Whispers of the Hollow House

An abandoned house with cracked walls, moss-covered doors, and shattered windows that howled with every wind gust stood in a remote village near the Sundarbans. It was known locally as the "Hollow House." There had been no one there for decades. The house was said to be cursed. Those who approached it either vanished or returned insane. Ayaan, a 19-year-old city boy, had never heard of ghosts. Ayaan had to accompany his father when he moved to that village for work. Bored and frustrated without internet, Ayaan spent his days wandering around the village, trying to find something exciting.
Ayaan overheard two elderly men conversing in the tea shop one evening as the golden sun set behind the trees. “Ekbar je oi barir vitore dhukse… se ar normal thake nai,” one said in a hushed voice.
Ayaan's interest was aroused. He asked his father about it that night, but all he said was "Stay away from that place, beta." It isn't for you. But that was exactly the kind of thing that pushed Ayaan to explore.
He brought a small camera, his phone, and a flashlight the following day, just before dusk. He told himself, "Just for fun." He followed a narrow trail through the trees, birds screeching overhead as if warning him. Finally, the Hollow House emerged from the shadows—looming like a skeleton in the dying light.
He entered after taking a deep breath. It was darker inside than expected. His flashlight flickered. His face was covered in dust mites. Under his feet, every board on the floor creaked. On the walls were strange symbols—scratches, handprints, and what looked like dried blood.
He then took it in. a gentle whisper He initially mistook it for the wind. But then it came back, this time closer: "Ayaan..." He froze. Did you just... hear my name? The room suddenly turned icy cold. His flashlight went off. As he struggled with the switch, he felt a surge of panic. In the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow dart across the hallway.
He turned around. Nothing.
A door that opened by itself at the end of the hall creaked open. "A haunted house. Right,” he said in an effort to appear brave. “Maybe someone’s playing a prank.”
He came into the room. Although it was a bedroom, the bed was on its side, the mirror was broken, and the walls were covered in black scribbles. A message was carved into the mirror frame: "Don't Pay Attention to What They Say." A loud thud suddenly echoed behind him. Ayaan shifted. Standing at the door was… no one.
From the dry hallway, however, a trail of wet footprints led toward him. He stumbled once more. “Nope. I’m out.”
The door slammed shut as the man turned to run. His phone lost connection. After a blink, the flashlight went out. The whisper came back in the darkness, closer and louder. “Stay.”
He screamed, banging the door. “LET ME OUT!”
In the gloom, a figure then appeared. A woman, drenched in water, long black hair covering her face, her neck twisted unnaturally.
She stepped forward, her feet making no sound.
Ayaan retreated, tripping over shattered furniture. Suddenly—everything stopped.
The flashlight came back on. The door was unlocked. The figure had vanished. He didn’t think twice. He ran all the way home, breath ragged, face pale.
His father found him shivering in bed that night. "You didn't go there, did you?" Ayaan just nodded.
With tears in his eyes, his father sighed. “Your mother… she died in that house. You were only a young child. Ayaan's heart sank. “What?”
"She came back into the house one night to save you. Only you emerged. Ayaan's thoughts raced. “That woman… in the house…”
Slowly, his father nodded. "That's why I said you shouldn't go." That night, Ayaan couldn't fall asleep. The whispers returned, but this time they came from his own room rather than the house.