The Phantom Mill
I knew the stories before I moved in.
Everyone in Pumpkin Hollow did.
Phantom Mill Lofts was once the beating heart of Factory Row, back when the mill churned out massive farming machines—towering beasts of metal and gears that clanked and groaned as they were forged.
Until the accident.
A machine, one of the largest they had ever built, malfunctioned during a test run. The gears locked. The pressure built. And then—it snapped.
Metal tore through the factory like a beast loosed from its chains. The men working nearby never stood a chance. By the time the wreckage was cleared, the mill was silent. Closed forever.
Or so they thought.
Now, the old factory is loft apartments. Sleek. Modern. Almost beautiful in a dark, industrial way. But at night?
At night, it still works.
I was barely asleep when it started.
The deep, rhythmic grind of gears turning. The metallic shriek of rusted parts forced into motion.
I sat up, heart pounding, staring into the darkness. The room was still, the only light coming from the candles I had left burning low on the nightstand.
Then came the voices.
Men shouting over the noise. Urgent. Desperate.
“Shut it down!”
“Move—move!”
The sound of footsteps pounded from the floor above me—no, beneath me. Inside the walls.
I threw off the blankets and rushed to the window. The streets of Pumpkin Hollow were empty, bathed in moonlight. There was no factory anymore. No workers.
But the sound didn’t stop.
It grew louder.
The temperature in the room plummeted. My breath fogged in the candlelight. And then—
A scream.
Cut short.
Silence crashed down so suddenly my ears rang.
The candles flickered wildly, the flames leaning toward the center of the room, as if something unseen had passed between them.
I didn’t sleep the rest of the night.
By morning, the room was warm again. The air was still. But when I passed by the mirror on my way to the door, I noticed something in my reflection.
A smear of grease across my cheek.
And the faint scent of oil and metal in my hair.
The factory may have closed long ago.
But the workers never left.
And at Phantom Mill Lofts, the shift never ends.
A spooky story imagined and conjured for you by The Queen of Halloween 365
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