# 🎡 **6. "The Faceless Man of Blackpool Tower" – a very long horror story**---

## *Prologue: The City of Light That Hides the Darkness*

Blackpool at night looks like a fairground of dreams:

Carousels spin, the Ferris wheel gleams, music mixes with shouts of joy.

But there are places where the light doesn't reach.

Places where the wind carries stories that are best left unheard after dark.

Blackpool Tower—the city's symbol—is one such place.

A tall, steel colossus that remembers all the voices, all the laughter...

and all the screams.

Because that's where he supposedly appears.

The Faceless Man.

Not as a shadow.

Not as an illusion.

But as something that **stares** blankly.

---

# ⚙️ *Chapter I: A Beginning That Wasn't an Accidental*

Grace Murray was a young photographer from Manchester.

She loved cities at night—the lights, the movement, the colors.

When she was commissioned to photograph "Blackpool at night," she was thrilled.

On her first evening, she checked into a small hotel, the Starfish Inn.

The owner, Mrs. Harbury, gave her a strange look as she handed her the key:

"Will you be photographing the Tower?"

"Of course. That's the main point of the program."

Mrs. Harbury swallowed.

"Please...don't get too close after midnight."

Grace raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Because some people come back...some don't."

Grace dismissed it as local superstitious slang.

But she would later regret not listening.

---

# 🎠 *Chapter II: Night One - A Flash That Shouldn't Happen*

At 11:50 PM, Grace set up her camera at the entrance to the Tower.

Everything looked ordinary:

* flickering neon lights,

* groups of tourists,

* the night's chill,

* the laughter of a carnival.

She pressed the shutter button.

A flash slashed through the darkness.

A photo appeared on the camera screen.

A photo of herself...

and someone standing just behind her.

A tall man.

In an elegant coat from a bygone era.

But his face...

It was smooth.

No eyes.

No mouth.

No nose.

**As if someone had erased it.**

Grace turned sharply.

The platform was empty.

No one stood behind her.

And yet she felt a chill on the back of her neck.

---

# 🎢 *Chapter III: The Story No One Tells Openly*

Grace went to the city library the next day.

She liked to know what she was dealing with—something had been bothering her yesterday.

The senior librarian, Mr. Caldwell, looked at her with a mixture of relief and concern.

“Who sent you?”

“The photo agency,” she replied. “But… I saw something last night. At the Tower.”

Caldwell sighed heavily.

“Then I’ll tell you straight:

You only see that man when he *wants* to.”

Grace felt a surge of anxiety rise within her.

“Who is he?”

Caldwell reached for the old, dusty box of newspaper clippings.

“It wasn’t a man. Once.

It was a magician.”

Grace frowned.

“A magician? In Blackpool?”

"In 1898. His name was **Sebastian Vale**.

He performed at the Tower Theatre.

He was famous—brilliant, charismatic. He claimed he could "erase" things from reality.

"Was it a trick?"

"Perhaps."

But one night… he tried to erase himself."

He paused for a moment.

"And never came back."

Grace felt a chill run through her.

"Do you think… it's him?"

"I don't think so."

--

# 🔔 *Chapter IV: The Second Night—Something Calls a Name*

Grace returned to the Tower the next night, this time after midnight, even though common sense was screaming at her to return to the hotel.

The wind was blowing hard.

The amusement park had been shut down.

The streets were empty.

Grace stood at the entrance to the Tower.

She didn't even need to take a picture—he was already there.

A figure.

Tall.

In a cloak that fluttered like wings.

Where a face should have been—nothing.

Grace backed away slowly.

The figure followed her.

No sound.

No footsteps.

Suddenly, a voice filled the silence.

Not from the man's lips—because he didn't have any.

The voice appeared… in her head.

> *“Grace…”*

She froze.

—How do you know my name?

> *“I see everything that remains in the pictures…”*

—What do you want?

> *“Your face.”*

And then he raised his hand.

And the city light dimmed.

--

# 👁️ *Chapter V: Running Was Not the Option*

Grace ran down the empty street.

She heard the whoosh of air behind her.

He wasn't running.

He was simply getting closer.

At the entrance to the amusement park, she found shelter—she stepped under the carousel's roof.

Courage returned for a moment.

She lifted the camera and took a picture toward the entrance.

On the screen, she saw:

Him.

Much closer than she should have.

But something else…

Behind him were **other faces**.

Dozens.

Hundreds.

Erased.

Smoothed.

Blank.

She began to understand.

He didn't take faces just to have them.

He took them so there would be **no witnesses**.

Whoever saw him—lost his face.

--

# 💀 *Chapter VI: The Tower That Remembers Everything*

On the third night, Grace returned to the library.

Caldwell waited.

"Do you want to get rid of that ghost?" he asked.

Grace nodded.

"There's only one place you can go.""To stop him," he said. "The magicians' hall, where Sebastian Vale tried to disappear."

It was clear what she had to do.

--

Grace entered Blackpool Tower just after closing time.

She was surprised to find the doors open...

as if **someone** were waiting for her.

The walk to the stage was long and dark.

The boards creaked under her footsteps.

She stepped onto the stage.

The lights went out.

From the darkness emerged he.

Sebastian Vale.

Faceless.

This time, however, he looked different.

The steel structure of the Tower was reflected in his coat.

His every movement made the air tremble.

> *"I put on a show...

> from which I couldn't come back..."*

"You're dead," Grace said.

> *"I'm not finished."*

"What you're doing is wrong."

> *“I don't take faces…

> I take them before they scream.”*

Grace didn't understand.

> *“When you look at the void…

> the soul crumbles.”*

And then she understood:

He **protected people from themselves**.

He took faces because he didn't want them to see his own nothingness.

“Let go of those you kept,” she said.

> *“Would you?”*

“Yes.”

> *“Then watch.”*

The theater walls began to ripple.

Shadows emerged from the corners.

People covered the empty spaces where faces had been.

But then…

everything began to dissolve.

The Tower glowed brightly—as if on a night of illumination.

The faceless man looked at Grace—though he had no eyes.

> *“I finished the show…”*

He disintegrated into luminous dust.

And the faces returned to their places.

The people disappeared.

Everyone.

Only Grace remained.

With a camera.

In which one last photo can be seen:

A man in a coat, looking towards the Tower…

but this time his face is clear.

Normal.

Human.

---

# *Epilogue*

Grace returned to Manchester.

She didn't show the photos from Blackpool to anyone.

Months later, she received a package.

A letter.

No sender.

Inside—an old theater poster:

**“Sebastian Vale – The Last Great Illusionist”**

On the back was a handwritten note:

> *“Thank you for seeing me.”*