The Whispering Shadows

In the small, quiet village, there was an old abandoned house known as the The villagers spoke about it in steaming colours and warned others to avoid it at all costs. As far as everyone could remember, the house was empty, covered with broken windows and grape walls. During the night, strange sounds often came out of the house, but no one dared to look it up.

The family once belonged to a wealthy dealer called Bimal. He is known for his cruelty, and rumors show that he had done a dark business to secure his assets. On a stormy night, Vimal disappeared without any traces, and the house left. Since then, villagers have believed that the house was haunted.

For years, no one dared to be near the mansion, but one night a young man named Arun, who had just moved into the village, heard an old tale of the tavern. Arun was skeptical of spirit and superstitions. He always believed that everything had a logical explanation. He strangely decides to visit the house and reveal his truth.

On a quiet night, Arun visited the lantern and headed for the villa. The wind was crying through the trees as he walked towards the house. As he approached, Villa looked like a dark, threatening figure in front of him. He felt a strange cold, but it twitched. The door squealed as he pushed it, old air struck it like a wave.

The interior of the house was cold and filled with dust. The board slid under his feet as he carefully stepped through the dark room. The silence of the house was melancholy, and the leaves were rustling from time to time. When Arun recognized him, he began to hear soft whispers. He said it was just wind, but he didn't feel that anything was right.

He ventured, narrow stairs groaning under his weight. A long corridor stretched out in front of him. It was cold and the air seemed thicker here. Suddenly he heard a whisper again. This time it was clear that someone was calling their name. "ARUN ... ARUN..."

His heart skipped a blow. He turned around but saw nothing. The hallway was empty. He shook his head and tried to calm him down, but the voice called again.

"Arun, come... I'm waiting..."

Arun of the Voice against his better judgment. He moved down the hallway, his stairs echoing silently. At the end of the hall, there was a little ajar with the door. The whispers seemed to come from within. 444

Arun pushed the door and stepped in. The room was small and modestly decorated, but it was a concern. In the middle of the room was a large mirror, which overcame its surface as it ages. The whispers grew as he approached. His reflection into the mirror was blurry, but something seemed to contradict it.

Then the mist was cleared in the mirror, and Arun looked at the pale woman's face, staring at him. Her eyes were hollow, and her mouth turned into a quiet, sad cry. She didn't look like him - her facial features were lagers, her hair was long and tangled. The woman's eyes closed at him, and for a moment, Arun felt a cold hand over his heart. 444 "Help me, Arun," whispered the woman, her voice trembling in despair now. "I've been caught here for a long time... just like you."

Suddenly, the door slammed into the back. Arun turned around, and he pulsed. He tried to open the door, but he was stuck. Panic rose to him as the room looked cold. The image of the woman in the mirror was now distorted, her shape turned and the waves shaking.

"You're too late," the mirror echoed through the mirror. "As I said, the house will insist on you."

Arun felt a cold craze on his spine, his body paralyzed with fear. The mirror seemed alive, and its glass wobbled like water. He could see how the woman grabbed him and reached for him.

At that moment, I understood Arun. This house wasn't just attacked - it was a prison for the soul. The woman in the mirror was one of many people who were caught by the dark magic of the house. And now he wanted to join them.

With his power, Arun pushed the door and eventually broke freely. He ran down the hallway, his heart pounding into his chest. He still heard the whispers and let them echo from the wall. The house seemed to be fighting him, and his floor was tied underneath him as if he was trying to get him inside. 444 He raided the main entrance and stumbled overnight and grabbed the air. The cold air felt more like relief compared to the choking atmosphere of the house. Arun looked back at the villa. The whispers stopped, and the house was quiet as if nothing had happened yet.

But Arun was well aware. The house wasn't just attacked. It was alive, a prison for lost souls in its dark grip. He never returned to the village that night. He never went and looked back.

To this day, villagers are talking about whispering shadows. They say the house is still waiting for his next victim, and if you listen carefully, you can hear whispers calling your name when they call Aruns.