The Beckoning of the Phantom

The nights felt darker and the wind always seemed to whistle louder in the ancient, crumbling mansion at the edge of the village.

Nobody ventured near it, particularly once dusk fell. The locals claimed that the house was cursed, haunted by a spirit of someone who had harmed it a long time ago. Because anyone who got too close would hear a faint voice... beckoning, they called it "The Phantom's Call."

Aarav had heard these stories from childhood. His grandma forbade him from approaching since she was a believer in everything paranormal. One night, her eyes wide with terror, she had murmured to him, "The phantom seeks revenge."

"It extends its hand to anyone who dares to interrupt its sleep."

But as Aarav became older, his curiosity triumphed over his anxiety.

How could one person's voice be able to terrify an entire village?

Against his better judgment, he made the decision to check for himself one evening. He bided his time until the sun descended beyond the horizon, casting a long shadow across the planet. Carrying a lantern, he headed towards the mansion, leaving just the gentle glow of his light to illuminate his path.

The closer he went, the colder the air became, and the wind began to howl through the trees. His heart raced as he got closer to the iron gates, but he persisted. The mansion appeared to be waiting for him, with its doors slightly ajar and its windows dark.

He paused. He asked himself, "Is this really a good idea?" out loud. But his insatiable curiosity drew him in. He inhaled deeply before going inside.

The smell of rotting flesh permeated the air, which was heavy with dust. As he made his way deeper inside the house, his footsteps reverberated off the floor cracks. It was too quiet, really.

The aged wood beneath his feet creaked every now and then, and that was the only sound. His spine tingled as he moved through the dimly lit hallways.

He heard it after that.

"Aarav." The voice was clear and quiet, hardly audible above a whisper. He froze, his blood running cold. The lantern flickered in his grasp, illuminating the walls with lengthy shadows.

"Aarav..." the voice spoke again, a little closer this time, a subtle invitation that seems to come at once from nowhere and everywhere. He looked around the empty room, his throat getting tighter. "Who’s there?" he said, a little trembling in his voice.

Not a response. The windows are rattling due to the wind outside.

Though his legs wouldn't go, his instincts begged him to flee. There was an invisible force that kept him where he was. His gaze shifted to the furthest corner of the space, where he made out its silhouette in the low light. An image... a ghost.

Its body was translucent and undulating, and its eyes were sorrowful but empty as it stood motionless. The figure lifted its hand slowly and made a slow, purposeful gesture to call to him.

Aarav's pulse pounded. The tug was greater now, as if the spirit's desire was alive in the air around him.

The phantom appeared to say, "Come closer," but it did not utter anything. Aarav's respiration grew rapid. His feet betrayed him, creeping toward the person despite his will, even though he wanted to move and flee.

The room seemed progressively colder as he approached, as if the warmth of life itself was being drawn out of the very air. The phantom's hand glistened in the faint light, still extended. Pale and ghostly, its face was carved with longing and agony.

Aarav paused a few feet from the man, his lantern dimly flickering. With hardly a whisper, he whispered, "What do you want?"

The ghostly figure remained silent, but its eyes conveyed a tale of betrayal, rage, and an unending quest for serenity.

The lantern then abruptly went out due to a wind blast. As the room descended into darkness, Aarav sensed the ghostly hand's cold contact across his flesh.

"Stay with me... forever," a chilly, hollow voice echoed in the darkness, causing him to scream.

Aarav lost control of the phantom in a flash of fright and staggered back in the direction of the door. He groped for the latch, his heart hammering in his chest. The voice became more forceful and louder, saying, "You can't leave... not now."

Aarav gave it one last, frantic shove, threw open the door, and bolted into the night. With the sound still ringing in his ears, he rushed into the chilly wind, which bit at his flesh the entire way.

The voice only subsided when he arrived in the village's protection and was replaced by the sound of his labored breathing.

Aarav was aware that he had been fortunate to avoid the phantom's call that evening. He would, however, always be plagued by the sight of the ghost's melancholy eyes and the icy touch of its hand.