The library

Dorian stood in front of his newly inherited house, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and apprehension. The old Victorian structure stood tall and imposing, its timeworn facade hinting at a forgotten past. His eccentric Uncle Theodore had left this house to him before mysteriously vanishing, leaving Dorian with a sense of curiosity and a slight unease.

The uncle Theodore was a peculiar man. He believed in nonexistent creatures, did rituals... He always told little Dorian ghost stories. One story was always different from others. It was about an old woman dressed in old, white, moldy wedding dress who loved to woner around the library. Of course little Dorian did not believe in them. One day uncle Theodore vanished without leaving a trace and left this house to Dorian.

Dorian was a man plagued by insomnia. Countless sleepless nights had taken a toll on his mind and body, rendering him perpetually weary and on edge. The doctor had prescribed him sleeping pills, but they only served to deepen his restlessness. Desperate for a reprieve, he hoped that moving into this new house would bring about a change.

The library was the first room Dorian explored upon settling in. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by towering bookshelves, their spines laden with ancient tomes and forgotten knowledge. The room exuded an air of grandeur and mystery, an oasis of forgotten stories.

Late one night, when the moon cast an eerie glow through the window, Dorian found himself unable to sleep once again. Tossing and turning in his bed, he listened to the faint whispers of the wind outside. It was then that a blood-curdling scream pierced the stillness, echoing through the halls of the old house.

Startled, Dorian leaped out of bed, his heart pounding in his chest. He frantically searched for the source of the chilling sound, his bare feet gliding over the creaking wooden floors. The screams led him back to the library, growing louder and more haunting with each step he took.

As he swung open the library door, a chilling gust of wind swept through the room, extinguishing the flickering candle flames. The darkness enveloped him, leaving only the moonlight to guide his way. He cautiously stepped forward, his trembling hands reaching for a matchstick to rekindle the candles.

Suddenly, a figure materialized from the shadows, standing in the far corner of the room. Dorian's breath caught in his throat as he squinted through the darkness. The figure appeared to be a woman, her flowing white gown billowing around her like a ghostly specter.

"Who are you?" Dorian managed to stammer, his voice barely above a whisper.

The woman's face remained shrouded in darkness, but her voice carried a mournful tone as she replied, "Dorian... I have been waiting for you."

Dorian's mind raced, trying to comprehend the situation. Was this a ghost? A figment of his sleep-deprived imagination? He took a step closer, his curiosity mingling with a growing sense of dread.

"Please," the woman implored, her voice trembling, "release me from this eternal torment."

Dorian's heart ached as he listened to her plea. Without hesitating, he reached for a nearby book and turned to a page that had been marked by a withered rose. The words on the page spoke of a forbidden ritual that could free restless souls.

With trembling hands, Dorian followed the instructions, reciting incantations that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the house. The air grew heavy, charged with an otherworldly energy, as the woman before him slowly began to fade away.

"I am free," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Dorian."

As the last remnants of the woman dissipated into the ether, a profound stillness settled over the library. Dorian's insomnia, which had haunted him for so long, seemed to lift in that moment. Exhaustion finally overcame him, and he collapsed onto the library floor, succumbing to a deep and dreamless slumber.

From that night forward, Dorian slept peacefully, no longer tormented by insomnia. The library, once a place of mystery and fear, became a sanctuary—a space filled with stories that whispered to him in his dreams. And though he would never forget the haunting encounter, he would always be grateful for the eerie cries that led him to a resolution, allowing both the woman and himself to find peace.