The Shadow-Campfire Story
The storm howled outside as Sarah sat alone in her dark living room, the only light coming from the flickering television. Thunder boomed, rattling the windows, but what unnerved her most was the tapping sound from the attic above. It had started as a faint scratching, but now it was louder, more deliberate.
She told herself it was just the wind, but the tapping grew insistent. Unable to ignore it, she grabbed a flashlight and reluctantly made her way upstairs. The creaky steps groaned under her weight, and the air grew colder as she approached the attic door.
She hesitated, heart pounding in her chest. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. The darkness inside felt thick, almost suffocating. Her flashlight beam cut through the blackness, revealing dusty old boxes and cobwebbed corners.
And then she saw it—at the far end of the attic, something moved. A shadow shifted, creeping slowly toward her. She froze, unable to look away. The beam of her flashlight landed on a face—pale, gaunt, with hollow eyes staring back at her. The figure was crouched, twisted in unnatural angles, its long fingers dragging across the wooden floor.
Sarah’s breath hitched. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. The figure grinned, revealing sharp, jagged teeth. It whispered, “You shouldn’t have come.”
Before she could scream, it lunged at her. The flashlight fell, its light flickering out. And in the final flash, Sarah’s scream was swallowed by the darkness.
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