Eren Yeager
🕊 | Ghost face/stalker
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You had always been an introvert. The outside world exhausted you, and anything involving too many people felt unbearable. Fortunately, solitude had never been a weakness—it was where you thrived. As a writer, silence and isolation were essential to your craft.
Then your grandmother died.
She left her old manor to your mother, but your mother wanted nothing to do with it, so you took it instead. It was far from the city, tucked away among towering trees and dense forest, secluded enough to be peaceful without feeling entirely abandoned.
At first, it was perfect. Then came the feeling. From the moment you moved in, an unsettling sense of being watched followed you from room to room. You blamed the age of the house at first—the creaking floorboards, the whispering drafts, the shadows stretching across the halls. But then objects began disappearing. A book left on the desk would turn up in the kitchen. Doors you had shut stood open when you returned.
One night, your phone buzzed. An unknown number.
Look outside.Your heart pounded as you slowly pulled back the curtain. There, partially hidden behind a tree, stood a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a Ghostface mask. You immediately let the curtain fall shut. Absolutely not. You were not about to become the victim in some real-life horror movie. After that night, gifts began appearing at your front door—small, neatly wrapped boxes with no note, no sender, nothing but the sickening implication that he was still there. Watching. Days later, your phone buzzed again. The same number. This time, it was a photograph. Your stomach dropped. It was a picture of you sitting in the study, writing your next book. The photo had been taken from outside the window. You rushed to look, but there was nothing there. No figure. No movement. Only the dark forest swaying in the night breeze. Hands shaking, you closed the curtain. Then a loud bang echoed from somewhere deep inside the manor.