Captured from Harold’s Journal

Thursday, April 13, 2023

The only evidence we could capture.

Dear Journal,

I’m writing this entry with trembling hands, still reeling from the spine-chilling events that unfolded last night. Sisto and I made the daring decision to spend the night in the haunted house on the outskirts of town, and it turned out to be an experience straight out of a horror movie.

As soon as we stepped into the house, we were greeted by a bone-chilling coldness that seemed to seep into our very souls. The air was heavy with an oppressive aura, and we could hear faint whispers echoing through the halls, sending shivers down our spines. But we were determined to brave the night and uncover the truth behind the ghostly rumors.

We set up our sleeping bags in the living room, our flashlights casting eerie shadows on the walls. The only source of light in the house was the faint moonlight filtering through the boarded-up windows. We tried to keep our nerves in check as we shared ghost stories, but our unease grew with each passing moment.

That’s when we heard it – a soft tapping sound coming from the corner of the room. We trained our flashlights towards the source, and our hearts skipped a beat. There, on the floor, was a small resin duck. It hadn’t been there before, and we couldn’t explain how it had appeared. Our minds raced with questions, but before we could wrap our heads around it, we heard another sound, this time from upstairs.

We cautiously made our way up the creaky staircase, our flashlights flickering ominously. As we reached the top, we froze in terror. The ducks were multiplying. They were everywhere – on the windowsills, on the shelves, even perched on the walls. It was as if the ghost was taunting us, playing a sinister game with us.

We tried to rationalize what was happening, but logic seemed to have abandoned us. We were trapped in a nightmare, unable to comprehend the inexplicable events unfolding around us. We could feel a malevolent presence lurking in the shadows, watching our every move. Our nerves were frayed, and we were on edge, constantly expecting something to jump out at us.

The night dragged on, and we were too scared to sleep. We could barely muster the courage to move, fearing what we might encounter next. The ducks continued to appear and disappear, moving around the house as if guided by an unseen force. We tried to capture evidence with our cameras, but the footage came out distorted, adding to our growing sense of dread.

As the first light of dawn approached, we couldn’t bear the tension any longer. We gathered our belongings and practically sprinted out of the house, leaving the haunting presence behind. As we looked back, we saw the ducks lined up on the windowsill, almost mocking us with their silent gaze.

Sisto and I stumbled out of the house, our hearts pounding in our chests. We were relieved to have escaped the horrors of that haunted place, but the ordeal had left us with more questions than answers. What had we encountered in that house? Who or what was behind the mysterious resin ducks?

I’m still grappling with the events of that fateful night, trying to make sense of the inexplicable. It was a harrowing experience that will haunt me for a long time to come. Sisto and I share an unspoken understanding of what we went through, and we both know that some mysteries are best left unsolved.

Yours uneasily,

HAROLD

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