Mia had always felt something was off about the old house her family had moved into. Located on the outskirts of an ancient town near Jaipur, the mansion was massive, with towering walls and intricate carvings that seemed to speak of long-forgotten histories. The house, though grand, exuded an unsettling presence—its silence felt heavier than it should, as if it were holding its breath.
The first night in her new bedroom, Mia heard it—a soft whisper, like a distant prayer, floating through the air. She sat up, heart racing, expecting to see her younger brother, Aarav, standing by the bed. But the room was empty. She dismissed it as the wind swaying the old trees outside and tried to sleep.
But the whispers didn’t stop. Night after night, they grew louder, more persistent. “Mia…” the voice called, faint and haunting, but so clear that Mia couldn’t ignore it. It wasn’t just the wind. It was as though someone—or something—was trying to reach her.
One evening, the whispering was louder than ever. She recorded the sounds on her phone. When she played it back, she was stunned. Among the incoherent murmurs, she clearly heard a voice calling her name. “Help us, Mia…” The voice sounded desperate, pleading.
Terrified, Mia shared her experience with her parents, but they laughed it off, thinking she was just imagining things. “It’s an old house, beta,” her father, Rajesh, said. “The house creaks. It’s normal.”
But Mia wasn’t convinced. She felt a deep, growing unease. The whispers began to speak more urgently. “Mia… come to us… help us…”
Desperate for answers, Mia started investigating the history of the house. She visited the local library and spoke to the town’s elders. One old woman, Leela Aunty, who had lived in the village for years, spoke in hushed tones about the mansion. “It was built by the Maheshwari family in the 1800s,” she whispered. “But they vanished without a trace. People say their spirits still linger, trapped by something… unfinished.”
Mia’s pulse quickened. Could the whispers be from those long-lost souls?
That night, determined to uncover the truth, Mia ventured into the dark, abandoned corridors of the mansion, the whispers leading her. They seemed to follow her through the house, swirling around her like a forgotten chant, growing louder as she walked.
As Mia entered her parents' room, she noticed something strange. A dark stain on the wall, hidden behind a large painting. She pushed the frame aside and found a hidden door. Her fingers trembled as she opened it, revealing a narrow staircase leading down into a pitch-black basement.
A gust of cold air swept past her as she descended, and the whispers grew frantic, almost panicked. “Mia… don’t leave us…”
Her flashlight flickered as she stepped into the room. The air was heavy, filled with the smell of rot and decay. The beam of light landed on something horrifying—old, brittle bones scattered across the floor. Broken pottery, tattered clothing, and the remnants of a forgotten life littered the ground. And there, on the stone wall, was a child’s handprint—small, smeared in what looked like blood.
The whispers now echoed through the room, louder, more frantic. “Mia, you found us! It’s too late! You shouldn’t have come!”
Suddenly, the flashlight flickered and went out. In the darkness, something moved—a shape, a figure. Mia froze, her breath caught in her throat. A cold, skeletal hand reached out from the shadows, its fingers long and jagged, as though they had been stretched through years of darkness and suffering.
The whispers turned to cries. “Help us… save us…”
With every ounce of courage, Mia stumbled backward, her hands brushing against the bones that littered the floor. She turned to run, but the door slammed shut behind her, trapping her inside the room. The walls seemed to close in, their ancient stones groaning as though they were alive, hungry.
She could feel the presence of something behind her. Slowly, she turned to see it—a figure standing in the shadows. Its eyes glowed an unnatural red, filled with endless sorrow. A cold, breathless voice whispered in her ear, “It’s too late, Mia… You should have listened. Now you’re one of us.”
Before she could scream, everything went black. The last thing Mia heard were the whispers—the same voices that had beckoned her here. “Mia… you’re home now.”
The Next Morning
The sun rose over the mansion the next day, its warm golden light cutting through the shadows of the house. Rajesh and his wife, Priya, woke to find that Mia was nowhere to be found. Aarav searched every room, but his sister was gone.
Panic set in. Priya called out Mia’s name, but there was no answer. It was as if the house had swallowed her whole.
As they searched the house, they stumbled upon the basement door, which had been locked tightly the night before. The door creaked open. And there, in the centre of the room, stood the dark stain on the wall, now visible to Rajesh and Priya.
A shiver ran down Priya’s spine as she stepped closer. She felt it—the heavy air, the suffocating presence in the room. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes landed on the child’s handprint smeared in blood on the stone wall.
Suddenly, a voice whispered, faint but clear. “Mia is with us now… you will be too.”
Priya turned to Rajesh, fear flooding her veins. “We have to leave,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “This house… it’s not what it seems.”
But as they backed away, the door slammed shut behind them. The whispers grew louder, filling the room, swirling around them in an inescapable torrent of anguish and desperation.
Outside, the wind howled through the trees, and the mansion seemed to watch, waiting for its next victim.
The house had claimed Mia, and now it was waiting for her family.
