Whispers from the Forgotten House

Raka stood in front of the grand house that loomed over the quiet village. Though still strong in structure, the building had clearly been abandoned for years. Its windows were dark, like hollow eyes watching anyone daring enough to approach. The villagers avoided this place, calling it the "Forgotten House"—a place where something terrible had once happened.

That night, a light drizzle fell, casting an eerie gloom over the mansion. Raka was not the type to believe in superstitions, yet something about the house unsettled him. Whether it was curiosity or a strange compulsion, he found himself stepping closer.

The front door, left slightly ajar, creaked softly as the wind pushed against it. Holding his breath, Raka hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

---

Traces of Death

The air inside was thick with the scent of mold and decay. Dust blanketed the once-grand furniture, but remnants of the house’s former glory remained—a large painting hanging on the wall, a grand chandelier covered in cobwebs, and a sweeping staircase leading to the second floor.

Raka’s footsteps echoed across the wooden floor as he explored. The living room felt frozen in time, with chairs still neatly arranged around a coffee table. Moving toward the kitchen, he found dust-covered plates still sitting on the dining table, as if the family had left in a hurry, never to return.

Then, as he entered the hallway leading to the bedrooms, a chill ran down his spine. The air grew colder, pressing against his skin like unseen hands. He could feel it now—something was watching him.

Then, ever so faintly, he heard it…

"Help me…"

Raka froze in place. The whisper was barely audible, like a sigh carried by the wind. He swallowed hard, forcing his legs to move forward. As he neared the last room in the hallway, the voice grew clearer.

He reached for the doorknob with trembling fingers, pushing the door open slowly.

The room was dark, except for the pale moonlight filtering through a large window. The only piece of furniture left standing was a tall mirror in the corner.

And in that mirror, something was looking back at him.

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The Unveiled Secret

What he saw was not his reflection.

A woman stood inside the mirror, her face pale, her hollow eyes filled with sorrow. She wore a white dress, now stained with dark, dried blood. Though her body remained still, her lips moved, forming words that made no sound.

Raka’s heart pounded. He wanted to turn and run, but his feet felt glued to the floor.

Then, the whisper returned—clearer now, almost desperate.

"You must see…"

The mirror's surface rippled, like water disturbed by a stone. The reflection of the room changed, revealing a scene from the past.

Raka saw the same house, but in its prime. A happy family—a father, a mother, and their young daughter—sat in the living room, their laughter filling the air. But the warmth quickly turned to horror when a stranger entered the house, gripping a bloodied axe.

Screams tore through the night.

Blood splattered against the walls.

The child cried for her mother before everything went dark.

Raka covered his mouth, nausea rising in his throat as the gruesome scene played out before him. Then, the woman in the mirror spoke again, her voice full of sorrow:

"We were murdered... buried in the backyard."

A cold shiver ran down his spine. He stumbled backward, his mind racing. If their bodies were still here, buried beneath the soil, then—

Footsteps.

A slow, deliberate tap… tap… tap… echoed from the hallway behind him.

With dread sinking into his bones, Raka turned his head.

In the darkness of the corridor, two glowing red eyes stared back at him.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled through the house.

And before Raka could even scream, everything went black.

---

A Shocking End

The next morning, the villagers found the Forgotten House with its front door wide open. But of Raka, there was no sign.

The only strange thing they noticed was a dusty, old mirror on the second floor.

And in that mirror, they swore they could see a faint reflection of a young man’s terrified face—staring out, as if begging to be freed.