It all started that summer. The summer of 2022, when I moved into a small, quiet town in Portland, Michigan. I’d always been drawn to the quiet life, away from the chaos of the city, but I had no idea what I was stepping into. I found an old apartment on the edge of town, a place that seemed to whisper stories from its past. The landlord, an elderly man with a weathered face and tired eyes, handed me the keys with a faint smile and a warning: "Be careful here. Not all spirits are friendly."
I shrugged it off, assuming he was just an old man with a vivid imagination or perhaps a superstitious streak. Still, I felt a strange, comforting feeling when I first entered the apartment — like I was finally home after years of wandering. Maybe it was nerves, or maybe it was something else. I convinced myself it was nothing.
But I was wrong.
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**The Fifth Night: The Crying in the Hallway**
It was a cold, humid night when everything changed. I had just finished unpacking, my apartment dimly lit by a flickering lamp, shadows dancing on the walls. Sleep was elusive, but exhaustion finally claimed me. Then, around 3 a.m., I woke up suddenly. A faint, heartbreaking sound pierced the silence: crying.
It came from the long, dark hallway that led to the bedrooms. I sat up, heart pounding. The crying was soft but unmistakable — a desperate, trembling sobbing that seemed almost human, yet somehow wrong. I hesitated, listening intently. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I felt an icy chill crawl down my spine. Something wasn’t right.
I slowly slipped out of bed and tiptoed toward the hallway, trying not to make a sound. The floorboards creaked under my weight, each step feeling heavier than the last. As I approached the source of the crying, I looked down the corridor. Nothing. No one was there. Just darkness, thick and oppressive.
Yet, I could feel it. The sensation that I was being watched. A prickling sensation in my scalp, like invisible eyes, bore into me. I paused, listening. The crying had stopped, replaced by an eerie silence that felt suffocating.
Suddenly, I heard something — faint, almost imperceptible — dishes being moved out in the kitchen. I froze, my pulse hammering in my ears. Was someone there? Or was it my imagination? I took a cautious step forward, then another, until I reached the doorway to the kitchen.
There was nothing. Just an empty room bathed in shadows. I looked around, uneasy but trying to dismiss it. Then, in the corner of the living room, I saw her.
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**The Woman in the Shadowed Corner**
She was standing stock still, her long, dark hair obscuring her face, which was turned away from me. Her faded blue dress looked old-fashioned, frayed at the edges. She seemed fragile, yet there was an unmistakable aura of malevolence surrounding her. Her presence felt like a cold gust of wind on a summer night.
I took a shaky breath. "Who are you?" I asked, my voice trembling.
No answer. She didn’t move. I stepped closer, my heart pounding in my chest. "What’s wrong? Are you hurt?" Still no response. Her silence was deafening.
Then, slowly, she turned her head, and I saw her face. Her eyes — black, endless voids — stared into mine. A scream tore from her throat, loud and horrible, echoing through the apartment like a thousand nails on a chalkboard. The scream was so intense I felt it in my bones, a primal, terrifying sound that seemed to come from the depths of hell.
I knew instantly she was not human. She was something else — an evil spirit, a vengeful ghost, I didn't care what label you gave her. I just knew she was dangerous.
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**The Descent into Horror**
Before I could react, she began to ascend. Her body lifted off the ground, slowly, unnaturally, as if gravity didn’t apply to her. Her long hair floated around her like dark tendrils, obscuring her face. She moved upward, gliding onto my wall, and then onto the ceiling.
Her voice, a guttural whisper, started to talk — fast, incomprehensible, like a thousand voices overlapping. I couldn’t understand her words, but the meaning was clear: she was angry, furious, hungry for something I couldn’t give her.
Panic overtook me. I ran back into my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it. But no matter how locked the door was, I knew she was coming. I could feel her presence pressing against the door, trying to get in.
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**The Closet and the Laugh**
Suddenly, she was inside my room. I could see her silhouette through the crack in the door. Without warning, she slipped into my closet, disappearing from view. Then, a terrible, evil laugh filled the room — high-pitched, shrill, and taunting. It echoed off the walls, bouncing in my skull like a thousand glass shards.
I felt my body grow weak, my limbs trembling. I wanted to scream, to run, but I was frozen in fear. Then, inexplicably, I started to laugh. It was a nervous, desperate laugh, but somehow, it was enough to break the paralysis.
I grabbed my phone and bolted out of the apartment, running into the night. But no matter how far I went, I could feel her shadow following me. I saw her everywhere — lurking behind trees, staring at me from windows, her dark hair flowing in every reflection.
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**The Fight for Survival**
Days turned into weeks, but the nightmare persisted. Every time I thought I had escaped her, she appeared again, in places I least expected. At the grocery store, in my dreams, even in the reflection of a puddle on the street. Her presence was relentless, an echo of evil that refused to die.
I sought help from local legends, from stories my neighbors whispered about the old town. They told of a girl who had died tragically in that very apartment decades ago — a girl with long dark hair and a faded blue dress, who had been murdered and cursed to wander forever.
But the ghost was not just a restless spirit. It was something darker.
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**The Final Confrontation**
One night, I decided I couldn’t run anymore. I had to face her, to end this nightmare. I returned to my apartment armed with a Bible, salt, and a determination I didn’t know I possessed.
As I entered, the air grew cold, and the darkness thickened. I could hear her whispering, taunting me. Her voice was in my mind, trying to break my resolve.
I recited prayers, sprinkle salt around the room, and demanded she leave. Suddenly, she appeared again — her hair flowing wildly, her eyes black as coal, her mouth twisted into a horrifying grin.
But this time, I didn’t run. I stared into her void eyes and shouted, “You have no power over me!”
A blinding flash of darkness erupted, and she shrieked, a sound so horrible it shattered the windows. Her form wavered, flickering like a dying flame. Then, with a final scream, she vanished into nothingness.
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**Epilogue: The Lingering Shadow**
The apartment felt lighter after that night, as if a great weight had been lifted. But I knew better than to think she was truly gone. Sometimes, late at night, I hear faint crying down the hallway, or catch glimpses of her shadow in the corner of my eye. The darkness still lingers, a reminder that some spirits never truly rest.
And I fear, one day, she’ll come back — long-haired, silent, and waiting in the shadows, ready to pull me back into her nightmare.
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**Beware the Shadows That Whisper**
In Portland, Michigan, they say the old apartment still stands, waiting for its next visitor. And if you listen closely at night, you might hear the faint sobbing of a girl with long dark hair, trapped forever in a faded blue dress, crying for someone to save her from the darkness.
**Remember this: some spirits aren’t just echoes of the past; they are the darkness that never dies. And once it sees you, it will follow — until the end of your days.**
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*Stay vigilant. Some shadows are better left unseen.*
