The Weekend Thriller Story 4 – The Night They Returned I Scariest Story Ever

The Weekend Thriller Story 4 – The Night They Returned……

Silverlyn didn’t know how long she and Zara stood frozen in the dark hallway of Professor Grayson’s townhouse. The footsteps were slow, patient, dragging and moved with the certainty of something that already knew where they were.

The collectors were no longer hiding.

They were here.

And they wanted one thing.

The vessel.

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The thought alone made Silverlyn’s skin crawl. The symbols on her palm pulsed under the surface, burning like molten ink.

“Move,” she whispered.

Zara gripped her arm and followed as Silverlyn edged backward down the hallway. Every step made the wood creak under their feet, and every creak felt like a signal to whatever was stalking them.

The footsteps grew louder.

Closer.

Then, abruptly—

Silence.

Zara mouthed a trembling: Run.

They burst toward the back door just as something slammed against the hallway wall behind them with the force of a battering ram. Silverlyn didn’t dare look. She felt the floor tremble under her shoes.

They spilled into the cold night air, breathless, sprinting into the street as the townhouse lights flickered wildly behind them—once, twice, three times—before the entire building went dark.

Silverlyn didn’t stop running until they were two blocks away.

Only then did she collapse onto the curb, chest heaving.

Zara paced, hands shaking violently. “We’re not safe. Anywhere. We need to leave town. Tonight.”

Silverlyn swallowed hard. “Leave for where? They’re not bound to a location anymore.”

Zara froze.

Her eyes were unfocused—almost… glassy.

And that’s when Silverlyn noticed the smudge of black powder on Zara’s wrist.

It wasn’t dirt.

It was sand.

The same kind she’d seen in the Blackwood basement the night Jonas disappeared.

Black sand.

Zara followed Silverlyn’s stare and yanked her sleeve down. “It’s nothing.”

“Zara—”

“I said it’s nothing.”

Silverlyn didn’t believe that for a second.

THE SLEEPWALKING

They returned to Zara’s apartment just before dawn. The curtains were drawn, the doors locked, and the lights kept on—even in the bathroom. Neither dared close their eyes.

But exhaustion eventually won.

Silverlyn fell asleep sitting upright on the couch, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

When she woke, the room was silent.

Too silent.

“Zara?”

No answer.

Silverlyn stood slowly. Her legs tingled with pins and needles.

“Zara?” she called again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

Then she heard it—coming from the kitchen.

Scratching.

A wet, dragging sound. Like chalk on stone.

Silverlyn crept toward the doorway and peered inside.

Zara stood barefoot in the middle of the kitchen floor, head bowed, hair hanging over her face like a curtain.

In her hand was a piece of charcoal—black, dusty, ancient-looking.

And she was writing.

Writing in a frantic, looping pattern all over the tiled floor.

Symbols.

The same nine jagged shapes from the First Circle.

“Zara?”

Her best friend didn’t look up.

Her voice came out in a low murmured chant, like something was speaking through her rather than to her:

“Circle binds… vessel wakes… shadows return…”

Silverlyn’s heart hammered in her chest.

“Zara, stop!”

She grabbed her friend’s wrist.

Zara snapped upright—eyes opening wide.

Not normal eyes.

Black.

Completely black.

Silverlyn stumbled back with a strangled gasp.

Zara blinked—once, twice—and her irises returned to normal like a light switching back on.

Her face crumpled in confusion.

“S—Silverlyn?” She looked around as if waking from a nightmare. “What happened? Why am I on the floor?”

Silverlyn pointed at the runes covering the tiles.

Zara went pale. “I… I didn’t do that.”

“You were sleepwalking,” Silverlyn whispered. “And writing in a language you couldn’t possibly know.”

Zara backed into the counter and slid down to sit on the floor, hugging her knees.

“This is getting worse,” she whispered. “They’re getting into my head. Into our heads.”

Silverlyn didn’t say it aloud.

But she felt it too.

Time was slipping around her. Hours missing. Memories looping.

She was losing herself.

THE BLACK SAND

That evening, Zara insisted they return to Silverlyn’s apartment to retrieve her laptop and old journals—anything that might help track patterns in the supernatural activity.

Silverlyn didn’t want to go.

The knocking.
The whispers.
The voice that wasn’t Jonas.

But they needed answers.

When they reached her door, everything looked undisturbed. No scratches. No broken lock. No lingering shadows.

But when Silverlyn opened the door, her stomach dropped.

Black sand.

A thin trail of it led from the threshold into the living room.

Zara covered her mouth. “It’s tracking you.”

Silverlyn followed the sand toward her bedroom.

With every step, the air grew colder.

She pushed open her bedroom door.

And froze.

A symbol had been drawn on her mirror—not in ink, not in dust.

In sand.

The same symbol that appeared on her palm.

She felt suddenly dizzy.

As she stared, something occurred to her.

The sand trail… wasn’t random.

It stopped right beside her nightstand—where a small red light was blinking.

Her home security camera.

It had recorded last night.

Silverlyn grabbed the camera with trembling fingers and connected it to her laptop on the desk.

The video opened.

2:01 a.m.

Silverlyn appeared on the screen.

Sleepwalking.

She moved slowly, dreamlike, toward the mirror. Her hair hung over her face. Her steps were deliberate.

But that wasn’t the disturbing part.

The disturbing part was her eyes.

Pitch black.

Zara whispered, horrified, “Silverlyn… that’s the same look I had.”

Silverlyn couldn’t breathe.

She watched her sleeping self trace the symbol on the mirror with sand she hadn’t brought into the apartment.

Then she turned toward the camera.

And smiled.

A slow, unnatural smile.

The screen glitched.

And the video ended.

Silverlyn slammed the laptop shut, shaking violently.

“That wasn’t me,” she choked. “That wasn’t me.”

Zara didn’t contradict her.

Because the truth was worse than either of them wanted to say.

Something was using Silverlyn.

Something was slipping in when her consciousness dimmed.

And perhaps…

Perhaps it was choosing her.

THE VESSEL

They returned to Zara’s apartment in silence. Silverlyn didn’t speak the entire ride. She kept staring at her reflection in the car window—half-expecting her irises to turn black.

That night, she sat awake on the couch, gripping a blanket around her shoulders, trying to stay alert.

Zara slept in the bedroom—door open, lights on.

Silverlyn checked her phone again, scrolling through old messages from Jonas, rereading sentences she’d memorized. She didn’t know why. Maybe because the Jonas she’d seen glitch in and out of existence felt like a ghost. Maybe because she feared she was the reason he was taken.

Maybe because she feared she might be the reason he couldn’t return.

Her phone buzzed.

Silverlyn almost dropped it.

A new message.

From an unknown number.

A video.

Zara heard the notification and walked out, rubbing her eyes. “Who’s texting you this late?”

Silverlyn’s voice was barely audible. “I don’t know.”

She tapped the video.

It opened.

The image shook at first—dark, grainy.

Then it steadied.

And Silverlyn felt her blood freeze.

“Jonas,” she whispered.

He stood in the woods.

Blackwood woods.

Alive.
Breathing.
Smiling.

But something was wrong.

The background behind him was still.

Too still.

No wind.
No shadows.
No movement.

And then she saw it.

Behind Jonas—

There was no reflection.

No shadow.

Nothing.

As if the forest refused to acknowledge something that looked like him.

Jonas raised a hand slowly, waving.

Then he spoke.

But his mouth didn’t match the audio.

“Silverlyn,” the voice said—deep, layered, wrong. “We found you.”

The video glitched.

Static swallowed the screen.

And the last frame froze—

Jonas’s smile, stretching wide.

Too wide.

Wider than human.

The screen went black.

Silverlyn dropped the phone.

Zara covered her mouth with both hands.

Neither spoke.

Because both of them knew—

That thing in the video wasn’t Jonas.

And whatever sent it…

Knew exactly where they were.