She Came When I Was Alone

My name is Ayan. I grew up in an old countryside house that breathed with age — creaky floorboards, whispering windows, and walls that seemed to listen. It wasn’t haunted… at least not until that winter.

It started the night my parents left for my uncle’s funeral in another city. I begged them to let me stay home. I had school, exams, and honestly, I liked the quiet. Or I thought I did.

The first sign was the hallway light flickering at exactly 2:13 AM. Not before. Not after. Always 2:13. I laughed it off the first night. "Old wiring," I told myself. But by the third night, it began to feel like a signal — not a glitch.

On the fourth night, I was sitting on the bed reading, when I heard a knock.

Three soft taps.

Not from the front door.

Not from the windows.

It came from inside the house — the hallway closet. The same one nobody ever used.

I crept over, heart pounding. Opened the closet.

Nothing. Just old coats and a dusty umbrella.

But something was... wrong.

I could smell jasmine. Sweet, heavy, unnatural. Like perfume from a time long gone. The scent clung to the air, thick as fog, even after I closed the closet door.

That night, I dreamt of her for the first time.

THE GIRL IN THE SHADOW

She stood at the end of my hallway — barefoot, soaked in rain though the weather had been dry for days. Her hair was black and tangled like seaweed, face pale and blurred as if underwater.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. She raised her hand and pointed at me.

And then I woke up — exactly at 2:13 AM.

The hallway light was flickering.

And the closet door… was open.

HER HISTORY, MY NIGHTMARE

I tried to ignore it. Ghost stories were just that — stories. But the jasmine smell kept returning, stronger each night. I began digging. That’s when I found her.

Saira. A girl who had lived in this very house 25 years ago. She had died mysteriously in her room — alone, during a thunderstorm. Some said she fell. Some whispered darker things.

But one thing was common in every account: she hated being alone. Abandoned as a child, forgotten by her friends, and ignored by her parents. In life… she was invisible.

In death — she made sure she wasn’t.

THE DOOR THAT SHOULDN’T OPEN

The final night, I stayed up with every light on.

At 2:13 AM, the power cut out.

No storm. No warning. Just silence.

The kind of silence that presses on your chest and whispers in your ear.

Then… the hallway closet creaked open. Slowly. Deliberately.

And I saw her. Not in a dream. Not imagined.

She stepped out. Her dress was white but soaked as if she had just drowned. Her eyes were bottomless. And her face — sad, but filled with something deeper… rage? Desperation?

“Don’t leave me,” she said, but her lips never moved.

I ran to my room and slammed the door. But she didn’t need to walk. She appeared. Behind me. In front of me. Inside the mirror. Whispering from every crack in the walls.

“Don’t leave me… don’t leave me… don’t leave me…”

I screamed — louder than I ever had. Not for help. Just to break the silence.

Then…

She was gone.

AFTERMATH

My parents returned the next day. The lights worked again. The scent of jasmine never returned.

But I was never the same.

Sometimes, when I’m alone, I feel cold fingers brush my neck. I hear her soft sobbing in the pipes, or footsteps echo in the attic when I’m the only one home.

And I know one thing:

She didn’t want to haunt the house.

She wanted company.

She came when I was alone… and now, I’m never truly alone again.

💡 Story Themes & Symbolism Explained:

The Closet: Represents things hidden or ignored — her lonely past, her death, her pain.

Jasmine: A haunting signature scent; soft and floral, but unnatural — a reminder of her feminine presence.

2:13 AM: A ghostly timestamp; ghosts are often said to return at the hour of their death.

She never attacks: This adds psychological horror — she wants to be remembered, not feared… yet she is terrifying because of how she reaches out.