Lord's Pavilion

14/10/2025

22/09/2025

🕯️ “Do Not Answer Her”
📍 Indiana — 3:06 AM

“Mom… she’s knocking again.”

Jenna sat up in bed, heart racing. Her 5-year-old daughter, Ellie, stood in the doorway, pale and trembling.

“Who’s knocking, baby?”

Ellie pointed toward the front door.
Jenna crept to the peephole.
Nothing. Just fog and silence.

“Probably just a bad dream,” Jenna whispered.

But Ellie shook her head.

“She said not to tell you… or she’ll come inside.”

Jenna froze.

That night, the knocking continued.
Always at 3:06 AM.
Always three knocks.
Never anyone there.

She installed a camera.

The next night, it captured it.

Not a person.
Not an animal.
A girl — soaked, eyeless, her mouth torn open, smiling too wide to be alive.

She was mimicking Ellie.
Down to the voice.

“Mommy… let me in. I’m cold…”

Jenna called the police.
They checked the footage.
There was nothing there.
No figure. No knocking. Just Jenna… opening the door.

But Jenna swore she never did.

Two nights later, Ellie was gone.
The front door wide open.
Three wet, child-sized footprints on the carpet.

And a note on Ellie’s bed, scribbled in crayon:

“You opened the door.
Now she’s yours.”

🕯️ Moral: Not every knock is meant to be answered — even if it sounds like your child.

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20/09/2025

20/09/2025

18/09/2025

I still can't believe it

17/09/2025

The Clock in the Walls

They said the Holloway manor was abandoned — left to rot after the last bride vanished on a stormy October night. Elise never believed such tales. But when she moved in, the house whispered otherwise.

On her third night, a ticking sound echoed behind the cracked plaster. There were no clocks, only the walls themselves beating like a hidden heart.

Driven by the noise, Elise uncovered a secret door, revealing a room filled with portraits—ancestors with hollow eyes, and one painting that chilled her to the bone: a woman who looked exactly like her, dressed as a bride from 1873.

That night, Elise dreamt of a faceless groom and bloodied vows whispered in forgotten tongues. When she awoke, footprints appeared on the dusty floor, leading to a rusted coffin beneath the boards. Inside lay a locket, holding a faded photo of her and the man with hollow eyes—the groom who never left.

The ticking became a heartbeat inside her chest. Candles lit themselves as she wandered the halls, draped in a bridal gown she never owned. And at the stroke of thirteen, the manor’s shadowed ancestors gathered to witness the wedding that never ended.

Elise smiled as the groom’s cold hand clasped hers—bound forever to the clock in the walls. Some love, it seemed, never dies.

14/09/2025