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“They say every book has a soul… but what if one refused to leave? 👻”TITLE: THE GIRL BY THE WINDOW No one in Maplewood g...
31/10/2025

“They say every book has a soul… but what if one refused to leave? 👻”

TITLE: THE GIRL BY THE WINDOW

No one in Maplewood goes near the old library anymore. Not since the fire.

It used to be the town’s pride — tall oak shelves, stained-glass windows, and the scent of old paper that never seemed to fade. The librarian, Mrs. Jensen, often said her daughter Clara was “raised among stories.” Clara was quiet, the kind of girl who’d rather spend her weekends reading than going to parties.

On a stormy night in October 2015, lightning struck the clock tower above the library. Flames spread faster than anyone expected. By the time help arrived, the roof had collapsed. They never found Clara’s body — only her name engraved on a silver bookmark near the burned shelves of the “Classics” section.

After that, Maplewood changed. The new library was built across town, and the old one was boarded up. But every few months, someone passing by swore they saw a dim light flickering in the top floor window around 2:13 AM — the same time the fire started.

At first, people said it was just leftover wiring. But then came the stories.

A night guard who worked nearby said he saw a silhouette of a girl through the cracked glass. He called out, thinking someone had broken in — but when he went closer, the inside was empty, covered in dust. Only a faint smell of smoke lingered in the air.

A group of teenagers later broke in to film a “haunted challenge” for social media. They laughed their way through the dark hallways until one of them found a half-burned book lying open on a table. The title read: “The Girl by the Window.”

That video never got uploaded. The account went silent that night.

Today, if you drive past Maplewood Library just after midnight, you might see her — a pale figure, standing still, holding a book to her chest. Some say she’s waiting for her mother to come back. Others say she’s still searching for the ending of her story.

But everyone agrees on one thing:
when the clock hits 2:13 AM, the lights in the library flicker —
and if you watch long enough… they’ll flicker in your house, too.

“They say love never dies… but what if it refuses to let go? 💔👻”💔👻 The Vow at Hollow CreekThey met where no one was supp...
31/10/2025

“They say love never dies… but what if it refuses to let go? 💔👻”

💔👻 The Vow at Hollow Creek

They met where no one was supposed to fall in love — a funeral.

Evelyn Grant was a florist, quiet and thoughtful, hired to decorate a small country church for a stranger’s service. Michael, the grieving fiancé, was the kind of man whose sadness filled every room he walked into.

She didn’t mean to speak to him, but when he noticed her trembling hands and said, “You don’t have to look so sad. You didn’t even know her,” something inside her shifted.

Over the next few months, grief turned into conversation, and conversation into something that felt dangerously close to love. Evelyn tried to fight it — but Michael made her feel alive in a way no one else had.

Until the night he vanished.

No goodbye, no trace. Only a note on her kitchen table:

“I can’t let her go yet. She’s still here.”

Evelyn thought he meant emotionally. But when she followed the old path by Hollow Creek, she saw the candles — a circle of them, flickering on the water. And Michael, kneeling in the middle, whispering a name she’d never heard before.

He turned when he felt her there. His eyes were black — empty, bottomless.

“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he said softly.

The next morning, police found the creek bed empty. No candles. No Michael. Only a single wilted flower — the same kind she used to decorate that funeral long ago.

Now, locals say that on cold October nights, if two lovers walk by Hollow Creek, they’ll hear someone whisper, “Say you’ll never leave me.”
And if they answer “I promise”… one of them disappears by morning.

“They say a mother’s love never dies… not even when the light finally goes out.”🌾 The Porch Light Still BurnsThey say ev...
31/10/2025

“They say a mother’s love never dies… not even when the light finally goes out.”

🌾 The Porch Light Still Burns

They say every town has one house that never quite fits in.

For the people of Willow Creek, Kentucky, that house sat at the end of Hollow Road — white paint peeling, shutters hanging loose, but the front porch light always on.

No one lived there for years. But that light never went out.

Back in the late 70s, it belonged to the Turner family — simple folks who raised three boys, grew corn, and hosted Sunday barbecues. Then one winter, tragedy hit. Their youngest son, Eli, went missing while walking home from a friend’s farm. Search parties looked for weeks. They never found a trace.

Mrs. Turner refused to believe he was gone. Every night, she’d sit on the porch in her rocking chair, keeping the light on “so Eli can find his way home.” She died there one November evening, chair still creaking in the wind.

Years passed. The house was sold twice but no one stayed long. Tenants said they’d hear footsteps on the porch around midnight — or soft knocks on the front door that stopped when they turned on the light.

One couple finally took a photo, trying to prove the rumors wrong. But when they looked closer, there was a small hand pressed against the windowpane, right where the porch light glowed.

Now, every Halloween, kids dare each other to walk up and touch that door.
Most make it halfway. A few swear they saw the porch light flicker—just once—
as if someone inside was waiting to come home.

Happy birthday to you my brother! May God bless you, favor you and guide you always Amen!!
30/10/2025

Happy birthday to you my brother! May God bless you, favor you and guide you always Amen!!

Some of you have invested so much in skincare but your skin has refused to care 🤣
30/10/2025

Some of you have invested so much in skincare but your skin has refused to care 🤣

30/10/2025

Quote of the day:

sugar cane is sweet but no one swallows it, there are some people you must spit out of your life no matter how much you like them.

29/10/2025

An appeal to save this woman for the sake of her daughter! Please donate even if N100 & share this Post! She is in need or urgent Transplant! It’s Pathetic already!

0111172477
Union Bank.
Omeh Ukamaka Maryjane

God bless you ❤️❤️

Happy birthday to my big bro Chebeekeh Funnydawg ! A movie producer wey sabi
29/10/2025

Happy birthday to my big bro Chebeekeh Funnydawg ! A movie producer wey sabi

29/10/2025

Broda shaggi and UCHE Montana wants to finish me with laugher 🤣🤣🤣

I don already buy helmet 🤣
28/10/2025

I don already buy helmet 🤣

🎃 The House on Willow StreetEvery Halloween, the kids in Maple Town told stories about the old house at the end of Willo...
27/10/2025

🎃 The House on Willow Street

Every Halloween, the kids in Maple Town told stories about the old house at the end of Willow Street. No one remembered who used to live there. Some said an old woman once baked pies for the neighborhood; others said she simply vanished one October night.

The shutters hung crooked, vines crawled up the walls, and the mailbox still read “W. Holloway” even though no one had picked up mail there in years.

Still, the house had one strange habit: every year, on Halloween night, a faint orange glow appeared in one of the windows—like a single candle flickering in the dark.

Emma, a brave twelve-year-old with a curious heart, had heard the stories all her life. That year, she decided she wanted to know the truth.

While her friends were trick-or-treating, Emma walked down Willow Street alone, holding a small pumpkin she had carved herself. She told herself it was just an old house. Nothing more.

When she reached the porch, the air grew still. The trees stopped rustling. Even the moon seemed to hide behind the clouds.

Emma placed her pumpkin gently by the door.
“Happy Halloween,” she whispered, trying to sound cheerful.

She had just turned to leave when she heard it—
Three slow knocks from inside the house.
Knock… knock… knock.

Emma froze. The porch light, which had been dead for years, flickered on with a soft orange glow.

Her pumpkin began to shine—light spilling out from the carved eyes and mouth, even though she hadn’t placed a candle inside. The glow pulsed slowly, like the rhythm of a heartbeat.

Emma took a step back, her breath catching.
Then the door creaked open—just an inch.

A faint voice drifted out, calm and kind, yet echoing like it came from far away.
“Thank you, child. No one has remembered me in a long time.”

Emma’s pumpkin flickered brighter for a moment, and then the door closed softly. The porch light went out.

When Emma looked down, her pumpkin was gone.

She ran home, her heart pounding, unsure if she should be scared or honored.

The next morning, neighbors walking by noticed something new:
The porch of the Willow Street house was lined with dozens of glowing pumpkins, each carved with a different name.

And right in the center sat a fresh pumpkin, shining brighter than all the rest.
Carved across the front were the words:

“Emma—The First To Remember.”

27/10/2025

Don’t do more than yourself 🤣🤣🤣

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