The Horrors of Lavender Village
Halloween is supposed to be a day of joy and happiness. However, Halloween in this small village, which I visited few weeks ago, has a different story. In October, I visited a tiny village located in Scotland. I was actually not interested in going there, but a thing brought me there. One day, on a cold evening, I was searching for a haunted place that could be visited on Halloween. While researching, I found something that made me feel weird but excited at the same time. I saw a place named Lavender. I decided to search about the place, and what I found made me somewhat uncomfortable. Not much was written about that place; only one thing was written there: “Whoever visits this village on Halloween rarely make it back.” I was inquisitive about that place. Why do people rarely make it back from that village on Halloween and more such stuff? But, as I mentioned, not much detail was given there. I got so excited as a Halloween lover and a horror writer. My curiosity peaked. I wanted to visit there and witness everything! I decided to go and see what is actually wrong there. I told my friends about this, and they agreed to come with me. We went to that place on the same night. We reached there a day before Halloween. When we arrived, we saw no one was there. The roads were deserted, the shops were closed, and no person was there, as if no one lived there. There was no sound, not even of animals; nothing was there. If there was anything, it was just some kind of eerie silence. The air felt very cold, as if it would freeze us. “Why is no one here? Why is there so much silence?” Robert asked. “I don’t know, Robert. Even I am thinking the same thing. Why is there so much silence? And why is there no one around here, especially when Halloween is coming, a time when people usually come out of their homes and celebrate?” I said. “Stop thinking about that, and let’s find a place to stay,” Michael said. We started searching for a place to stay, but every establishment was closed. All of us started panicking about where we would stay and spend the rest of our night. Then out of nowhere, we saw a tall man in his fifties with a long beard who looked at us and asserted, “What are you guys doing here?” “We have come from London to explore this village, and we are searching for a place to stay,” I said. He mentioned that he ran a pub nearby and offered us to come with him and stay the rest of the night in his pub. At first, we were hesitant to go; anyway, we had no other choice. After reaching the pub, I asked, “Can you tell me what is actually happening, I mean what is wrong here?” He gazed upon us and mumbled, “What are you saying? I didn’t understand. What, what’s wrong here?” “Don’t try to pretend you know nothing about it. Tell us what has been happening in this village.” “Sir, it’s a long story. I’ll tell it later. First, let me show you your room.” He took us to our rooms. The pub looked very old, as if it hadn’t been renovated for ages. When he showed us our rooms, we were shocked upon seeing them; it felt as if the ceiling would fall on us at any time. “Where have you brought us?” Robert asked. “Is this your haunted place? It’s very boring, more than haunted. I don’t want to stay here at all.” “We have no choice, so stop arguing,” I replied. Both my friends and I didn’t want to stay there, especially after a tedious day. It wasn’t comfortable, but with time, our mood changed as there were some people around us who were very friendly and brought us delicious Scottish food. After having dinner, my friends said that they were very tired and were retiring for tonight. I wanted to know more about this village, so I said, “I’ll come back after some time. They agreed and went to their rooms. I sat in an old, cosy armchair by the open fire in the bar and ordered some Scottish wine. I decided to dispel my tiredness with a glass of wine. The fire was dancing before me, and with the passing evening, the alcohol started showing its effect. The sky grew dimmer, with no light except the campfire. There was no sound except for the crackling of the woods. After some time, I remembered the story that the owner had told us when we came here. I called him and asked him about the story, but no matter how many times I asked him about it, he only said one thing: right now, he can’t tell me about that.I was just thinking about what is actually there, and why he’s hiding it, when suddenly I heard a voice which said, “I know the story,” I saw an old man sitting on the other side of the fire on the long armchair. He had been sitting there for a while, but I hadn’t seen him due to the effect of alcohol. I asked, “Who are you?” He replied, “I am a village elder. And I know the story which he’s hesitating to tell you. Will you like to listen? But first of all, I want to ask some questions from you. Will you answer?” “Yes,” I replied. “Okay, so my first question is have you come here alone or with someone? And Second is have you come here after reading an article on the internet?” “Yes,” I replied, “but how do you know that? And why are you asking this?” He smiled and replied, “Lavender is not for the faint-hearted. This place is one of those places where no one dares to come. You are one of those few brave but foolish souls who have made the mistake of coming here. Often people come here because of that article only to never return back. “Can you tell me the story about what you were talking about?” “Yes, of course. I hope that you will take seriously the details given in this story so your fate will not be like those who have come before you. “The story goes back to the 17th century,” he began, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that seemed to echo through the ages. “This village was founded by a group of refugees seeking sanctuary from a tyrannical ruler who showed no mercy to those who resisted his oppressive beliefs.” I listened intently, the flickering firelight casting an ethereal glow on the old man’s face as he continued his tale. “The initial hopes of the refugees, expecting a peaceful life in their newfound haven, were soon shattered when the month of October arrived.” His words painted a vivid picture of a descent into darkness. “Mysterious disappearances plagued the village, with the unfortunate victims found choked and mutilated. The once-thriving community lived in perpetual fear as the malevolent spirits from the nearby mountains descended upon Lavender during the fateful nights between October 30th and 31st. The priest, a beacon of hope in those troubled times, revealed the existence of a sinister black valley just miles from the village. In this cursed place, the malevolent spirits gathered, their powers reaching their peak during the aforementioned nights. The only means of survival lay in remaining behind locked doors, for the spirits would stop at nothing to claim their prey. From now, on every night from 30-31 October, this village becomes silent, people barricade themselves in their homes, animals hide themselves somewhere, and this village becomes silent and dark. In the eerie silence, wander the malevolent spirits, ready to claim any unfortunate soul they find.” The atmosphere in the pub seemed to thicken as he described the spectral entities taking various forms – from a beguiling woman seeking aid to bloodthirsty wolves and even the guise of a friend. They would do everything to hunt their prey. “There is one thing said about our village for Halloween: whoever comes to this village on Halloween rarely makes it back. Many people who came here previously don’t believe in my story, only to become one of their victims later. I hope you will implore my words and won’t repeat the mistakes of others.” After listening to his story, I went to my room, thinking of what he was saying. No matter how many times I tried to forget his story, I couldn’t, many questions were forming in my mind: why these people are afraid of Halloween night? do spirits really come from nearby mountains to hunt people on Halloween night? And many other things. My curiosity as a writer was at its peak, Finally, I decided to go and see for myself what is actually there. The next day, I told all of that to my friends and asked if they would like to come with me to explore the streets at Halloween night. They agreed, and we decided that we will prove the fear of the villagers wrong by going outside and exploring the streets ourselves. As the clock struck midnight on Halloween, my friends and I, driven by a mix of curiosity and bravado, decided to venture out into the silent streets of Lavender. The air was dense with an eerie stillness, and the darkness seemed to swallow everything around us. We stepped outside the pub cautiously, our footsteps echoing in the empty streets. The only source of light was the dim glow of our flashlights. Suddenly, we saw someone coming towards us. It was Michael saying, “Hey, guys, won’t you take me with you?” “Of course, you can come with us,” I said. We kept walking on the cobblestone streets. In our way, we saw that the doors of the houses were closed, the shops were shuttered, and the people had lit candles on their windows to avoid negativity. We were very curious about the journey, thinking about what would happen when we tell the villagers that we have explored the streets on Halloween night and found nothing. “Hey spirits, come out, see who has come to meet you,” Michael said. “Hey, Michael, don’t speak like that, buddy. If the spirits hear it, then they will become so angry and will make you their first prey.” “That is what we are waiting for, dude,” Michael laughed. Finding nothing, we stopped and gasped for air. A few seconds passed when we stopped, and suddenly something unimaginable happened to us. Suddenly, my phone rang, displaying Michael’s name. We were in utter shock. How did he call us when he is standing next to Robert? After all, I picked up the phone and heard his voice, and what he said next was spine-chilling. “Hey, guys, where in the world are you? Why are you saying this?” Robert asked, “You were with us, what?” “I was sleeping in the pub, by the way, where are you?” he asked. If he was in the pub, then who was with us? We looked and what we saw next froze our blood. No one was there. We don’t know what it was, whether it was our Illusion or something else, we were determined to find something. After walking some miles, we saw a young, beautiful woman waving her hand towards us, as if asking for help. As we approached to help her, the words of the landlord echoed in my mind. But another thought came, how could I leave a beautiful woman here alone? We went closer to her and asked, “What are you doing here? And do you need our help?” And what happened next was even more terrifying. Once the beautiful woman whom we had seen before transformed into a hideous witch with hollow eyes and a twisted grin. she said something that echoed through the silent streets. “You didn’t do good by coming here.” we stumbled backward in horror, realizing that the spirits were not just a tale told by the villagers. The witch advanced towards us, its movements unnatural and ghostly. Panic set in, and we sprinted away from the monstrous apparition, till we realized that we had left it behind. We stopped and gasped, but it was just the beginning of our nightmare. Just a few miles away from us, we started hearing the howling of wolves, the sounds felt abnormal. As if the wolves were hungry for centuries and wanted someone to be their prey. With time, the sounds came closer and closer. The chilling sounds of wolves reverberated through the cold October air as me and Robert stood frozen in terror. The once silent streets of Lavender now echoed with the unnerving howls, each one sending shivers down our spines. The old man’s warnings about malevolent spirits taking the form of wolves now seemed more hauntingly real than ever. As the ghostly sounds drew nearer, we exchanged anxious glances, realizing that the legends of Lavender might hold more truth than we dared to believe. The quaint village, bathed in an otherworldly darkness, seemed to come alive with unseen forces that sought to ensnare us in their spectral grip. With trepidation, we resumed our journey through the cobblestone streets, our flashlights cutting through the impenetrable darkness. The air became thick with a palpable sense of foreboding, as if the very shadows harboured malevolent entities waiting to pounce on unsuspecting intruders. Suddenly, from the shadows emerged a spectral figure, bathed in an ethereal glow. It was a manifestation of terror, a bloodcurdling blend of the supernatural and the corporeal. The apparition bore the semblance of a pack of wolves, each with eyes gleaming with an otherworldly hunger. We stood paralyzed as the ghostly wolves closed in, their movements defying the laws of the natural world. Panic set in, and we sprinted through the deserted streets, desperately seeking refuge from the nightmarish pursuit. The echoing footsteps and growls of the spectral wolves seemed to surround us, creating an auditory maze that heightened the sense of disorientation. It was as if the very fabric of reality had unravelled, and we were caught in a nightmarish realm where the boundaries between the living and the supernatural blurred. As we ran, the atmosphere grew colder, and a thick fog enveloped the surroundings. The path ahead became increasingly unclear, but the distant silhouette of the pub offered a glimmer of hope. We knew we needed to reach the safety of those closed doors, as the old man had warned. Our hearts pounded in our chests as we neared the pub. We burst through the entrance, gasping for breath. The pub, once a haven from the unknown, now felt like a fragile sanctuary against the supernatural forces lurking outside. The old man and Michael were sitting by the fireplace, he looked at us with a mixture of pity and disappointment. “I warned you,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of centuries-old secrets. “You dared to challenge the spirits, and now they know your presence.” Fear gripped us as we realized the gravity of our actions. We had unknowingly invited the malevolent spirits into our midst. The pub, which had initially seemed a refuge, now felt like a cage, trapping us with the impending doom we had unleashed. The night wore on, each passing minute feeling like an eternity. The air inside the pub grew heavy with a sense of foreboding. We huddled together, our eyes darting nervously at every creak and whisper. The old man, with a solemn expression, began recounting the stories of others who had met a similar fate, lured by the illusions created by the spirits. Each tail was bone chilling. Right now I am sitting in the room and writing, I can’t shake the feeling that the old man’s tales, initially dismissed as superstitions, had manifested into a living nightmare. The spirits, denied their prey on the streets, now seem to converge onto the pub itself. Strange shadows danced on the walls, and ghostly figures materialized in the corners of the room. We don’t know if we will make it back or not, but if you’re reading this account, please don’t repeat our mistake by coming here. Credit: Nocturnal Narrator Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.