The House of Shadows

*Based on a true experience — Imran, Age 25*

My name is Imran. I'm 30 now. But what I’m about to tell you happened five years ago, when I was 25 — and I haven’t slept the same since.

I’ve always been drawn to horror. Not just stories, but real encounters — places steeped in legend, whispered about in fear. That's why I went to that village.

It was a rainy monsoon afternoon. The air was thick, the sky a blur of grey. At the far end of the village stood an ancient, crumbling mansion — **Raychaudhuri Bhavan**, the old landlord’s house. Nobody lived there. Nobody *dared* go near it.

They say the place is haunted — not by ghosts, but by **shadows**. Figures shaped like people... but not *people*.

I was there to research folklore and haunted heritage. When I heard the tale of Raychaudhuri Bhavan, something inside me clicked — curiosity or maybe arrogance. Either way, I *had* to see it.

As I reached the gate, an old villager stopped me and said, “Don’t enter the room on the left side of the second floor. That room... takes things.”

I chuckled. “There’s no truth in superstition.”

I wish I had listened.

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### **Night One**

I set up my tent in the mansion’s main hall. The rain thudded against broken windows, the wind howled like a warning. I had my camera, notebook, flashlight — everything ready.

It was around 1 AM when I heard it — **footsteps**, soft and deliberate. As if someone was walking down wooden stairs… very slowly.

I grabbed my flashlight and climbed up. The house creaked with every step. At the top — nothing. Except a single door, slightly open, on the left.

The forbidden room.

I pushed it open.

Dust hung thick in the air. Old broken furniture. And a mirror — huge, cracked, and mounted on the far wall. But what made my blood run cold was what I saw in that mirror.

**My reflection moved... slightly late. And slightly different.**

I stared. My reflection stared back.

Then—**it smiled.**

I hadn’t.

I froze. My skin crawled. I turned around — no one behind me. Turned back to the mirror — and my reflection was gone.

Gone.

Then, a voice, no louder than a breath, right beside my ear:

*“You didn’t come for the research... You came for the exchange.”*

The bulb flickered once... and died.

---

### **Morning After**

I woke up lying on the main hall’s floor. Head spinning. My gear scattered. I remembered the mirror. The smile.

I checked my camera.

All footage from the night was *gone*. Deleted.

Except for one clip.

In it, I stood in front of the mirror, whispering something in a hollow voice. I rewound it.

**“I want to leave this body... come take me.”**

My voice. My face. But *I never said that.*

---

### **Night Three — The Final Descent**

This time, I knew what I was walking into.

Midnight.

I entered the left room again. The mirror was fogged over. No reflection. Just the sound of breathing — not mine — growing louder behind me.

I turned around, slowly.

**There it was.**

A shadow. Humanoid, but twisted, pale, featureless. Empty sockets for eyes. Its form shimmered like smoke.

It whispered:

*“I was the first.

You are the last.

Now we become one.”*

I ran. The door slammed shut. The window showed nothing but blackness — not night, not sky — just **void**.

The shadow reached out. Its fingers touched my chest.

**Pain. Cold. Then — silence.**

I screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the house. A choking mist filled the room.

I vanished into it.

---

### **The Last Video**

Next morning, villagers found the mansion silent. My belongings were still there. My notes. My equipment.

But I was gone.

One thing remained — the camera, left eerily upright beside the mirror.

In the final video, I stood in the room, unmoving. Slowly, I walked toward the mirror. And then, **I stepped into it** — like the surface was made of liquid. And I disappeared.

The last sound caught on the recording, a voice from inside the mirror:

> *“When the House of Shadows calls your name...

> There is no way back.”*

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