The House That Calls Your Name
Arjun never believed in ghosts. He laughed at haunted house stories and dismissed every urban legend as mere superstition. That was until he came across the House on Willow Street.
It was said that if you stood in front of it at night, you would hear someone whisper your name.
Just a trick of the wind, he thought.
So, one night, driven by curiosity, he decided to test the legend himself.
The house stood alone at the end of the street, its windows broken, its wooden walls covered in black mold. The gate creaked as he pushed it open. He stepped into the overgrown yard, feeling the cold wind wrap around him like unseen fingers.
Then, as he stood before the door, it happened.
A whisper.
“Arjun…”
His breath caught. The sound was faint but unmistakable. It came from inside.
He hesitated but then chuckled nervously. It’s just my imagination.
But then, the whisper came again.
“Come inside…”
His skin prickled.
It wasn’t the wind.
Something inside the house was calling him.
Logic told him to turn around and leave, but something stronger—a dark, unexplainable urge—pulled him forward.
The door creaked open on its own.
Inside the House
The air inside was thick with dust and decay. Moonlight streamed through broken windows, casting eerie shadows. The wallpaper was peeling, the furniture rotting.
Then he saw it.
A chair sat in the middle of the living room. It was different from everything else—untouched by dust, looking as if someone had just been sitting there.
A single candle burned beside it.
And then—footsteps.
Not his own.
They came from the floor above, slow and deliberate. Someone was walking in the room directly above him.
Creak.
Creak.
Then silence.
“Hello?” Arjun called, his voice barely above a whisper.
A long, breathless pause. Then—
Thud.
A heavy noise, like something being dropped.
The ceiling above him cracked slightly. A small pile of dust fell from it.
Something was up there.
And it was moving.
The Thing in the Shadows
His instincts screamed at him to leave, but his feet betrayed him. Against his better judgment, he climbed the old staircase. Each step groaned under his weight.
At the top of the stairs was a hallway with a single open door at the end.
Inside, the room was almost empty—except for an old, full-length mirror.
Something stood in front of it.
A figure.
Tall. Motionless. Faceless.
It was like a shadow given form—featureless, its head tilted slightly, as if listening.
Then, it moved.
Not by stepping forward, but by appearing closer.
One second it was by the mirror. The next—it was inches from Arjun.
A whisper, right by his ear.
“You came.”
His scream never left his throat.
The door slammed shut.
Darkness swallowed the house.
The Next Night
A week later, a new rumor spread through the town.
People who walked past the house at night now heard two voices whispering from inside.
And one of them sounded just like Arjun.
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