Behind the Silent Door

Standing lonesome at the end of a tiny lane, where even the breeze seemed to hesitate, was a long-forgotten house. The ancient wooden door, closed for many years, exuded an unsettling silence. The house was the subject of rumors of paranormal activity and ghost sightings, so no one in the hamlet feared to go near it.

Aryan came found the house one wet evening while looking for safety from the storm. His curiosity was too strong for the shivers of uneasiness running down his spine.

There was an uncomfortable quietness in the air as the rain continued to pound down on the roof. Pushing open the creaky gate, he stepped closer. Upon arriving at the porch, he caught sight of the door and was drawn in by its silent allure of mysteries yet to be revealed.

Hesitating only for a moment, Aryan pushed against the door. It groaned as though awakening from a deep slumber, revealing a dimly lit hallway. Dust danced in the faint light that trickled through the cracks in the boarded windows.

The air was thick and cold, carrying the scent of age and neglect. Aryan’s footsteps echoed softly as he ventured further, the silence growing heavier with each step.

At the end of the hallway, a small door stood ajar, unlike the others that were locked tight. A soft, almost imperceptible sound seemed to emanate from within, like a faint whisper.

Aryan’s heart pounded against his chest as he approached. With a trembling hand, he nudged the door open and found himself in a small room. It was nearly empty, save for an old rocking chair and a cracked mirror hanging on the wall.

Suddenly, the chair began to rock gently. Aryan froze, his breath caught in his throat. The room grew colder, and the faint whisper became clearer, forming words he could almost understand.

The mirror, covered in a film of dust, reflected a shadow that didn’t belong to him—something moved behind him. He spun around, but there was nothing, only the silent doorway he had just walked through.

Fear clawed at him, but curiosity kept him rooted to the spot. He turned back towards the mirror. This time, he saw it clearly—a figure standing just behind the rocking chair. It was a woman, her features blurred as though she was part of the very air itself.

Her eyes, or where they should have been, seemed to meet Aryan’s. She spoke, her voice a hollow echo, “Why did you come here?”

Aryan stumbled back, his voice barely a whisper, “Who… who are you?”

The figure moved closer to the mirror, her shape flickering like a candle’s flame. “I was left behind,” she whispered, “behind the silent door… waiting.”

He felt a chill grip his heart as the rocking chair suddenly stopped. The figure in the mirror faded away, but the door behind Aryan began to close on its own. He dashed towards it, fear overpowering curiosity, but the door slammed shut before he could reach it. The room grew dark, and the silence that followed was suffocating.

Just then, the whisper returned, but this time it was different. It wasn’t a voice, but the sound of something scratching… from behind the door.