The House That Waits
Rajat had always been fascinated by the abandoned house at the edge of town. It stood alone, its windows like hollow eyes staring into the empty fields beyond. For as long as he could remember, no one had lived there. The locals avoided it, whispering tales of people who had entered but never returned.
One evening, while walking home, Rajat’s curiosity got the better of him. His friends had dared him countless times to step inside, but he had always laughed it off. Tonight was different. The sky was darkening, the wind carried a strange stillness, and something about the house called to him.
He hesitated for only a moment before stepping through the rusted gate.
A House That Breathes
The front door groaned as he pushed it open. The air inside was thick with dust and the faint scent of something rotten. He shone his flashlight around the entrance hall—peeling wallpaper, broken furniture, shattered picture frames.
And then he heard it.
A slow, deep inhale.
Like the house itself was breathing.
Rajat froze, his flashlight shaking slightly. The sound stopped. It must have been the wind.
But there was no wind.
Ignoring the chill creeping up his spine, he moved further inside.
The living room had an old piano covered in dust. A few faded paintings hung on the walls, their images too worn to make out.
Then, from the darkness—
A whisper.
“You came back.”
The voice was soft, almost gentle, but it made Rajat’s blood turn to ice.
He spun around, but the room was empty. His breath quickened.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
He turned back toward the entrance—
And found that the front door was gone.
Not shut. Gone.
The Things That Linger
His pulse pounded in his ears. He knew this couldn’t be real. The house was playing tricks on him.
Slowly, he backed toward the staircase, thinking maybe he could find another way out. The steps creaked under his weight as he climbed.
At the top of the stairs, a long hallway stretched before him, lined with doors. Most were closed, except for one at the end. It stood slightly ajar, a dim light flickering inside.
A shadow moved past the gap.
Rajat swallowed hard. He wanted to turn back. He wanted to run.
But his feet carried him forward.
The room was a bedroom, untouched by time. A rocking chair sat in the corner, swaying slightly though there was no breeze. An old mirror stood against the wall, its surface covered in grime.
He stepped closer, wiping the glass with his sleeve.
And then he saw it.
His reflection was wrong.
It looked just like him, but its eyes were too dark, its smile too wide.
Then—it moved on its own.
It raised a hand and pointed behind him.
A chill crawled down Rajat’s spine.
Slowly, he turned around.
The rocking chair had stopped moving.
But now, someone was sitting in it.
The Forgotten One
She was pale, her skin stretched too tight over her bones. Her hollow eyes stared at him, and her lips curled into a slow, unnatural grin.
“You remember me now, don’t you?”
Rajat’s throat tightened. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
She stood up, moving toward him with slow, deliberate steps.
Memories he didn’t recognize flooded his mind. A little boy playing in this very house. A hand pulling him away. A promise whispered in the dark.
“You said you’d come back.”
The floor beneath him shifted. The walls seemed to close in.
He stumbled back, crashing into the mirror. The glass shattered around him, but the reflection remained—grinning, eyes filled with something hungry.
The woman reached for him, her fingers cold as death.
And then—
Everything went black.
The Next Morning
Rajat’s friends found him lying outside the abandoned house, his eyes wide with terror.
He was breathing but unresponsive, staring blankly at the sky.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.
“She’s still waiting.”
No one knew what he meant.
And no one noticed the faint reflection of a woman in the broken window of the house—
Smiling.
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