The Face at the Window-Campfire Story
Tom had never believed in the paranormal. As a night shift security guard, he’d heard plenty of ghost stories, but he laughed them off. However, one particular shift changed that forever.
It was a quiet night at the abandoned factory. Tom sat in the security booth, watching the CCTV monitors. The old place was filled with creaks and groans from years of neglect. Tom’s radio crackled, and he leaned forward, checking the monitors for any sign of intruders.
Then he saw it. In the camera covering the west wing, something moved in the shadows. Tom squinted—just a trick of the light, he thought. But then the figure came closer, moving slowly into view.
It was a woman, her face pale and hair disheveled. She wore a tattered white dress that dragged along the floor. Her eyes, wide and hollow, seemed to be staring right into the camera. Tom’s stomach twisted—there wasn’t supposed to be anyone in the building.
He grabbed his flashlight and cautiously headed to the west wing. The factory was silent except for his footsteps echoing off the concrete floors. When he reached the area, he scanned the room with his flashlight. Nothing.
He turned to leave but froze when he heard soft tapping—like fingernails against glass. His flashlight beam swung to the window. There she was, pressed against the outside of the glass, her eyes wide, lips curled into an eerie smile.
Tom’s heart pounded. She was on the second floor, and there was no ledge outside that window.
The tapping grew louder. He backed away, but the sound followed him, growing more insistent until it echoed in his head. Then, with a final sharp crack, the window shattered inward, and the woman’s hand reached through.
Tom screamed, but no one heard.
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