The Girl Who Spoke to Shadows

The first time the lights flickered in Areeba’s room, she thought it was a wiring problem. The house was old—older than anyone in her family—and it made sounds that could easily be blamed on age. Wood expanded. Pipes groaned. Wind pressed softly against the windows at night. There was always a reasonable explanation.

But the whisper had not sounded like the wind.

It came just after midnight, thin and stretched, like someone speaking from the other side of a wall.

“Areeba…”

She sat up in bed, heart pounding. The digital clock beside her glowed 12:17 AM. Her door was closed. The hallway light was off. She held her breath, waiting for the sound to repeat itself.

Silence.

The next morning, she told herself it had been a dream. Stress from school exams, perhaps. Lack of sleep. Her mother noticed the dark circles under her eyes but said nothing. Life continued as normal.

Until the second whisper came.

This time, she was awake—fully awake—sitting at her desk studying. The room felt colder than usual. The curtains stirred slightly though the window was shut.

“Areeba… listen.”

The voice was closer now. Not loud, but deliberate. It seemed to come from the corner of her room, where the light from her lamp didn’t quite reach. She stood slowly, her legs trembling, and walked toward the corner. Nothing was there. Just shadow.

“I’m imagining this,” she whispered to herself.

“You’re not.”

The reply came instantly.

Areeba stumbled back, knocking her chair to the floor. Her breath turned shallow. She scanned the room wildly, but she was alone. Completely alone.

From that night onward, the shadows in her room felt different. They were darker, thicker somehow. Even during the day, the corners of the house seemed to hold shapes that didn’t match the furniture. She began sleeping with the lights on.

The voice continued, never shouting, never threatening—just whispering her name and short phrases

“Don’t trust them.”

“They can’t see me.”

“I’ve been here longer than you.”

Areeba stopped telling herself it was stress. Something was happening.

One evening, while her parents were out, the electricity cut off completely. The house plunged into darkness. She grabbed her phone, switching on the flashlight. The beam shook in her hand as she moved toward the door.

The hallway stretched ahead of her, silent and unfamiliar. The shadows along the walls seemed to ripple as she passed.

“Areeba,” the voice said again, clearer than ever.

“Who are you?” she whispered, unable to stop herself.

There was a pause.

“Part of this house.”

Her stomach tightened. “What do you want?”

Another pause—longer this time.

“You hear me. That’s enough.”

The flashlight flickered and died. Total darkness swallowed her.

She gasped, reaching blindly for the wall. Suddenly, the temperature dropped sharply. The air felt heavy, pressing against her chest. Then she noticed something worse.

The darkness wasn’t empty.

It moved.

Not quickly, not violently—but shifting, stretching across the walls like ink spreading through water. The shadows thickened around her feet, climbing slowly up her legs.

“No,” she breathed.

“You were always meant to listen,” the voice murmured, now surrounding her instead of coming from one direction.

Her heart pounded painfully. “Leave me alone!”

“I can’t.”

The front door slammed downstairs.

Footsteps rushed into the house. Her father’s voice called her name. In that instant, the pressure vanished. The air warmed. The electricity returned with a sudden buzz, lights flickering back to life.

Areeba found herself standing alone in the hallway. The shadows were normal again—flat, harmless shapes cast by ceiling lights.

Her parents stared at her pale face. “What happened?” her mother asked urgently.

She opened her mouth, then hesitated. How could she explain something that disappeared the moment others arrived?

“Nothing,” she whispered. “The lights just went out.”

That night, the house felt quiet. Too quiet.

For three days, the voice did not return. Areeba almost convinced herself it had ended.

Until she noticed something new.

Her shadow no longer moved exactly with her.

It was subtle at first—a slight delay when she turned, a fraction of a second too slow. She tested it under the bright bathroom light. She raised her hand.

Her shadow followed.

But just a moment later than it should have.

Her throat tightened.

“You’re still here,” she said softly.

The shadow stretched slightly longer than the light allowed.

“Yes.”

Areeba understood then. The voice had never belonged to the house.

It had attached itself to her.

“You hear me,” it whispered one final time. “And now I hear you.”

The lights flickered again—but this time, she wasn’t afraid of the darkness.

She was afraid of what followed her inside it.