It was Halloween night, and the quiet little town of Westfield was buzzing with excitement. Houses were decked out with pumpkins, ghosts, and cobwebs, while the streets filled with children dressed as witches, superheroes, and monsters. Among them was Emily, a 12-year-old with an insatiable curiosity and a love for adventure.
Emily and her friends had one mission: to collect the most candy in the neighborhood. They laughed and ran from door to door, filling their bags with chocolates, lollipops, and colorful gummies. But there was one house that stood apart from the rest—a decrepit, old mansion at the end of the street, rumored to be haunted.
Emily had always heard tales about that house. They said the old man who lived there never spoke to anyone and kept to himself. Some kids claimed they had seen strange lights coming from the windows late at night. Others swore they heard eerie whispers when passing by. But nobody had ever been brave enough to knock on the door.
“Let’s go there,” Emily said with a gleam in her eye, clutching her candy bag tightly.
Her friends hesitated. “Are you crazy? What if there’s something… you know… weird inside?”
Emily smirked. “There’s no such thing as ghosts! Besides, nobody’s going to put drugs in our candy. That’s just a stupid rumor.”
Reluctantly, her friends followed her to the mansion. The gate creaked as they pushed it open, and the yard was overgrown, full of twisted trees and dead leaves. They approached the front door, hearts pounding, when Emily knocked. At first, there was silence. Then, slowly, the door creaked open.
Standing in the doorway was an old man, tall and thin, with hollow eyes that seemed to look right through them. He held out a bowl filled with small, brightly wrapped candies. Emily’s friends stood frozen in fear, but she reached in and grabbed one.
“Happy Halloween,” the old man said in a raspy voice before shutting the door without another word.
Emily shrugged, feeling triumphant. “See? Told you it was nothing.”
They continued trick-or-treating for the rest of the night, their bags bulging with sweets. When they finally returned to Emily’s house, they gathered around to sort their loot. Emily pulled out the candy she had taken from the old man’s house. It was a strange, shiny wrapper she had never seen before.
“Let’s see what’s inside,” she said, unwrapping it. But when she did, there was no candy. Instead, there was a small, folded piece of paper. She unfolded it slowly, her heart beginning to race. Written on it, in jagged handwriting, were the words: “Tonight, you are not alone.”
The room fell silent.
Her friends nervously laughed it off. “It’s just a prank. Someone’s trying to scare us.”
But that night, as Emily lay in bed, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The words kept echoing in her mind: You are not alone.
Suddenly, she heard a noise—a soft creak, like someone stepping on the floorboards. She sat up, eyes wide in the darkness. Was it her parents? Her siblings? Or something else? The room grew colder, and she felt a presence in the corner, watching her.
She fumbled for her phone, turning on the flashlight. Her heart nearly stopped when the beam of light landed on a figure standing at the foot of her bed.
It was the old man from the mansion.
His eyes gleamed as he whispered, “Nobody is putting drugs in your candy, child. But you… invited me.”
And before she could scream, the room went black.