1400 words. Title: The Haunted House on Rural Lane

I have always been fascinated by horror stories, especially those that involve haunted houses. As a child, I would often sneak out of my room late at night to explore the dark corridors and creepy rooms of the old mansion that my family called home. Despite the fear that gripped me every time I stepped foot inside its walls, I couldn't help but be drawn to the mystery and intrigue that seemed to surround it.

It was on one such night that I stumbled upon a strange book in the dusty old attic. It was bound in faded leather and had a worn, tattered spine. The pages were yellowed with age and smelled of must and decay. But as I opened it to the first page, I found myself sucked into its dark, twisted world.

The book was called "La Llorona," and it told the story of a tragic young woman who had lost her children in a terrible accident. In her grief and despair, she drowned them in a nearby river, only to be haunted by their ghosts for all eternity. The story went on to describe how she would wander the earth, searching for them in vain, weeping and wailing with a sorrow that could never be quenched.

As I read the tale, I couldn't help but feel a chill run down my spine. It was as if the very air around me had turned cold and damp, and the sound of my own breathing seemed to echo in the darkness. But despite the fear that gripped me, I continued to read on, unable to tear myself away from the story's hypnotic grip.

And then it happened. As I was reading the final pages of the book, I heard a sound that sent shivers down my spine. It was a low, mournful wail that seemed to come from somewhere deep within the house. At first, I thought it might be the wind, or perhaps a stray cat in the neighborhood. But as the sound grew louder and more insistent, I knew that it was something far more sinister.

I slammed the book shut and raced down the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest. As I reached the bottom step, I saw a figure standing in the shadows - a woman with long, flowing hair and dressed in a white gown that seemed to gleam in the moonlight. Her eyes were cold and dead, and her lips were curled into a sorrowful smile.

It was La Llorona.

I tried to run, but my legs wouldn't move. I was paralyzed with fear as she approached me, her gown rustling through the silence of the night. And then she spoke, her voice low and husky, like a whisper on the wind. "You shouldn't have read that book," she said. "Now you belong to me."

I screamed and tried to fight her off, but it was no use. She was too strong, too powerful. And then everything went black…

When I woke up, I found myself lying on a cold, damp floor in the darkest corner of the attic. The book was open beside me, its pages rustling gently in the stillness of the room. And then