The rain fell like a drumroll against the cracked windows of Blackthorne Manor. The old mansion, sitting at the edge of the forgotten hill outside town, loomed like it had been waiting centuries for fresh souls to wander through its iron gates.

And tonight, it had them.

“Are you seriously dragging me into this creepy place just because some TikTok video said it’s haunted?” Clara whispered, her hand clutching the damp sleeve of her boyfriend Ethan’s hoodie.

Ethan grinned, water dripping from his messy hair. “Haunted mansion date night. It’s romantic.”

“Romantic?” Clara gave him the look girlfriends reserve for boyfriends who suggest something stupid but somehow sound adorable doing it. “Ethan, people die in these places.”

He puffed out his chest. “Then I’ll save you if a ghost tries to steal your soul.”

“...That’s not comforting.”

They were not alone. Shuffling behind them was Marcus, their best friend, carrying a flashlight far too powerful for the occasion. Marcus had insisted on coming because, according to him, “You two would chicken out and end up making out in the car instead of exploring actual paranormal activity.”

“I’m here for scientific investigation,” Marcus declared dramatically as he stepped over the mossy threshold of the broken gate. “And because if you guys die, I need to inherit your PS5.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Wow. True friendship.”

The three of them trudged up the gravel path, their sneakers crunching against stones slick with rain. The mansion loomed taller with each step. Its towering spires seemed to pierce the storm clouds themselves. Windows were shattered like broken teeth, vines clung to the walls, and a faint orange glow flickered inside.

Ethan slowed, his voice dropping. “Uh… Clara?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me you see that too.”

The glow inside. A lantern—or maybe candles. Someone was in the house.

Marcus, unfazed, smirked. “Ghosts don’t pay the electricity bill, genius. Probably squatters.”

But when they pushed the warped door open, the house greeted them with silence.

And the smell. Old dust, mildew… and roses.

Clara paused, shivering. “Do you guys smell that? Roses?”

Ethan inhaled. “Yeah. Weird. Like my grandma’s perfume.”

Marcus gagged. “Smells like a funeral home.”

The foyer stretched out before them like a ballroom frozen in time. A grand staircase twisted upward into shadows, and portraits lined the walls. Each face painted in oil seemed to follow their every move—cold eyes in gilded frames.

Clara hugged herself. “This is officially the creepiest date I’ve ever been on.”

“Give it five minutes,” Ethan whispered. “It’ll be the most romantic too.”

Before Clara could roll her eyes again, a voice echoed.

“Welcome…”

The three froze.

“...to eternity.”

Clara’s heart leapt into her throat. Ethan squeezed her hand. Marcus dropped the flashlight, and it flickered ominously on the floor.

The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once—low, melodic, and sorrowful.

“Who’s there?” Ethan shouted, his bravado slipping.

“...A love story… unfinished…”

The candles along the walls sputtered to life one by one, bathing the foyer in a pale glow. At the top of the staircase stood a figure.

A woman in a tattered white gown. Her skin pale as moonlight, her dark hair flowing as if underwater. Eyes hollow, yet glistening with tears.

Clara gasped. “Oh my God… she’s…”

“Hot,” Marcus whispered, then quickly corrected himself. “I mean terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.”

The woman glided down the steps without moving her feet. Her voice trembled like wind chimes.

“Long ago, love bound me here. Love… and betrayal. And now…” She pointed directly at Clara. “You.”

Clara staggered back. “Me? No-no-no. Nope. Wrong girl. I’m lactose intolerant, I don’t even drink milk, please don’t curse me—”

Ethan stepped forward, trying to sound tough. “Leave her alone! Whatever unfinished business you have, you don’t touch her.”

The ghost smiled faintly. “Brave. Foolish. But brave.”

Marcus muttered, “More like stupid.”

The ghost ignored him. Her form flickered, her gown swaying as if an invisible storm surrounded her. She reached out a translucent hand toward Clara.

“You remind me… of me.”

Clara’s heart pounded. “Why? Because I scream a lot?”

The ghost’s lips twitched into what might have been a smirk. “Because you loved… beyond reason.”

And then—without warning—Clara’s body lurched forward. She gasped as her feet scraped the wooden floor. Ethan grabbed her hand, pulling back, his veins straining.

“Let her go!” Ethan roared.

The ghost tilted her head, intrigued. “Would you die… for her?”

Clara screamed, “Don’t you dare answer that!”

But Ethan, of course, did. “Yes! I’d die for her.”

The ghost paused. Her eyes softened, as if touched by his words. Then, with a wisp of her gown, she vanished.

The candles extinguished.

The house plunged back into silence.

The three stood panting in the dark. Marcus finally picked up his flashlight, his hand trembling. “Okay… okay… um… so either we just met the ghost of an overly dramatic theater kid, or we are definitely screwed.”

Clara whirled on Ethan. “Why would you say that?! Why would you tell a ghost you’d die for me?!”

Ethan scratched the back of his neck. “Because it’s true?”

Marcus facepalmed. “Congratulations, you just got us all cursed. If I start bleeding from my eyeballs, I’m haunting you, Ethan.”

Despite her fear, Clara couldn’t help laughing. The absurdity of it all—the rain, the ghost, Marcus’s complaints—mixed with her pounding adrenaline.

Still, as they made their way deeper into the mansion, she couldn’t shake the words echoing in her head.

“Would you die for her?”

And for the first time that night, Clara wondered if this mansion wasn’t just haunted by ghosts

…but by love itself.