The Shadows of Ashford Manor

The icy branch slapped Matthew Connelly’s cheek, but he barely felt it. He was already sprinting through the dense underbrush, his breath rising in ragged clouds. The woods around Ashford Manor loomed like a living thing, thick with mist and shadows, but all Matthew could focus on were the fresh footprints disappearing into the snow ahead of him.

“Matt! Stop!” Robert’s voice came from behind, strained and panicked, but Matthew didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Something—or someone—had been watching them from the woods, leaving those footprints. And deep down, Matthew believed it had something to do with Alice Ashford. He had come here tonight hoping to find answers, hoping to understand what had happened to her, but instead, he found something much darker.

The wind howled through the trees, biting at his exposed skin. Branches tore at his coat as he pushed deeper into the woods, the cold air burning his lungs. His heart pounded in his chest, every step pulling him closer to the unknown. The trail was clear—whoever had been watching them had come this way.

Then, as quickly as they had started, the footprints stopped.

Matthew skidded to a halt, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He stared at the snow. The trail ended abruptly, as though the person had vanished into thin air.

“What the hell…” Robert stumbled into the clearing, panting, his face pale under the weak moonlight. “Where’d they go?”

Matthew didn’t answer. His eyes scanned the clearing. The mist hung low, swirling around them, making it hard to see more than a few feet ahead. The trees stood tall and twisted, their branches reaching like skeletal fingers. The woods were silent now—unnaturally silent.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Matt, we need to get out of here,” Robert muttered, his voice shaking. “This isn’t right.”

But Matthew’s attention was already drawn to something else. At the far edge of the clearing, barely visible through the fog, stood an old stone well. The well looked ancient, its stones cracked and covered in moss, the wooden cover long since rotted away. The air around it seemed heavier, colder.

Without thinking, Matthew took a step toward the well.

“Matt, no!” Robert grabbed his arm, pulling him back, his eyes wide with fear. “We shouldn’t be here!”

Matthew shook him off, his heart pounding in his chest. Something was pulling him toward the well—something he couldn’t explain. He stepped closer, peering into the dark, gaping hole. The air coming from the well was freezing, carrying with it the scent of decay and damp earth. It sent a shiver down his spine.

And then he heard it—a voice.

“Help me…”

Matthew froze. His blood turned to ice in his veins. The voice was faint, distant, but unmistakable. It was Alice.

“Help me…” the voice whispered again, rising from the depths of the well.

Matthew leaned over the edge, his heart hammering in his chest. “Alice?” he called, his voice trembling.

There was no answer. Just the sound of the wind.

“Matt, we have to leave.” Robert’s voice was desperate now, his hand pulling harder at Matthew’s sleeve. “This place is wrong. We need to go.”

But Matthew couldn’t tear himself away. The voice—it had to be Alice. She was down there. She needed him. Without a second thought, he grabbed the old rope hanging from the side of the well and started to climb down, lowering himself into the abyss.

The stone walls pressed in around him, the cold air biting at his skin. His breath echoed in the narrow space as he descended, his heart racing. The voice grew louder with every step.

“Help me… please…”

Finally, Matthew’s feet touched the cold, damp ground. The air was thick, stifling, and the smell of rot was stronger now. He fumbled for his flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness. The bottom of the well was small, confined, the walls slick with moisture.

But there was no sign of Alice. No sign of anyone.

“Alice?” Matthew called out, his voice shaking.

Silence.

His heart sank. He had been wrong. The voice—it had just been in his head. His own desperation playing tricks on him. He turned to climb back up, but then he heard it again.

“Help me…”

It was right behind him.

Matthew spun around, his pulse pounding in his ears. But there was nothing. Just the cold, suffocating darkness. And yet, the voice grew louder, closer.

“Help me…”

Panic seized him. He stumbled back, his breath coming in short gasps. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. He turned, grabbing for the rope, but his hands were shaking, his heart slamming in his chest.

And then the light flickered.

A dim, pale glow illuminated the darkness, casting long shadows on the damp walls, inexplicably, too far apart – – more like a cell in a dungeon or a prison than the bottom of a local well. Matthew’s breath hitched as a figure emerged from the shadows.

It was Alice.

Her face was pale, her eyes wide and hollow. Her hair hung in damp, tangled strands around her face, and her clothes were torn, soaked with water. She looked like she had been trapped down here for years.

“Help me…” she whispered again, her voice soft and broken.

Matthew’s blood ran cold. “Alice?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

She didn’t respond. She just stared at him, her eyes filled with a haunting, unspoken sadness. Slowly, she raised her hand, reaching out to him.

“Help me…”

Matthew’s heart pounded in his chest. His hand hovered above hers, inches away from touching her cold, pale skin. But something held him back. Something deep inside screamed at him not to touch her.

And then, in a flash of terror, he understood.

This wasn’t Alice. It had never been Alice.

The figure in front of him began to change, its skin cracking and darkening, its eyes growing black and hollow. The pale light flickered again, and the figure’s mouth twisted into a grotesque grin.

“Help me…” it hissed, its voice no longer human.

Matthew stumbled back, his heart slamming in his chest. He grabbed for the rope, his hands slipping on the wet stones as he tried to climb. The voice followed him, growing louder, more distorted.

“Help me… Help me…”

Finally, Matthew’s hands grasped the edge of the well, and he pulled himself up, gasping for breath as he collapsed onto the snow-covered ground. Robert was at his side in an instant, yanking him to his feet.

“We need to leave. Now.” Robert’s voice was frantic, his grip tight on Matthew’s arm.

Matthew didn’t argue. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind spinning. Whatever had been down there, it wasn’t Alice. And it wasn’t human.

They stumbled through the snow, the cold air stinging their faces, but the feeling of being watched—of being followed—clung to them like the mist that surrounded the woods.

As they reached the edge of the trees, the manor came into view. The crumbling stone walls were dark, the broken windows like empty eyes staring back at them. But just as they reached the garden, something caught Matthew’s eye.

The front door—heavy and rotting—was slowly swinging open.

The wind howled, carrying with it the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing from inside the house. The windows flickered with a faint light, casting eerie shadows across the snow-covered ground.

Matthew’s breath caught in his throat. The house was alive. It had been watching them the entire time.

Robert’s voice was barely a whisper now. “We need to go.”

But before they could move, the ground beneath their feet trembled. The wind picked up, swirling around them, the mist thickening. The footsteps inside the house grew louder, faster, like something was racing toward the open door.

And then, with a deafening slam, the door swung shut.

The noise echoed through the woods, the force of it vibrating in Matthew’s chest. The air grew still, the mist creeping in around the manor, sealing it in darkness once again.

Matthew’s heart raced, his legs shaking beneath him. Whatever had been in the well wasn’t just in the well—it was the house. The woods. Everything about this place was alive, watching, waiting.

He turned to Robert, his voice shaky. “We’re never coming back here.”

Robert nodded, his face pale, his hands trembling. “Never.”

They turned their backs on the manor and stumbled away into the night, leaving the haunted house and the terrible thing inside it behind. But the shadows of Ashford Manor, and the cold, empty voice that had called from the depths, would never truly leave them.

They had survived, but they had not escaped.