The old man at the edge of town always had a strange way of looking at people. His name was Elias, and he lived in a house that seemed to have been forgotten by time. The paint was peeling off the walls, and the garden was overgrown with thorny vines that twisted around the gate like fingers trying to hold on. No one really knew how long he'd been there, but the townspeople whispered about him, especially when they saw him walking through the streets at night, carrying a lantern that never flickered. Elias claimed to know the truth behind the city's most famous urban legends. He would sit outside the diner on the corner, where the neon sign buzzed faintly, and tell stories to anyone who would listen. At first, people thought he was just eccentric. But as the years passed, more and more people started to believe him, and the stories began to change. One of the most persistent tales was about the "Mirror Man." It was said that if you looked into a mirror at midnight and whispered his name three times, he would appear behind you. Some claimed they saw him only in their reflections, a shadowy figure with hollow eyes and no mouth. Others swore they heard his voice whispering in their ears, though no one could ever tell what he was saying. Elias told a different version. He spoke of a man who once lived in the city, a painter who had gone mad after painting a self-portrait that came to life. The painting, he said, was hidden in an abandoned gallery on the outskirts of town, where the walls were covered in faded murals of faces that seemed to follow you with their eyes. He warned that those who entered the gallery alone never returned. Another legend was about the "Whispering Street." It was a narrow alleyway that led to nowhere, surrounded by buildings that had long since been abandoned. People who walked down it at night would hear voices—soft, indistinct, and filled with sorrow. Some claimed they could make out words, but no one could understand them. Elias said the street was a gateway, a place where the dead lingered, unable to move on. One evening, a group of teenagers decided to test the legends. They gathered near the gallery, armed with flashlights and a camera. They laughed as they walked past the crumbling entrance, pretending they weren’t afraid. Inside, the air was thick with dust and the scent of old paint. As they moved deeper into the building, the temperature dropped, and the silence became unnerving. Then, they found the painting. It was unlike anything they had seen before—a portrait of a man with a sad expression, his eyes deep and knowing. The teenager who had taken the photo said she felt a chill run down her spine, but she kept taking pictures anyway. When they left, the gallery seemed unchanged, but the next day, the painting was gone. No one knew how it disappeared, and no one dared to look for it again. Elias continued to speak of other stories, each one more bizarre than the last. He told of a woman who could only speak in riddles, a boy who vanished during a storm and reappeared days later with no memory of what happened, and a clock that ticked backward. Each story was accompanied by a knowing smile, as if he were not telling them, but warning them. One night, a journalist from the city came to interview him. She was skeptical, but intrigued. She asked him why he stayed in the town, why he didn’t leave like everyone else. Elias looked out at the horizon, where the sky turned dark and the stars seemed to blink in slow, deliberate patterns. "Because the stories are real," he said. "And I'm the only one who remembers them." She left the town that night, but not before stopping at the diner for coffee. She noticed something strange—the man behind the counter had the same eyes as the Mirror Man. When she turned around, he was gone. Elias never left the town, and the stories continued to spread. Some say he still walks the streets at night, carrying his lantern, waiting for someone to ask the right question. Others say he’s part of the legend now, a figure in the shadows, watching, listening, and remembering. And if you ever find yourself in that town, be careful where you look. Because sometimes, the line between story and reality is thinner than you think.