Whispers from the Mirror: The Haunting of Rukhsar Road

I hadn’t been back in 27 years. Not since the night the fire trucks came and the neighbors whispered behind their curtains.

But today, I stood at the rusted gate of the house on Rukhsar Road—my childhood home. The white paint had peeled off, revealing scorched patches underneath. The air smelled faintly of damp wood and old memories.

The lock clicked open with surprising ease. As I stepped in, the cold hit me like a wave, though it was midsummer. The silence was thick, like the house had been holding its breath all these years.

“Just one last look,” I whispered.

The Room of Secrets

I walked past the hallway where my sister Aaliya and I used to play with our dolls, past the kitchen where Ammi sang ghazals as she cooked, and finally, to the back room—the one that had been locked the night of the fire.

That room had been Abba’s study. After he died, Ammi kept it closed. The fire started just beyond its door. No one ever said it, but I always felt something was… off about that night.

The Notebook

The door groaned open. Dust swirled like ghosts in the air. The room looked untouched—books still on shelves, the desk still cluttered with yellowed papers.

And then I saw it.

A small, black notebook lying on the desk. My name written in Urdu on the cover: "Zehra."

My hands trembled as I opened it.

April 13th

Zehra saw again last night. She says the man in the mirror talks to her. I don’t know what to do. I can’t lose another daughter.

April 19th

The doctor says it’s trauma-induced hallucination. But Aaliya says she’s seen the man too. Either my daughters are lying—or something is in this house.

May 1st

The mirror cracked on its own. I heard a voice. Deep. Male. Not human.

May 5th

We need to burn the room. Zehra can’t remember things anymore. She’s sleepwalking. Speaking in a voice that isn’t hers.

My breath caught.

This wasn't just my father's notes. It was his confession.

The memories hit me like shattered glass: waking up to find scratches on my arms… hearing whispers from the old bathroom mirror… Aaliya screaming in her sleep. I thought I had imagined it all. That Ammi’s silence meant I had made it up.

But here it was.

The Mirror's Curse

Suddenly, a creak behind me.

I turned fast—but saw nothing.

The mirror on the wall was intact now. Not cracked. Clean, almost polished. And in it… I saw movement.

My reflection was still.

But something behind it moved.

A figure. Tall. Thin. No face. Just shadows.

I turned again—no one.

“Zehra…” the voice echoed, low and deep, vibrating through the floorboards. It wasn’t from the room—it was inside me.

The Fire That Never Came

My feet moved without my consent, walking slowly toward the mirror.

The glass shimmered. Not like reflection—like water.

My hands lifted. I touched it.

It rippled.

Behind me, the notebook burst into flames.

“Leave now,” a voice that was mine—but not mine—whispered in my ear.

I ran.

The Final Call

The hallway seemed longer. The air grew hotter. The scent of smoke—now real. Was I hallucinating? Or had I opened something that was never meant to be disturbed?

I stumbled outside, coughing, gasping, heart racing. The house was still whole behind me. No fire. No smoke. No shadow.

But in my hand… the notebook. Unburned. Still warm.

Three Days Later

I sold the house. I told the new owners nothing. Just smiled and handed over the keys. What could I say? That the mirror inside talks to little girls?

I blocked the number. Burned the notebook.

But still… every time I look into a mirror too long…

I wonder what’s standing behind me that I can’t see.

And who it’s calling next.