This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/DivineAnime1 on 2024-11-29 20:27:35+00:00.
It started as a dare. Everything stupid in high school always does. I still remember Jake’s cocky smirk as he said, “Come on, Danny. What are you afraid of? A little ghost story?” And like an idiot, I said yes. That’s how I ended up at Windcliff Manor, clutching a flashlight like my life depended on it, standing in front of the creepiest building I’d ever seen.
Windcliff Manor wasn’t just abandoned ,it was cursed. Or so the stories went. An old psychiatric hospital, its last patient was a woman named Eleanor Grace. She’d gone missing fifty years ago, right from her room. No one ever found her body, and no one ever figured out how she’d escaped. But people say you can still hear her, whispering, calling out for help.
There were four of us: Jake, of course, our unofficial leader; Amanda, who thought the whole thing was hilarious; Sarah, who clung to Jake like a shadow; and me. I didn’t want to be there. I’ll admit that right now. But I wasn’t about to let Jake think I was scared.
The manor loomed over us, its windows gaping like empty eye sockets. The wind howled through the broken shutters, and the place stank of mildew and rot. Jake kicked the door open with a grin, the old wood creaking under his boot.
“After you, Danny,” he said with a mock bow.
I swallowed my fear and stepped inside. The air was thick and cold, like walking into a freezer. Our footsteps echoed in the empty hall, the beams of our flashlights cutting through the darkness. The walls were covered in peeling paint and graffiti mostly curse words and crude drawings. But every now and then, we’d see something stranger: symbols I didn’t recognize, like circles and jagged lines carved deep into the plaster.
“This is where they kept the crazies,” Jake said, his voice bouncing off the walls. “Straightjackets, padded rooms, the whole nine yards.”
“Yeah, but where’s the ghost?” Amanda teased, snapping a photo with her phone. “Eleanor! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
“Shut up,” Sarah hissed. “That’s not funny.”
But Amanda didn’t stop. She was laughing, pretending to be scared, when we heard it a faint sound, like the rustling of fabric. We froze, our flashlights darting around the hall. The sound came again, soft and deliberate. It wasn’t the wind. It was footsteps.
“Jake?” Sarah whispered, her voice trembling.
Jake put a finger to his lips, signaling us to be quiet. The footsteps grew louder, echoing through the hall, until they stopped just ahead. There was a door at the end of the corridor, its wood warped with age. The sound had come from behind it.
Jake grinned, more out of nerves than bravado. “Looks like Eleanor wants visitors.”
“Don’t,” I said, my voice barely audible. But he ignored me. He pushed the door open, and the hinges screamed in protest. The room inside was small, with a single rusted bed frame and a broken chair. On the wall was a mirror, cracked and dirty, but still intact.
“See? Nothing,” Jake said, stepping inside.
That’s when we heard the whisper.
It wasn’t loud. In fact, it was so quiet I almost thought I’d imagined it. But the words were clear: “Help me.” My blood turned to ice. The whisper didn’t come from the room. It came from the mirror.
Jake laughed nervously. “Nice try, Danny. You’re not scaring me.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I stammered.
Sarah grabbed his arm. “Jake, let’s just go.”
But Jake was already walking toward the mirror. He wiped a hand across its surface, smearing the grime. For a second, there was nothing but our reflections, distorted by the cracks. Then, slowly, something else appeared.
A face.
It was pale and gaunt, with hollow eyes and a mouth that seemed stretched too wide, as though it had been screaming forever. The face wasn’t looking at Jake, it was looking at me.
“Jesus Christ!” Jake stumbled back, crashing into Sarah.
The mirror shattered. Not cracked, shattered. The pieces flew outward, one of them slicing Jake’s cheek.
I screamed, Amanda screamed, and suddenly the door slammed shut behind us.
We were trapped.
“Open it!” Sarah yelled, pounding on the door.
Jake grabbed the handle, twisting and pulling, but it wouldn’t budge. The whispers started again, louder this time, coming from every direction.
“Help me. Stay with me. Don’t leave me.”
“Stop it!” Amanda cried. “Who’s saying that? Stop it!”
Then the temperature dropped. My breath fogged in front of me, and frost began creeping along the walls. I turned, and that’s when I saw her.
Eleanor.
She stood in the corner, her body flickering like a dying lightbulb. Her face was the same as the one in the mirror—pale, hollow, and broken. Her hair hung in limp strands over her shoulders, and her hospital gown was stained with something dark and sticky.
She raised a hand, pointing at me. “Stay.”
“No!” I shouted, stumbling backward. “Get away from me!”
The whispers turned to screams, a deafening chorus of voices that made my ears ache. Eleanor stepped closer, her movements jerky and unnatural. Her feet didn’t touch the ground.
Jake finally got the door open, and we bolted. I don’t know how we made it out, but when we hit the fresh air, the screams stopped. The night was quiet again, except for the sound of Amanda sobbing and Sarah yelling at Jake for bringing us there.
But when I looked back at the manor, I saw her in the window, watching us. She wasn’t flickering anymore. She was solid. Real. And she was smiling.
We never talked about what happened, but sometimes, late at night, I hear her voice. Just a whisper.
Help Me !