The Old Mansion
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The storm had not ceased. Outside, thunder rolled like an angry beast, but inside the mansion, silence had its own voice—heavier, darker, and far more terrifying.
Meera stood in front of the tall mirror where the ghostly reflection of another her had appeared. The face was gone now, leaving only her trembling reflection staring back at her. But the memory of those sorrowful eyes still burned in her chest.
She turned toward Aarav. “What is happening to me? Who was she? Why do I feel like… I know her?”
Aarav didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the old furniture covered in dust, as if the walls themselves were listening. Finally, he spoke in a low, measured tone.
“This mansion,” he said, “isn’t just a place. It’s a memory. And once it recognizes you, it never lets you go.”
Meera’s throat went dry. “Recognizes me? I’ve never been here before!”
“Your body hasn’t,” Aarav replied, his eyes finding hers again, “but your soul has.”
His words sent a shiver racing down her spine. Soul? Past? Rebirth? It sounded insane, yet standing here, looking at the shadows dancing across the walls, she couldn’t dismiss it entirely.
Meera took a shaky step back. “I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to,” Aarav said calmly. “The mansion will show you. Piece by piece. Whether you want it or not.”
Before Meera could protest, a loud crash echoed upstairs, like a door slamming shut. She jumped, clutching his arm.
Aarav’s jaw tightened. “It’s starting.”
“What’s starting?”
Instead of answering, he led her back up the spiral staircase. His grip on her hand was firm, grounding, though his touch remained unnervingly cold. As they climbed, the air grew heavier, pressing down on her chest. The walls groaned, the floorboards creaked as if footsteps walked alongside them though no one was there.
Finally, they reached the second floor. The corridor stretched endlessly, lined with more portraits, but these were different—faded, burned in places, their faces scratched out as if someone wanted to erase their existence.
Meera’s breath caught. “Why… why are their faces destroyed?”
“Because they were forgotten,” Aarav replied softly. “And this house does not forgive forgetfulness.”
Before she could question him, a door creaked open at the far end of the hall. Slowly, deliberately, as though inviting them inside.
Meera’s chest tightened. “Do we… go in?”
Aarav looked at her with those piercing eyes, full of secrets and something softer—concern. “You have to. This house chose you tonight. It wants you to see.”
Every instinct screamed no, but something deeper, stronger pushed her forward. Together, they walked to the door.
Inside was a bedroom, untouched by time. The bed was neatly made, draped in crimson sheets. A cracked chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals swaying though there was no wind.
And on the dresser… was a photograph.
Meera froze. Slowly, she picked it up, her fingers trembling. The black-and-white image showed a young couple—smiling, in love. The woman looked exactly like Meera. The man…
Her breath caught. It was Aarav.
Meera stumbled back, nearly dropping the photo. “This—this isn’t possible! That’s you! That’s me! How—how can this be?”
Aarav’s face was unreadable, shadowed with centuries of sorrow. “Because we’ve met before. Again and again.”
Her pulse thundered in her ears. “You’re saying… we’ve lived this before?”
“Yes,” Aarav said softly, stepping closer. “And every time, it ends the same way.”
Meera’s lips trembled. “What way?”
Before he could answer, the mirror across the room shattered violently, shards flying across the floor. Meera screamed, covering her face, but none of the glass touched her. When she lowered her arms, she saw words etched into the cracked surface of the mirror—written in something dark and red.
LEAVE BEFORE HE TAKES YOU AGAIN.
Meera’s heart stopped. Her gaze snapped to Aarav, who was staring at the mirror with clenched fists, his eyes stormier than ever.
“Don’t look at that,” he hissed. “It’s a lie. The house is trying to twist you against me.”
But doubt had already begun to creep into her chest. The whispers from before echoed in her mind. Don’t trust him… Run…
Her voice shook. “Why should I believe you? Why should I trust anything you say?”
Aarav’s expression softened, pain flickering across his face. He stepped closer, lifting his hand to gently brush a tear from her cheek. His touch was cold, but his eyes burned with something real—something human.
“Because,” he whispered, “I’ve been waiting lifetimes just to hold you again.”
Meera’s chest ached. She wanted to pull away, to demand answers, but instead, she found herself caught in his gaze. The storm outside, the whispers, the fear—all of it faded for a moment. All she could feel was the strange, magnetic pull between them.
Her lips parted, words dying on her tongue. And in that moment, she realized the most terrifying truth of all: she wasn’t afraid of him anymore. She was afraid of herself—of how much she already wanted to believe him.
But the house wasn’t done.
The chandelier above them swayed violently, then crashed to the ground, sending shards scattering. The door slammed shut, trapping them inside. The whispers grew louder, overlapping until they formed a single, deafening voice:
“HE WILL DESTROY YOU… LIKE BEFORE.”
Meera clutched Aarav’s arm, trembling. He held her tighter, shielding her with his body.
“Don’t listen!” he shouted over the voices. “They’re jealous. They don’t want us together. They never have!”
The room shook violently, as though the house itself was rejecting his words. Dust rained from the ceiling, and the bedcovers twisted as if an unseen force was writhing beneath them.
Meera buried her face against his chest, her heart torn between terror and something far more dangerous—longing.
And just before the darkness consumed the room, she heard Aarav’s whisper against her ear, soft but desperate:
“I swear, Meera… this time, I won’t lose you.”
The lights went out. The mansion fell silent. And the game between love and horror had only just begun.
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Heartfelt thanks to everyone for staying with the story till the very end. If I’ve made any mistakes while writing, I hope you’ll kindly overlook them. Every single comment from you is truly precious to me, because a writer’s greatest inspiration comes from the readers’ response. How you felt about the story, which part touched you, or where it could have been improved—sharing these thoughts will add new colors to my future writings. Your love and feedback are the fuel for my pen, so please don’t forget to leave a comment.
