Elmwood Lane का भूतिया घर: एक फोटोग्राफर की डरावनी कहानी

The house on Elmwood Lane had been empty for years, its windows dark and its paint peeling like dead skin. Locals whispered about the family that once lived there—how they vanished one stormy night, leaving behind only a single, flickering lantern in the attic. I didn’t believe the stories. I was a skeptic, a photographer looking for a good shot. So, when I saw the "For Sale" sign creak in the wind, I decided to sneak in.

The door groaned as I pushed it open, the air inside thick with dust and something sour. My flashlight beam danced across broken furniture and cobwebs, but it was the staircase that drew me—a narrow spiral leading up to the attic. I climbed, each step creaking louder than the last, until I reached the top. There it was: the lantern, glowing faintly on a rickety table, though no one could have lit it.

I snapped a photo, the flash illuminating the room for a split second. That’s when I saw them—shadows on the wall, stretched and twisted, like figures reaching out. I turned, but no one was there. My heart thudded as I checked the camera. The screen showed the lantern… and behind it, faces. Pale, eyeless faces, staring straight at me.

The lantern flickered brighter. A low hum filled the air, growing into whispers I couldn’t understand. I stumbled back, my foot catching on something soft. A doll, its porcelain face cracked, grinned up at me. Then it blinked.

I ran, the whispers chasing me down the stairs, the lantern’s light spilling after me like liquid. I made it outside, gasping, and swore I’d never go back. But that night, in my darkroom, the photos developed on their own. Every frame showed the attic, the faces, the doll—and in the last one, me, standing still, my eyes hollowed out, smiling.