They called him Mr. Wexley.
No one knew where he came from. One day, the crooked old manor at the edge of Ash Hollow was empty, and the next, he was there — standing behind its lace-draped windows, watching.
Always watching.
He wore a faded velvet smoking jacket, an antique monocle over one eye, and a waxed mustache that curled into perfect spirals. Children whispered that the monocle didn’t reflect light. That it seemed to absorb it.
People said if you stared too long at his face, you’d start to feel wrong. Like something inside you was being inspected, piece by piece, and none of it was quite up to his standards.
He never left the house.
But strange things started to happen in Ash Hollow after he arrived. The postman disappeared on a foggy morning. Pets vanished from their yards. And one by one, neighbors moved away, selling their homes for less than they were worth, desperate to get out — but never saying why.
One boy, Jamie Kerr, decided to be brave.
On Halloween night, he crept up to the manor with his flashlight and a bag of candy. His plan was simple: knock, say trick-or-treat, and see what happened. Prove to his friends the stories were just stories.
The door was already open.
Inside, the house smelled of old smoke, wilted flowers, and something faintly metallic — like rust. Jamie stepped inside.
No one lived there. The furniture was covered in sheets. The floor creaked under his weight. But in the far corner of the drawing room, beside the fireplace, stood a tall mirror framed in dark wood.
In the mirror, he saw Mr. Wexley.
Only... when he turned around, no one was there.
He looked back at the mirror. Mr. Wexley raised a gloved hand. Slowly, silently, he tapped the monocle with one long finger.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Jamie screamed and ran. He never spoke about what he saw again. But he stopped speaking altogether, really.
He’s still alive, somewhere in the hospital outside town. Doctors say he hasn’t blinked since that night.
And every now and then, new tenants move into the manor at Ash Hollow. They never stay long.
Because sooner or later, they notice the same thing.
From the second-floor window, just behind the dusty curtain, a man in a monocle and a curled mustache is watching.
And if you look too long, he’ll see you too.
