The Silent Guest
Ravi had always been skeptical of ghost stories. He prided himself on being logical, never letting superstitions cloud his judgment. But that changed the night he stayed at Sharma Villa.
The house had been abandoned for over fifty years. Locals whispered about strange occurrences—doors locking on their own, shadows moving across windows, and the sound of someone breathing in empty rooms.
Ravi didn’t believe any of it.
So, when his friends dared him to spend a night inside, he accepted without hesitation. Armed with only a flashlight, a sleeping bag, and his phone, he stepped into the house just before midnight.
The front door creaked as it swung open. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of mold and old wood. Moonlight streamed through broken windows, casting jagged shadows on the floor.
The silence was too deep.
Ravi walked through the dusty halls, stopping at a room on the second floor. It had a large window overlooking the overgrown garden. He rolled out his sleeping bag in the center of the room, set his phone to record—just in case—and lay down.
The first hour passed uneventfully. The wind whistled outside, rats scurried in the walls, and the wooden floor occasionally creaked under its own weight.
Then, at exactly 2:13 AM, Ravi woke up.
A faint noise echoed in the silence.
Breathing.
Slow. Ragged. Coming from the corner of the room.
His heart pounded. He turned on his flashlight and aimed it toward the sound. Nothing. Just an old wooden chair covered in dust.
Shaking his head, he muttered, “Probably just the wind.”
He checked his phone—the recording was still running.
He lay back down, forcing himself to ignore the eerie feeling creeping up his spine.
But just as he closed his eyes—
Thump.
A heavy footstep.
His flashlight flickered. The air felt different. Heavy. Watched.
And then, his phone’s screen lit up with a message.
“You are not alone.”
His stomach dropped. He hadn’t received any notifications before. Who had sent it? His fingers trembled as he unlocked the phone.
No message history. No sender name.
Just those four chilling words.
Thump. Thump.
The sound came again—closer this time.
Ravi’s breath caught in his throat. The chair in the corner was no longer empty.
Someone was sitting there.
A shadowy figure, its head slightly tilted, as if studying him.
Then, in the dim light of his flashlight, it stood up.
The whisper came, soft but clear.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
Ravi scrambled backward, his hands fumbling for his phone. His mind screamed at him to run, but his body refused to move.
The figure took a step forward.
And then—
His phone buzzed again.
A new message flashed on the screen.
“Don’t turn around.”
But it was too late.
A cold breath touched his neck.
The last thing Ravi saw was his own reflection in the window—his face twisted in terror, and behind him…
Another face.
Smiling.
The Next Morning
When Ravi’s friends arrived at the house, they found his sleeping bag untouched. His flashlight lay on the floor, the batteries drained.
But Ravi was gone.
His phone was still recording.
The last few seconds of the video showed something terrifying—
The chair in the corner.
Empty.
And a faint whisper:
“One more guest.”
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