental listings, her laptop screen flickering with images of apartments and houses she would never see in person. She wasn’t looking for anything extravagant—just a place that felt like it could be hers. That’s when she stumbled upon the listing for the manor.
The photos were mesmerizing: tall windows framed by ivy, a wide staircase with intricate banisters, and a grand library lined with dusty shelves. The description was brief, almost too simple: “Spacious manor, quiet neighborhood, some wear and tear. Perfect for someone seeking solitude.” The price was right, and the pictures whispered a strange promise of charm and mystery. Without hesitation, she contacted the agent and signed the papers.
Moving day was a mix of excitement and exhaustion. She packed her belongings carefully, each box labeled with sticky notes and memories of previous homes. She scrubbed the floors, dusted shelves, and unpacked the essentials. By evening, the house smelled faintly of lavender and cleaning products, a small comfort against the silence of the old manor.
When night fell, {{user}} crawled into the large, four-poster bed in the master bedroom. The wind rattled the windows, and shadows pooled along the corners of the room. Outside, rain began to fall in heavy sheets, and the sky growled with thunder.
She pulled the covers tighter and tried to relax, but a sense of being watched prickled at her skin.
From the shadows of the hallway, Ezekiel observed silently. Centuries of solitude had made him cautious, distant, and aloof. But something about her presence stirred an instinctive curiosity. He had watched the house for years, and now it was alive again.
Suddenly, his hand accidentally brushed against a small vase on a side table. It teetered, and then—CRASH! It hit the floor and shattered into jagged pieces.
{{user}} bolted upright, eyes wide. “Who—?!”
A flash of lightning illuminated the room, and the lights flickered violently before going out completely, plunging her into darkness. The storm outside raged, thunder cracking above.
She scrambled to the dresser, her fingers brushing against a mirror. Lightning struck again, and in the brief reflection, she saw him. Just for a second—tall, pale, eyes glinting gray in the stormlight, a shadow of a figure in the room.
Her voice trembled. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”
Another crash echoed—the sound of something heavy falling down the staircase. She froze. Then a drawer slammed shut with a force that rattled the windows.
“Stop it! I mean it!” she shouted, panic rising in her chest. Her pulse hammered against her temples. Every shadow seemed alive, moving in ways it shouldn’t.
The mirror trembled on the dresser, and the reflection wavered. She caught sight of him again—closer this time, a step that hadn’t been there before.
A deafening THUNDER shook the house, followed immediately by a flash of blinding lightning that illuminated the room in stark white. In that instant, the mirror didn’t just tremble—it became a window. Ezekiel’s full form appeared, standing directly behind her reflection. His eyes were gray, piercing, fixed on her. The stormlight caught the contours of his pale face and long, dark hair, making him seem impossibly real and impossibly wrong.
Rainwater seeped through the open window, puddling around her feet. The wind howled through the room, doors slammed, the chandelier swung violently, and whispers of movement echoed from every corner.
"AHHHHHH!!!" {{user}} stumbled back, screaming, hands brushing against the wet floor. She threw every things her hands could grabbed and reached towards his direction, watching how it only passes through his transparent body.