CHAPTER 1: THE LEGEND
In the quiet town of Eldridge Hollow, nestled between forgotten fields, the Voss family lived a life of simple contentment. Their ho.e was a weathered, wooden cottage at the edge of the woods--a place of creaking floors and faded wallpaper, where laughter echoed through the modest rooms. Elara Voss, at fifteen was at the heart of it all: a girl with wide, yellow eyes and a spirit as untamed as the forest beyond her window. She dreamed of adventures far beyond the towns borders, writing stories in her notebook inspired by her father, a retired soldier who regaled her with tales of distant battles. Her mother baked bread that filled the air with warmth, and her older brothers loved her with all their hearts.
But on a moonless autumn night, darkness slithered into their sanctuary. Restless souls from the town's underbelly, fueled by boredom and malice--slipped into their home like dirty Insects and very quietly put them to sleep. They sought thrills, perhaps valuables, but found only a family unprepared for the horror that followed. Elara endured the unspeakable, her wailing swallowed by the night.
By dawn the house stood silent, bloodstained and forsaken. The monsters vanished into the shadows, their deed buried in whispers that would one day bloom into legend. The town mourned briefly, then moved on, leaving the cottage to rot like an open wound.
CHAPTER 2: ECHOES OF THE LEGEND
Years blurred the edges of that rainy day, but in Eldridge Hollow, the abandoned cottage became a monument to whispered fears. The village school, a squat brick building with peeling paint and a bell that tolled like a warning, hummed with the energy of teenagers navigating the cusp of adulthood.
In the crowded canteen one overcast afternoon, a group of friends claimed their usual corner table, trays laden with sandwiches and fizzy drinks. Lila Harlan, 16 and introspective, sat at the center--her lithe frame clad in a sime hoodie and jeans, long dark hair tied in a ponytail, hazel eyes sharp with a quiet intelligence. She had a subtle beauty: a soft face, a smattering of freckles across her nose, and a thoughtful expression that hid a well of curiosity.
Mia, bubbly with curly auburn hair cascading to her shoulders, leaned in first.
"You know the old story about the Weeping Soldier? That ghost girl in the abandoned house?" Her green eyes widened dramatically. "They say she was just a kid,murdered with her whole family on a stormy night. She was found dressed in her father's army shirt and her bday was covered in blood like the rest of the family. Now she haunts the place and even shows up in the fields near the trees! " Mia shuddered, closing her eyes.
Jenna, more pragmatic with straight blond hair cropped hair cropped short and piercing blue eyes framed by rectangular glasses, nodding solemnly. "People hear wailing as the wind picks up. And if you go inside, she appears--pale as death, face blank. It's said that you never hear anything except the sound of water dripping loudly before she appears."
The boys--Zain, Brody and haris--had been half listening, their athletic builds slouched in chairs, sneakers tapping restlessly. Zain, the tallest witn a mop of unruly black hair and a cocky smirk, interrupted with a snort. "Ghost? Please. It's probably some homeless girl crashing there, scaring people to keep them away. " His eyes gleamed with something darker." We should go check it out. Find her. Maybe...show her what happens when you play pretend." He leaned back, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
Haris,.stockier with a buzz cut and a perpetual grin that never reached his eyes, chuckled. " Yeah, tie her up like in the stories. Have some real fun" Brody, lean and wiry with sharp features and a tattoo peeking from his sleeve, added a crude gesture, his laugh low and repulsive.
Lila's stomach churned, revulsion flashing across her face. They were always like this--crass, boundary-pushing, hiding cruelty behind "jokes." She bit her tongue, saying nothing, though her fingers tightened on her tray.
At a nearby table, Omar sat alone--a quiet boy with soft brown eyes, neatly combed hair, and a gentle demeanor that belied his small frame. He nursed a book but listened intently, his gaze flicking to Lila with unspoken concern. He said nothing, melting back into the background as the conversation shifted.
Zain slapped the table. "Weekend afternoon? Sun's up, no creeps around. Let's do it."
Mia was against it but the boys had already made their decision. "Come on there's no ghost there!" Brody fought back. Zain taunted, as a smile crept across his face, his eyes fixed on Lila "There's no harm in going.Who knows we might just gain a another friend for our little girls group"
Lila glared back back him. "Fine. Let's prove that it's nothing."
CHAPTER 3: UNWANTED GUESTS
Saturday afternoon arrived with a reluctant sun peeking through scattered clouds, casting long shadows over the overgrown lane to the abandoned cottage. The group biked there in a loose pack, wheels churning mud from last night's rain. The house loomed like a decayed sentinel: stone walls chocked with ivy, roof sagging under miss, windows shattered or boarded, the acacia trees branches clawing at the upper panes like skeletal hands.
Inside, the air was stale, heavy with dust and faint rot of neglect. Sunbeams pierced through cracks, illuminating motes dancing like fireflies. The friends fanned out: Mia and Jenna poking tentatively at relics--a rusted lantern, yellowed photographs of a smiling family, a child's drawing curled up on the floor.
The boys ignored it all, throwing stuff around, their voices booming shamelessly. "Hey soldier girl! Come out, come out!" Zain bellowed, his smirk predatory. Harris cupped his hands: "We know you're hiding! Show yourself--we've got plans for you sweetheart!" Brody laughed, adding vulgar taunts that echoed off the walls.
"I bet this slut smells like rats and fungus..."
"We'll throw her in the lake. Give her a bath" Zain added.
Harris stepped up to them smiling shamelessly. " You think she'll let us join?"
Brody roared in laughter. " Like SHE has a choice!"
Mia whirled, face flushed. "Shut up! You're being disgusting."
Zain barked back, Marching up to her "Mind your business. If she's here, we'll handle her" he pushed her aside making his way to the back of the house.
Lila slipped away amid the chaos, drawn upstairs by an invisible thread. The wooden steps groaned under her sneakers. Halfway up, a loud creaking sound drifted down on her--slow swaying, like a heavy weight shifted in the breeze. The sound came from the ceiling. It send icy shivers racing down her spine, pricking her skin. She paused heart thumping, then shook it off as the old house settling and pressed on. If there really was someone here, she had to force her to leave.
The bedroom door hung ajar, hinges rusted. Inside, the room was a time capsule of abandonment: a sagging bedframe, scattered papers brittle with age, a mirror cracked like spiderwebs. The window was barricaded by overgrown branches, thick and tangled; blocking the view entirely, yet faint light seeped through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on the dusty floorboards--etheral, almost inviting.
She stood in front of the window, behind which she could see nothing. The light shined on her face as her eyes stared longingly into her past.
Then came the sound: loud, delibrate water drop--plink,plink, plink--resonating through the silence like a leaky faucet amplified in an empty hall. The only noise, insistent and unnerving.
Lila turned slowly.
There she stood, in the corner's shadow.
The figure's presence was a thunderclap in the quiet--overwhelming, magnetic. Her face was pale was a moonlit marble, utterly blank, devoid of emotion or life. Yet her eyes -wide,dark pools--watered profusely, tears cascading in silent rivulets down her cheeks, pooling at her jaw before dripping to the floor. Plink. Plink. She wore only the army shirt, oversized and frayed, hanging to mid-thigh like a shroud, buttons mismatched, fabric stained with age-old grime. Below, her bare legs gleamed unnaturally white, streaked with long dried blood-crusted tails that spoke of unimaginable violence, snaking from thighs to ankles in frozen rivulets.
She did nothing. Moved not an inch. Simply stood,weeping eternally, her sorrow a palpable force that thickened the air.
Lila's friend's distant calls blurred, fading to a murmur as the world narrowed to those eyes, that endless grief. Her vision swam; knees weakened. Darkness enveloped her like a shroud.
CHAPTER 4: BACK HOME
Lila stirred on the familiar worn couch in her family's cozy living room, light filtering through lace curtains in golden shafts. The scent of fresh tea wafted from the kitchen; her father's low hum accompanied the rustle of pages. Everything was achingly normal-the floral wallpaper, the ticking clock the soft throw blanket draped over her.
She sat up groggily, rubbing her temples. She felt her whole body with her hands. Everything was fine except she had a splitting headache.
Her mother emerged from the kitchen, smiling sweetly "Awake my love?" She was a woman with kind, grey eyes and grey streaked hair pulled into a bun, wiping her hands on an apron.
"Wait...what happened?" She said almost reluctantly, rubbing her eyes.
"Oh honey, we were hoping you'd tell us. You came stumbling through the door about these hours ago after you left with your friends. You mumbled something and just collapsed on the couch. We figured you'd had an exhausting afternoon out playing. Your father tucked a blanket over you, and we let you rest. Are you alright?"
Lila blinked, fragments of the house flickering in her mind like half remembered dreams. No recall of the walk home. No explanation.
"I'm okay mom"
That night, as shadows lengthened and the wind whispered through the hills, the phone shrilled. Lila's mother answered. It was Zain's mother, her voice edged with worry: "Is Lila home? Are the boys with her?"
"Lila's home but...the boys aren't here..why is something the matter?" Her mother replied.
"They were all together earlier this afternoon--they haven't come home"
Haris's parents called next, then Brody's --each more frantic than the last.
Lila shook her head when questioned, she didn't know. No one did. Her mother provided words of comfort to their parents, assuring that they world return home safe and sound.
Outside, the rain returned, pattering against the windows like insistent fingers. And in the abandoned cottage, amid the swaying creaks and endless drops, the Weeping Soldier stood vigil--her tears a silent testament, her grief a lure for those who deserved to vanish into the storm's embrace.