In the quiet town of Eldergrove, where the trees whispered secrets and the wind carried echoes of forgotten voices, there was a legend that no one dared to speak of aloud. It was said that if you walked down Hollow Lane at exactly midnight, you would hear a child’s laughter echoing from the old abandoned house at the end of the street. Most dismissed it as a harmless tale told by children to scare each other, but those who had been there swore they heard something more. Lila, a young woman with a fascination for the strange, had always believed in the power of stories. She had grown up hearing the tale from her grandmother, who warned her never to go near the house. But Lila was not one to be easily frightened. She had spent years collecting local myths and folklore, and this one intrigued her more than most. One rainy evening, she decided to test the legend. She packed a flashlight, a notebook, and a small camera, determined to document everything. The night was thick with mist, and the streets were empty except for the occasional flicker of streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. As she approached Hollow Lane, the air grew colder, and the sound of the rain seemed to fade into an eerie silence. The house stood at the end of the lane, its windows dark and its front door slightly ajar, as if waiting for someone to enter. Lila hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet, and the scent of mildew and decay filled her nostrils. She moved slowly, her flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. As she reached the hallway, she heard it—soft, high-pitched laughter, like a child playing just out of sight. She turned sharply, but the room was empty. The sound came again, closer this time, and she felt a chill run down her spine. She pressed forward, deeper into the house, her breath shallow. In the living room, she found an old rocking chair, its wood worn smooth by time. A faded picture hung on the wall, showing a family standing in front of the house. The mother’s face was blurred, but the child in the center looked directly at the camera, eyes wide and unblinking. Lila’s hand trembled as she took a photo. Then, the laughter stopped. A sudden gust of wind blew through the house, extinguishing her flashlight. In the darkness, she heard a voice—soft, almost melodic. “You shouldn’t have come here.” Lila froze, her heart pounding. She fumbled for her phone, turning on the light. The room was still empty, but now, the picture on the wall had changed. The child’s face was gone, replaced by a shadowy figure with hollow eyes. She ran, not stopping until she reached the safety of the street. The house behind her was silent once more, as if nothing had happened. She didn’t sleep that night. Instead, she sat by the window, staring at the dark silhouette of the house, wondering if she had truly seen something—or if it had only been her mind playing tricks. Days passed, and the story spread among the townspeople. Some claimed to have heard the laughter too, others swore they saw the figure in the picture. But no one went near the house again. Lila tried to forget, but the image of the child’s face haunted her dreams. She began to notice strange things: a shadow moving in the corner of her eye, a whisper in the wind when no one was around. One morning, she found a note slipped under her door. It was written in a child’s handwriting: “You’re not safe.” She called the police, but they dismissed it as a prank. That night, she left the house, packing her things and preparing to move away. But as she stepped outside, she saw the house again, its windows glowing faintly, and the laughter returned—this time, louder, and coming from inside. She never returned to Eldergrove. But some say, on certain nights, when the wind is still and the moon is high, you can hear a child’s laughter echoing down Hollow Lane, and see a figure in the window, watching. And if you listen closely, you might hear the whisper of a voice that says, “You should have stayed away.”