Blackwood's Yew Farm

Jenna wiped sweat from her forehead and surveyed the cluttered living room. Boxes labeled Kitchen, Bedroom, Studio Equipment were scattered around. The high ceilings and dusty crown molding had a haunting charm perfect for her next YouTube series.

“Alright, guys,” Jenna said, adjusting her camera. “Welcome to Blackwood’s Yew Farm, a place so haunted it’s been empty for years! But you know me, here to bust some myths and find the truth.”

Jenna panned the camera around, capturing B-roll footage. “The plan is to document everything,” she said, moving through the hallway. “We’ll explore every nook and cranny. And if the ghosts won’t come, we’ll have to... encourage them.”

Her viewers loved a good scare, even if it meant a bit of staging. Jenna was used to setting up convincing shots to keep her audience on edge.

“This place is beautiful,” Jenna said. “It’s hard to believe nobody’s lived here for years.”

She paused, her look a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Jenna set her camera on the porch handrail. The evening light

cast shadows across the wood as she zoomed in on the plaque reading

"BlaCkWood’s YeW Farm." "Look at this," she said.

"What's up with the weird capital letters?"

She stepped back, ensuring the whole plaque was in the frame. "It’s not just fancy font." She paused, letting the camera linger on the name.

Jenna glanced around, noting the rocking chair and ivy framing the windows. A creak from behind made her jump. Spinning around, she saw nothing. Nervously, she turned back to the camera. “Well, that’s creepy,” she said. “This place certainly has atmosphere.”

She turned off the camera and walked into the house, footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. She set the camera on a tripod, framing the grand foyer behind her, and turned it back on. "Alright, everyone," Jenna says, "let's take a deeper look into Blackwood’s Yew Farm."

She panned the camera across the entryway, showing the chandelier, dusty portraits, and wide staircase. "Check out this staircase," she says, brushing the polished wood. "Straight out of a Gothic novel"

Jenna moved into the living room, aiming the camera at the fireplace. "This fireplace must have seen countless winter nights.”

She walked in front of the camera and looked directly into it. “Turns out, Blackwood’s Yew Farm has a history. People say it’s haunted, but you know me, I’m here to bust those myths.”

A soft creak echoed through the house, making Jenna’s heart skip a beat. “Perfect setting for our adventure, right?”

Jenna reached for her notebook. “Built in early 1929 by John Blackwood. After the Blackwood family’s mysterious disappearance, the house changed hands a few times. Each owner left under strange circumstances. It’s been empty for twenty years.”

Closing the book, she whispered, “Bad luck or something sinister?”

She moved the tripod to the hallway in front of the basement door. She opened the door to the basement and pretended to peer down. "I'll save the basement for another day," Jenna says with a nervous laugh.

Heading upstairs, Jenna showed the master bedroom, with its large four-poster bed and faded wallpaper. "This must have been beautiful in its day," she says. "I can’t wait to fix it up. And the first thing to go…is that ugly wallpaper!"

Finally, she climbed the narrow staircase to the attic. She pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside, her flashlight revealing stacks of old boxes and furniture.

She panned the camera over the piles of furniture and forgotten relics covered in dust. "Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me," she says, stepping carefully around the clutter. "But who knows, maybe we’ll find something interesting."

Jenna approached a large wooden trunk in the corner, its surface scratched and worn. She knelt and slowly lifted the lid. Inside were old clothes, yellowed letters, and a leather-bound diary. She picked up the diary to show the camera.

"Jackpot," Jenna said, eyes wide with excitement. She opened the diary, flipping through the brittle pages.

"Margaret Blackwood, 1929," Jenna read aloud. "This could give us some insight into the history of the Farm." She glanced at the camera. "I promise I’ll read some of this later for you guys."

She tucked the diary under her arm and continued exploring the attic, her camera capturing every dusty corner. "This place is like a time capsule," Jenna said. "Alright, I think that’s enough for today,"

She turned the camera back on herself. "I’ve got a lot of work to do up here. Stay tuned for more updates from Blackwood’s Yew Farm."

Jenna sat on her bed, the diary in her lap. She opened it, finding mundane entries about the house's construction and moving in. But as she read on, the tone shifted.

"November 15, 1929," Jenna read. "Strange noises last night. Sounded like whispers. Couldn’t sleep."

"December 2, 1929," Jenna read. "The whispers are getting louder. John thinks I’m imagining things."

The next entry caught her eye, the handwriting shakier.

"December 14, 1929," she whispered. "Woke up to find all the doors open. John is missing. We’re not alone. The children are terrified."

Jenna’s hands trembled as she turned the page. The final entry was short, the ink smudged.

"December 15, 1929," Jenna read. "Last night was the worst yet. Shadows in the darkness, cold hands on my skin. We must leave. If I could undo the wish that I made to get John to build it."

The diary ended abruptly. Jenna closed the book, her mind racing. She had come to debunk myths, but now she wondered if she had taken on too much.

She turned off the lamp and lay back on the bed. The house’s creaks and moans amplified in the silence. Jenna pulled the covers up to her chin, her eyes wide as she stared into the darkness, unable to shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.

Jenna stirred in her sleep as faint, eerie sounds creeping into her dreams. A low, rhythmic tapping echoed through the house. She woke with a start, heart pounding, sweat dripping from her forehead.

Jenna reached for her camera and flashlight instinctively, her pulse racing. "What the…?" she whispered to herself, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. The tapping continued, louder and more insistent.

"Okay, guys," Jenna said. Her voice trembled slightly, but she forced herself to sound composed. "Three o’clock, some noises woke

me."

Out of bed, the floorboards creaked beneath her weight. The

tapping echoed through the halls, setting her nerves on edge.

"I'm going to check it out," Jenna said. "Wish me luck."

She crept down the hallway, her flashlight illuminating the dust

motes floating in the air. The sound came from the attic.

"Here goes nothing," Jenna muttered, placing a hand on the railing, each step groaned under her weight. The attic door loomed before her.

Pushing it slowly, the hinges squealing in protest. The noise came from the far corner, behind a pile of debris.

Jenna navigated the clutter, her camera held high. "This is creepy.”

As Jenna approached, the noise suddenly stopped. Scanning the

area with her flashlight revealed nothing but cobwebs.

"Nothing here," Jenna said, trembling. She lowered the camera, her breath coming in short gasps. The tapping didn’t resume. The silence more unsettling than the noise.

"Maybe it’s just the house settling," Jenna said, more to herself. A cold breeze brushed past her, ruffling her hair and sending a shiver through her body.

"Okay, that's enough for tonight," Jenna said shakily. "Back to bed."

At the bottom of the stairs, she glanced back up, half expecting

to see someone staring at her. But there was nothing.

Jenna set the camera down on her nightstand. She climbed back

into bed, her mind racing. The house was old, full of noises, but this felt different. She tried to reassure herself, but the unease lingered.

Jenna, eyes heavy with sleep, heard it again, closer this time,

different. A soft, dragging noise, like something being pulled across the floor. She sat up quickly, heart pounding, reaching for her camera.

"Guys, it's happening again," Jenna said, pressing the record button. "It's around 4:00 in the morning."

She swung the flashlight around, sweeping it across the room. She gasped as she noticed the old rocking chair in the corner gently moving back and forth. She swallowed hard, the thrill of capturing something tangible.

She quickly looked under the bed. "Nothing here," she said. "But that chair moving... that was real."

The noise returned from the hallway. She tiptoed to the door, every muscle tense, as she turned the knob. The door swung open with a creak, revealing the dark corridor beyond. She aimed the flashlight down the corridor, the light struggling against the darkness.

She crept to the staircase, her mind racing with explanations, each more unsettling than the last. As she reached the stairs, she paused, the sound now coming from below. "Here we go," she whispered, starting down the stairs.

The main floor was cloaked in moving shadows as the flashlight washed over the furniture. This is where it gets good, Jenna thought, her fear surely coming across as genuine to her viewers. This is exactly what they want to see.

She followed the noise to the kitchen, where the old, cast-iron stove stood against the far wall. Jenna hesitated, her hand hovering over the stove's door handle.

Jenna flung the door of the stove open. Inside, she found nothing but old ashes and cobwebs. The noise stopped abruptly.

She turned the camera back on herself, trying to mask her relief with disappointment. "Well, that was anticlimactic," Jenna said.

Jenna's mind churned. She couldn't debunk these sounds, and that worried her. There was no logical explanation, no draft or loose floorboard to blame.

She headed back upstairs but couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. She’d pretended to have this experience so many times before on camera and now was sickened by the fear.

The next day, she decided to explore the basement, the part of the house she hadn’t investigated. Clutching her camera, she silently slipped down the stairs.

"Alright, guys, heading to the basement," Jenna said.

"Let's see if we can find these noises." Jenna jiggled the handrail along the steps. It wobbled slightly, but no noise came.

The basement was a large, shadow-filled space, cluttered with old furniture and dust-caked boxes. The air was musty, carrying the scent of mildew.

"This looks promising," Jenna said, aiming the camera at an old wooden door, its paint peeling. Pushing it open, revealed a small

room filled with old boxes and more debris.

Stepping inside, her flashlight barely cut the darkness. The

room, cold and stagnant, was disappointingly mostly empty.

"Well," Jenna said, shakier than she intended as she panned

the camera to the clutter. Her flashlight cast eerie shadows on the walls. "Let's see if we can find more clues.”

She pulled an old photo album from a box and flipped it open,

revealing black-and-white images of the Blackwoods family, their sad eyes staring back at her.

Suddenly, a loud bang came from the far corner where the shadows

seemed darker and more menacing, making Jenna jump. "What the…?" Jenna said, spinning around.

She moved towards the door. Her breath came out in visible puffs

as the temperature dropped sharply. She could see frost forming on the walls.

Jenna's heart pounded in her chest, her fear mounting.

Then she saw it. A large, dark figure, standing just beyond the

reach of her flashlight. It was tall but obscured by the shadows. Jenna froze, unable to tear her eyes away.

"Who are you?"

The figure didn't respond.

Jenna took a step back and turned to run, the door slamming shut

with a crash.

Jenna tried the doorknob in vain. The figure began to move

towards her.

"You wanted ghosts," his voice hissed, "but instead you got demons. Be careful what you wish for."

"Please," her voice broke. "Let me go."

The figure laughed, a hollow sound that echoed through the

basement. "You wanted the truth," it said, "and now you have it."

Jenna's blood ran cold. She stumbled back, eyes wide with

terror. It was almost upon her, shifting and twisting in the dim light. She fumbled for her camera, wanting her viewers to see.

As soon as the camera focused on him, it disappeared, leaving only an eerie shriek in the wake.

Heart pounding in her chest, she fumbled with the doorknob, opening easily. Jenna bolted out, still recording as she fled up the stairs.

Jenna's breath came in gasps as she stumbled out. She slammed the basement door and gathering her thoughts. The figure’s laugh still echoed in her ears, as its glowing eyes burned into her soul.

"God, help me," Jenna whispered. She scrolled through her her phone, her fingers barely able to press the buttons. She found the number she was looking for.

"Hello?"

"Maggie," Jenna said, frantic. "It's Jenna. I need your help."

"What's wrong?" Maggie asked.

"This house’s possessed!” Jenna cried. “I need a priest. Now!"

There was silence for a moment. "Seriously?”

" Yes, Maggie, seriously."

"Okay," Maggie said. "I know someone. Father Michael. He does exorcisms. I'll call him and send him to you."

"Thank you," Jenna said, her voice breaking.

"Hang in there, Jenna. He'll be there soon."

Jenna hung up, sinking to the floor, her back against the front door.

She tried to steady her breathing, but the fear clung to her. She waited, every odd creak making her jump.

It felt like hours, but finally, there was a knock at the door.

Jenna opened it to find a middle-aged man in a black shirt and white collar. He held a small, worn leather case.

"Father Michael?" Jenna asked, her voice trembling.

"Yes," he replied. "Maggie said you needed help."

"Yeah," Jenna said, closing the door behind him.

"Tell me everything."

Jenna explained, her voice trembling. Father Michael listened intently.

"Exorcisms aren’t to be taken lightly. They can be dangerous," he said.

"I can't live here knowing that thing’s here!"

Father Michael nodded. "Let's begin the ritual.”

Jenna swallowed and nodded.

He opened his leather case, revealing a crucifix, holy water, and a worn prayer book. He handed Jenna the vial of holy water. "Keep this with you," he instructed. "For protection."

Jenna nodded, taking the vial with shaky hands as they descended

the steps.

"Et ne nos inducas in tentationem," The air in the

basement changed as the priest started chanting, the Latin words echoing off the cold, damp walls. Jenna clung to the Holy water he had given her. "Sed libera nos a malo."

The temperature dropped as cold swept through the basement.

Jenna shivered, feeling the icy breath of the unseen entity. The shadows grew darker.

A deafening roar erupted, shaking the walls, as dust and debris rained down..

A force slammed into them, sending them sprawling. The air crackled with energy.

"Sancte Michael Archangele," the priest gasped, "defende nos in proelio!"

The air pressed in, then released outwards as the house exploded.

Coming to, Jenna found herself on the cold basement floor. She groaned, every muscle aching. The priest lay a few feet away, stirring.

Jenna looked around in shock. The house was gone, debris scattered in all directions. They were in the center of what had been the basement, now a barren slab exposed to the sky.

As she stood, her gaze fell on words in the concrete. Squinting, she moved closer. They knelt to examine an inscription deeply carved into the concrete.

"It's an explanation," the Priest said. "This slab of concrete... it's covering the pit of the abyss of Satan and the other fallen angels."

The priest leaned in, squinting at the foreign language beneath

the English inscription. "This is Ancient Hebrew," he says.

"It's the seal of God that keeps the fallen angels from being

released."

"Look," Jenna said, pointing at the center of the seal. "It's cracking."

A small crack appeared in the center, widening slowly. The

priest's face turned ashen as it grew like a spiderweb.

Expanding, jagged lines splintering outward, accompanied by guttural groans. The ground shuddered, throwing them off balance.

"We have to get outta here," the priest shouted. "Now!"

The concrete buckled as the crack grew wider. They stumbled backward, the ground trembling beneath their feet. Putrid, sulfuric stench wafted up from the cracks.

Jenna's eyes filled with tears as she clung to the priest.

"What have we done?"

The priest shouted, "It's going to break open any second. Hell’s about to be released…literally!”

She looked up at the hole’s edge, now seemingly miles above

them. The walls steep and crumbling.

"Over here," the priest said.

He pointed to a section where the ground seemed more stable, a narrow ledge that might offer a chance to climb. Jenna nodded and they made their way towards it, each step a battle against the shifting earth.

Jenna slipped, but she clawed at the wall with her free hand, finally pulling herself back onto the ledge.

Safely out of the hole, Jenna’s eyes drifted over the debris, landing on the house plaque. All she could read was B--C-W----Y-WF--- as most of the letters were covered in soot and grime.

"Oh my God," Jenna said, trembling. "It was a warning… Be Careful What You Wish For.”

She saw her and the priest's vehicles still intact. She scrambled to her feet, pulling the priest up. They stumbled across the debris. She fumbled with her keys, finally sliding the key into the door.

She slid into the seat, but before shutting the door, she felt a coldness touch her leg. Jenna, frozen with fear, felt the ice worm up her leg and into her belly, paralyzing her. It spread through her body, mind, and soul.

Jenna watched the priest’s car fishtail out of the driveway.

A slow smile crept across her face. “Only a matter of time now,” her voice no longer recognizable."