Lights flickered, casting eerie shadows as doors swung open and voices called out in alarm. A sense of dread and urgency hung heavy in the air.

"Did you hear that scream, Harry?" queried a young man, his face etched with concern as he entered another's chamber.

"I did. Where do you think it came from?" Harry replied, hastily dressing.

"I have no idea, but it sounded real enough to wake the dead."

As they spoke, a tap at the door interrupted their conversation. A female voice, fraught with fear, pleaded, "Please, get up!"

"We're up," they answered in unison, stepping out to join the commotion in the corridor.

"Did you hear it too?" the woman implored.

"Yes, a scream," they confirmed, scanning the surroundings for clues.

"Search the house, quickly! Where did it come from?" the woman urged, her eyes wide with fear.

"We don't know," they replied helplessly.

A middle-aged man approached, his expression mirroring the growing panic. "What's happening?" he exclaimed.

Before anyone could respond, a barrage of shrieks shattered the tense silence, leaving them reeling in shock. The elderly lady collapsed, saved from a fall only by the swift action of the man who had just arrived.

"Henry, help your mother," he instructed, his voice strained with urgency. "Those cries came from Flora's room, I'm sure of it."

Henry mechanically assisted his mother, while the man retrieved a pair of pistols from his room. With determination in his eyes, he declared, "Follow me if you dare!" and raced towards Flora's room, the source of the now-silenced screams.

The air crackled with suspense as they approached the antique chamber, anticipation mingling with dread. What awaited them behind those closed doors, and what horrors had silenced the cries that had pierced the night?.

The house stood as a fortress, its oak doors thick and imposing. Yet, this strength became a cruel barrier as the man desperately tried to reach Flora, trapped within the chamber.

"Flora! Answer me!" he called out, his voice echoing through the silent halls.

Silence greeted his pleas, intensifying the sense of dread that hung in the air. "We must break down this door," he declared, a note of urgency in his tone.

"I hear something strange inside," the young man beside him muttered, his hands trembling with apprehension.

"What does it sound like?" the man asked, his own anxiety palpable.

"It's like... like some creature feeding, or drinking," the young man struggled to describe the unsettling noise.

A sense of foreboding gripped them both. "Do you have a tool to break the lock?" the man asked, his impatience mounting.

"I do," the young man replied, darting down the staircase and returning with a sturdy iron crowbar. "This should work."

The man took the crowbar, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. "She hasn't spoken at all?" he asked, his worry growing.

"Not a word," the young man confirmed, his voice filled with dread. "I fear something terrible has happened."

As they struggled to pry open the door, each moment felt like an eternity. The harsh sound of metal against wood filled the air as they applied all their strength to break through the barrier.

"Push!" the man commanded, his muscles straining against the resistance.

With a sudden snap, part of the lock gave way, and the door swung open with a creak. Time seemed to distort, stretching the brief minutes into an eternity of suspense and fear for those battling to reach Flora's chamber.

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"It's giving way!" exclaimed the young man, his voice tinged with excitement.

"Just a bit more," urged O'Hara, his grip tightening on the crowbar. "We're almost there."

With a final push, O'Hara forced the massive door open, revealing the chamber beyond.

Without hesitation, Henry rushed in, holding a flickering candle that struggled against the gusts of wind entering through the open window. The dim light barely illuminated the room, casting eerie shadows in its wake.

"Flora! Are you here?" Henry called out, his voice tinged with urgency.

In a sudden blur of movement, something leaped from the bed, crashing into Henry with such force that he stumbled and the candle was snuffed out.

Darkness engulfed the room, broken only by the faint glow from a nearby burning mill. In that dim light, a figure darted towards the window.

Through the haze of confusion and shock, Henry, George, and O'Hara caught sight of the figure—a towering presence with bloodstained lips and a single gleaming eye that spoke of unearthly menace.

A moment of terror froze them in place, their minds reeling at the sight before them. But O'Hara, seasoned by life's challenges, quickly regained his composure. "Stay down, Henry!" he commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos.

In one swift motion, O'Hara raised his pistol and fired at the figure, the shot reverberating through the chamber with startling intensity. The weapon, designed for serious use, unleashed a lethal force that shattered the eerie calm of the room.

"If that shot didn't find its mark," declared Mr. O'Hara, his voice tinged with grim determination, "I'll never fire another round."

With a swift movement, he lunged towards the figure he believed he had hit. The creature turned to face him, revealing a visage so terrifying that even

O'Hara, renowned for his courage, took a step back, exclaiming, "Great God!"

The face before him was a nightmarish sight—flushed with an unnatural hue of fresh blood, eyes gleaming with savage intensity, and teeth protruding like sharp fangs. A guttural, howling sound emanated from its throat, and it seemed poised to attack.

In a sudden frenzy, the monstrous figure unleashed a wild, shrieking laugh before darting through the window and vanishing in an instant.

"God help us," Henry whispered, his voice filled with shock.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, O'Hara stamped his foot as if to shake off the fear that gripped them all. "Whoever or whatever that was, I'm going after it," he declared resolutely.

"No, please don't," pleaded the lady, her voice trembling with fear.

"I must. I will. Anyone who's willing, come with me," O'Hara insisted, determination burning in his eyes.

Without hesitation, he followed the creature's path through the window and onto the balcony.

"We're coming too," shouted Henry, his resolve matching O'Hara's. "This concerns us deeply."

Their mother, overwhelmed with horror and despair, cried out, begging them to stay. But O'Hara's voice rang out, "I see it! It's heading for the wall."

With no time to spare, they rushed onto the balcony and leaped into the garden below.

As the men pursued the unknown horror, the mother collapsed beside her daughter, her heart breaking at the sight of the young girl, seemingly bathed in blood, lying unconscious on the bed.

As the two young men emerged into the garden, they were greeted by an unexpected light. The approaching dawn, coupled with the blazing mill, cast an eerie glow, illuminating almost every detail. However, deep shadows lurked beneath ancient trees that had stood sentinel for centuries in that darkly enchanting woods.

Amidst this surreal scene, Mr. O'Hara's voice pierced the air. "There! Towards the wall! Hurry!" His urgency was palpable, fueled by a mixture of fear and determination.

Responding swiftly, the young men plunged through the thick undergrowth in the direction of O'Hara's voice. There, they found him, his expression wild and haunted, clutching something that resembled torn fabric.

"Which way do we go?" they both demanded, their voices echoing with a sense of urgency.

Leaning heavily on George for support, O'Hara pointed along a pathway flanked by towering trees. In a hushed tone, laden with apprehension, he murmured,

“God help us all. It is not human. Look there—do you not see it?” O’Hara’s voice quivered with a mix of disbelief and horror, his finger pointing toward the wall.

The night seemed to hold its breath as the trio gazed at the monstrous form struggling at the garden wall. The looming structure, twelve feet tall and formidable, stood as a barrier between them and the creature they had pursued from their sister’s chamber.

They followed his gaze, their eyes widening as they beheld the grotesque figure’s desperate attempts to surmount the obstacle. With each futile leap, the ground reverberated with its heavy falls, sending shivers down their spines.

“What... what is it?” Henry’s voice was strained, his words barely audible. “God, what can it possibly be?”

“I know not,” replied O’Hara, his tone grave. “When I grabbed it, it felt cold and lifeless, like a corpse. It cannot be human.”

“Not human?” Henry echoed, his disbelief mirrored in his expression.

“Look at it now. It’s about to escape,” O’Hara observed.

“No, we cannot let fear paralyze us,” George interjected. “There is Heaven above us. Let’s make one last effort to catch this intruder, for Flora’s sake.”

Accepting the offered pistol, Henry braced himself. “He will not get away,” he declared, his resolve evident.

As the figure finally scaled the wall, teetering on the edge before dropping to the other side, O’Hara’s determination reignited. They charged toward the wall, closing in on the creature.

With steady hands, Henry aimed the pistol, his finger squeezing the trigger. The shot rang out, and the figure let out a piercing shriek before tumbling to the ground outside the wall.

“I’ve shot him,” Henry exclaimed, a mix of relief and disbelief in his voice. “I’ve shot him.”