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Maple Grove

short story

By Kamal O. TouhamiPublished 27 days ago 4 min read
Maple Grove
Photo by Adrian Hernandez on Unsplash

In Maple Grove, a quite little corner in east Dublin, there was a strange feeling in the air, like a silent warning of what was to come. It was here, in this little corner of the world, that our story took place, under the thick blanket of a never-ending night.

In the middle of town stood a house as old as the streets that twisted like snakes through the village. Everybody knew about it but nobody went there, as stories of its spooky halls had become part of the local legends. And it was into the shadow of those forgotten memories that Emma found herself drawn, pulled by a mysterious force she couldn't explain. A force that hinted at secrets hidden within the dusty walls of the Benson Manor.

Emma, a writer with a modest following, had come to Maple Grove in search of ideas for her next book. But as she stood in front of the imposing gates of the Benson Manor, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was stepping into the pages of a story not of her own making. Her eyes caught a glimpse of light inside, igniting her curiosity. With cautious steps, she crossed the threshold into a world untouched by time.

The manor was a maze of shadows, each room a chapter in a tale of sadness and madness. Emma's footsteps echoed through the halls, a melancholy tune that spoke of solitude and hopelessness. It was in the library, among the dusty books, that she found it - a diary, its pages yellowed with age but the words as clear as if whispered in her ear.

"The secrets of the Bensons are not meant for the world," it read. "Beware, for those who seek the truth risk angering the shadows that lurk in the darkness."

Her heart raced as she read, each word pulling her deeper into the mystery. The diary spoke of a hidden room, a place where the darkest secrets of the Benson family were kept. A place that could be the key to the inspiration she sought - or the door to her own downfall.

Night had fallen over the manor, the darkness blurring the line between the living and the dead. Emma's search led her to a forgotten part of the house, where the air grew colder with each step. There, behind a hidden panel, she found the room. The air was thick with the smell of decay, and in the center of the room stood a mirror, its surface as dark as midnight.

As Emma approached, the mirror seemed to come alive, its surface rippling like water. And then, with a clarity that cut through the shadows, it showed her - a reflection not of her own face, but of another. A woman, her eyes filled with tears, her hands stained with blood. The woman mouthed a single word, a name: "Eleanor."

The room spun, and Emma stumbled back, the diary slipping from her fingers. The mirror's surface calmed, but the air crackled with an indescribable energy. She had to leave, to escape the madness that had consumed the Bensons. But as she turned to go, the diary opened on its own, its pages fluttering until they settled on a passage marked by a single, blood-red ribbon.

"Eleanor tried to protect us, to hide the curse that plagued our family. But in her sacrifice, she unleashed a darkness that consumed her. Beware her reflection, for it holds the key to the horrors trapped within these walls."

The truth hit Emma like a ton of bricks, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Eleanor, the last of the Bensons, had tried to lock away the evil that cursed their family. And in her desperation, she had become the guardian of the manor's darkest secrets. Emma realized then that the light she had seen was not a beacon of inspiration, but a warning. A warning that she had ignored.

With determination born of fear and fascination, Emma knew what she had to do. She took the diary, its pages now glowing with an otherworldly light, and approached the mirror once more. As her reflection merged with Eleanor's, the room shook as if protesting the revelation of secrets long hidden. And then, in a burst of light, the darkness was dispelled, revealing a door where the mirror had once hung.

Behind it lay not just the secrets of the Benson Manor, but the story Emma had been searching for. A story of love and loss, of darkness and redemption. And as the first light of dawn broke over Maple Grove, Emma emerged from the manor, a tale of thrills and chills ready to be written. But in her heart, she carried the knowledge that some stories, like the shadows within Benson Manor, are best left undisturbed.

And so, as the legend of the Benson Manor fades into memory, one can't help but wonder: are some secrets better left buried? In the end, only the shadows know for sure.


All rights reserved © 2024. Kamal O. Touhami


"This poem was originally published on my Medium page."

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About the Creator

Kamal O. Touhami

Welcome to my little world of creative work. I hope you enjoy and support my work. Much love to ya'll.

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Comments (2)

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  • Esala Gunathilake26 days ago

    Oh! It is outstanding bro!!!

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