The Hollow Room (PART-I)

 The Hollow Room

 Julian Carter was 32 years old, and despite being raised in a small village, her life had taken her far away from Ashford. She left at 18, determined to make a name for herself in the city. Now, a successful architect, Julian had built a career in the steel and glass landscape of the urban world, leaving the crumbling old house behind. Her roots, her childhood memories—everything about Ashford was a distant, haunted blur.

She had not returned in over a decade.

But one phone call changed everything. The voice on the other end of the line was the local doctor, confirming what Julian already feared. Her mother, Martha Carter, was gravely ill. The woman who had once been full of life was now bedridden, her mind slipping away into madness. Julian had no choice. Her city life, her career—everything was put on hold. She had to come back to Ashford.

The thought of returning to Carter Manor, the old family home, filled Julian with dread. The house was a relic, darkened by memories she wasn’t sure she was ready to confront. The whispers from her childhood had always been there, lurking just beneath the surface of her mind—stories of a mysterious room in the house that no one dared enter, a room her mother had warned her never to open. But Julian hadn’t believed her. She had always chalked it up to superstition.

But now, as she drove down the narrow, overgrown road toward her childhood home, the weight of those childhood fears pressed down on her chest.

 

Part 1: The Return

The gravel crunched beneath Julian's tires as she pulled up the long driveway to Carter Manor. The house stood there like an ancient sentinel, its dark silhouette framed by the overgrown trees that seemed to close in on it, blocking out the sky. The once grand estate was now swallowed by time. Ivy clung to its walls like a disease, and the windows, once so bright, were now dark, the glass cracked and dirty, hiding whatever horrors lay inside.

Julian’s heart raced in her chest, but she told herself to stay calm. She had been here before—this was just the house, just old wood and memories. But nothing felt the same. There was a heaviness in the air, something oppressive, as if the house itself was waiting for her.

She parked her car and stepped out into the cold evening air. The house loomed before her, silent except for the occasional rustling of the wind through the trees. The very ground beneath her feet seemed to be holding its breath, and as she walked toward the front door, Julian could feel the eyes of the house on her, its presence lurking in every shadow.

The door creaked open on its own as if it had been expecting her. Inside, the house was suffocating—filled with the stale scent of dust, mildew, and decay. The furniture was covered with white sheets, ghostly remnants of a life that had long since faded. The walls, once adorned with family portraits, were now cracked and peeling, the frames hanging crookedly, as if they had been abandoned in a hurry. The silence was deafening.

She walked through the rooms, unable to shake the sensation that something was wrong. She had been in this house a hundred times as a child, but it had never felt like this. The air was thick, heavy with something unseen, something watching her. Every step she took seemed to echo too loudly in the empty space.

As she made her way upstairs, the creaking of the old floorboards beneath her feet was the only sound that accompanied her. Her mother’s room was at the end of the hall. When she entered, she found Martha lying in bed, pale and frail, her skin almost translucent. Her eyes flickered open as Julian stepped into the room, but they were clouded, unfocused.

“Don’t… open it…” her mother whispered, her voice barely audible. “The room... never open it…”

Julian’s stomach tightened. These were the same words her mother had muttered for years, words Julian had always dismissed as the ramblings of a woman growing old. But there was something different now. A desperation in her mother’s eyes.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it. Julian had other things to focus on. She had to care for her mother, figure out what was wrong with her, and make arrangements to sell the house. That was the plan. There was no room for superstition.

That night, after a long day of tending to her mother and sorting through her belongings, Julian retired to the guest room at the far end of the hall. She had hoped for some rest, but the house had other plans.

The wind howled outside, rattling the old windows. As Julian lay in bed, she could hear something—faint, almost imperceptible. A tapping. A rhythmic, deliberate sound that seemed to come from somewhere down the hallway. Her heart skipped a beat, but she brushed it off as nothing. The house was old, it creaked and groaned. The wind, the house settling—there was no reason to be afraid.

But the tapping didn’t stop.

Julian sat up in bed, her eyes scanning the room. The shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally, the corners of the room darker than they should have been. The tapping grew louder, closer, as though someone—or something—was moving down the hallway toward her.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The tapping stopped.

A silence so deep, so unnatural, settled in the air. It was as if the house itself was holding its breath. Julian’s pulse raced. She forced herself out of bed and made her way to the door. Her hand shook as she reached for the knob.

And then, she saw it.

At the end of the hall, where there had once been nothing, there was a door. A door she had never seen before.

Her childhood memories surged back—every inch of this house had been explored, every room, every corner. How had she missed this? The door was old, its surface cracked and weathered. But there was something… off about it. It seemed to be calling her.

Julian’s heart hammered in her chest as she walked toward the door. Her fingers grazed the cold, tarnished handle. The air around her felt thick, suffocating. And then, from behind the door, she heard it.

A whisper.

"Come in..."

Cont.……. for Part 2