The night had thickened into a suffocating darkness. Shadows clung to the corners of the abandoned mansion, as though the house itself had grown alive and resentful. Raghav stood at the doorway, breath shallow, holding the rusted lantern he had found earlier. Its weak flame sputtered, threatening to vanish and leave him blind among the whispers of the past.
He should have left. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to run. Yet something unseen pulled him further inside, a force as cold as the grave but irresistible, like an invisible hand guiding him toward his doom.
The corridor stretched long and narrow. The walls dripped with dampness, and each step echoed with an unnatural resonance. The silence was no longer empty—it was watchful.
Raghav touched the wall and froze. The plaster was warm. He snatched his hand back, heart pounding. “Impossible,” he whispered, but the house heard him. The warmth pulsed, as if the building itself had a heartbeat.
From the far end of the hallway, a soft thud broke the silence. Then another. Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Approaching.
Raghav pressed himself against the wall, lantern raised. “Who’s there?” he called out, his voice cracking.
No answer. Only the footsteps, measured, deliberate. Then, a voice—low, ragged, neither male nor female—spoke.
“You shouldn’t have come back.”
Raghav’s knees nearly buckled. The voice was everywhere at once, reverberating through the walls. “Back?” he croaked. “I’ve never been here before.”
The voice laughed—dry, hollow, without joy. “All who enter belong. All who belong return.”
The lantern flame flared suddenly, illuminating the corridor ahead. For an instant, Raghav saw them—figures lined along the walls, dozens of them. Some were skeletal, others half-decayed, their hollow eyes fixed on him. When he blinked, they were gone, leaving only peeling wallpaper and mildew.
He stumbled forward, desperate to escape the suffocating hallway. The air thickened, and the lantern grew dim again, its flame struggling against the oppressive dark. He found a staircase, spiraling upward into shadows. With no other choice, he climbed.
Every step groaned like the cry of a dying creature. Halfway up, the house trembled, dust falling from the ceiling as though it had taken a breath. Behind him, the sound of the footsteps resumed—closer now, climbing the stairs.
He quickened his pace, lungs burning, until he reached a heavy wooden door at the top. It was half-open, inviting. He shoved it with his shoulder and stumbled into a wide chamber.
The room was unlike the rest of the house. It was pristine, untouched by decay. A chandelier glowed faintly overhead, casting a pale, golden light. In the center stood a massive mirror framed in black wood, its surface shimmering like water.
Drawn toward it, Raghav stared into the glass. At first, he saw only his reflection—wide eyes, trembling hands clutching the lantern. But then the image changed.
The mirror showed him standing in the very same room, only he wasn’t alone. Behind his reflection stood a family—a man, a woman, and a child. Their eyes were hollow voids, and their mouths hung open in silent screams.
The boy in the reflection stepped forward, pressing his small hand against the glass. Raghav felt a chill crawl up his spine as the mirror rippled.
“Free us,” the boy’s voice echoed from the other side.
Raghav staggered back. “I—I can’t.”
“Free us,” the boy repeated, louder, joined by the whispers of the woman and the man. Their cries grew, filling the chamber, until Raghav dropped to his knees, clutching his ears.
The footsteps reached the doorway behind him. He spun around, expecting a figure. The door was open, but no one stood there. Instead, the shadows stretched across the floor, slithering toward him like living smoke.
“Choose,” the voice thundered again—the same voice from the hallway. “Free them, or join them.”
The mirror pulsed with light. The boy’s hand pressed harder against the glass, leaving a faint crack. The house groaned, as though straining under some unseen weight.
Raghav’s mind raced. If he touched the mirror, what would happen? Would he break it and release the trapped souls—or would he doom himself? His instincts screamed danger, but the boy’s hollow eyes pleaded with him, cutting through his fear.
Gathering every ounce of courage, Raghav rose and pressed his hand against the glass. It was ice-cold, burning his skin. The crack spread outward, webbing across the surface. The house shuddered violently, dust raining down from the ceiling.
The voices screamed, louder and louder, a cacophony of anguish and rage. The mirror shattered, exploding into countless shards that flew across the room like daggers. Raghav shielded his face, the lantern clattering to the ground and extinguishing.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
For a long moment, there was silence.
Then, faintly, he heard breathing—not his own. Dozens of breaths, surrounding him. When his eyes adjusted, he realized he was no longer in the chamber. He stood outside, on the cold earth, beneath a starless sky. The mansion loomed before him, its windows glowing faintly, like watchful eyes.
Behind him, he heard voices whispering his name. He turned, expecting to see the family he had freed. Instead, he saw them—the skeletal figures from the corridor, standing in the field, motionless.
The boy stepped forward, smiling faintly. “You freed us,” he said, voice clear now, no longer hollow. “But the house never lets go. One soul for another.”
Before Raghav could react, the ground beneath him split open. Shadows erupted, wrapping around his body, pulling him downward. He screamed, clawing at the earth, but the figures only watched in silence.
The last thing he saw was the mansion’s windows flaring bright, as though the house itself were smiling.
Then the earth closed, and Raghav was gone.
The boy turned to the others, his hollow eyes now filled with light. “We are free,” he whispered.
The house groaned in the distance, alive and patient, waiting for the next soul foolish enough to step through its silent doors.
