The Unseen World

The old manor stood at the edge of town, its windows dark and blind, its silence thicker than dust. Three candles burned on a table in the parlor, their flames wavering against the stale air. Around them sat Dr. Marlowe, a seasoned paranormal expert, his assistant Clara, and Jonah, a skeptic turned investigator who never missed a chance to mock the ritual.

The case was straightforward—or so it seemed. A family had fled the house after claiming to see shadows crawling across walls, whispers in the floorboards, and an invisible presence that tugged at their hair. Tonight, the team was there to summon what lingered.

Dr. Marlowe’s voice echoed low as he began the incantation. The flames of the candles tilted unnaturally to the left, though no draft touched the room. Clara scribbled notes, her pen trembling slightly. Jonah smirked, leaning back in his chair.

“To the unseen, we open the veil,” Marlowe intoned.

Jonah rolled his eyes. “Oh mighty ghost, if you’re here, knock twice… or, you know, bring me a beer.” He chuckled at his own joke, the sound bouncing oddly in the still air.

Clara glared. “Not funny.”

But then—knock. Knock.

The sound was sharp, deliberate, and came from the wooden table itself. Jonah froze, his grin collapsing. “Okay… you guys set that up, right?”

Before anyone could answer, the candles flickered violently. Wax dripped fast, pooling like melting flesh. From the shadows on the far wall, something long and spindly stretched outward—like arms unfurling, fingers twisting.

Jonah swallowed hard. “I was kidding…”

The thing in the dark mimicked him, its voice distorted, “I… was kidding.” The words scraped like broken glass across the air.

Clara gasped. Marlowe raised his hand, chanting faster. But the shadow only laughed—a hollow, gurgling sound that shook the table. One of the candles went out with a hiss.

The room chilled. Breath fogged. Jonah clutched his chest, his bravado shattered. “Marlowe, what’s happening?”

“You invited it,” Marlowe snapped, his tone strained. “Jokes are still invitations in the unseen world.”

The final candle sputtered, leaving only one flame. Its light bent strangely, stretching toward Jonah as if pulled by invisible strings.

He stood abruptly, chair scraping. “Enough! This isn’t—”

His words cut off as his own laughter filled the room—except it wasn’t coming from him. The shadow on the wall grinned with Jonah’s mouth, its teeth impossibly long, jagged.

Jonah backed away, pale. “That’s not me…”

The shadow’s grin widened. Its voice, his voice, whispered: “But it will be.”

The last candle fade away.

Darkness swallowed the room, leaving only the sound of Clara’s frantic breathing and Jonah’s distorted laughter—coming from both sides of the table at once.

When the lights were finally turned back on hours later by rescuers, only Marlowe and Clara remained—shaken, silent, refusing to speak of what had taken Jonah.

The table, however, still bore the scorch mark of a smile carved deep into the wood.

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