The House Whispers

Exhaustion should have knocked her out, but something in the house refused to let her sleep. Tossing and turning in bed, Riya caught a sound — a faint shuffle, then a slow, deliberate step. She held her breath, straining to listen. Was it just the house settling… or something else? The hallway lights flickered, casting long distorted shadows that seemed to slither past her locked door. Maybe there were other guests who had arrived. Maybe the old man was walking around. But why did it feel like someone was watching her? She glanced up at the ceiling only now noticing the tiny glow-in-the-dark stickers scattered across it, their pale shape like forgotten memories. 

Her mind drifted farther away from sleep. Since starting her marketing agency, Riya had worked as though Sundays didn’t exist. Breaks? They were a foreign concept. The new client’s project pushed her to the edge of exhaustion — so much so that her employee found her collapsed on the office floor. After being rushed to the hospital, the doctor’s only advise was to rest. 

Riya’s friends didn’t trust her to take a break, so they made a plan. They booked a surprise staycation for the weekend and sent her there, insisting she needed to relax. Reluctantly, here she was.

On the outskirts of Bangalore stood a sprawling colonial-style estate. Not very welcoming, she thought. Banyan trees stretched their tangled limbs overhead, casting ghostly silhouettes across the path. The walkway seemed narrower than it should have, as if the trees were closing in. Neem trees and coconut palms lined the property, their towering forms looming over the mansion

She had missed her one chance to turn back. If only she had screamed loud enough for the taxi to screech to a halt, if only she’d sprinted the length of the path, she might have made it back home. But she was only a few seconds too late. The heavy wooden door with ornate brass handles shaped like lion heads creaked open and an elderly couple stood in the doorway.

“Hello there! Come on in,” a man’s voice called out.

“Hi, nice to meet you!” She replied, stepping inside.

“You must be Riya?” His voice carried a welcoming warmth.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“We’ve been expecting you. Let’s get you settled.”

The couple led her into the foyer, the wooden floor groaning softly beneath her feet. The man, dressed in a neatly tucked plaid shirt and mocha-coloured pants, adjusted his round glasses as he regarded her. His grey hair was combed back with meticulous care, lending him a distinguished air.

“Could I see your ID?” he asked, his tone still warm but his gaze sharp.

Riya handed it over without hesitation. He took it without another word and strode briskly down the hallway to the right of the stairs.

His wife, who had remained quiet, lingered near the staircase. She wore a soft cardigan over a long skirt, her fingers idly tracing the banister’s curves. Her gaze flickered toward Riya—just for a second—before she turned and climbed the stairs, her steps too slow, too measured.

While she waited, she took in the grandeur of the place—an ancient structure, a relic of a bygone era. High ceilings, tall windows, and wide doors. The windows were narrow and tall, with dark wooden shutters that creaked with every gust of wind, their surfaces darkened by years of exposure. Above the main door, a cracked stained-glass window depicted a scene from a forgotten time. The colours had faded, dulled by dust and grime, and the figures were barely discernible. The faint outlines suggested royalty, but it was impossible to tell for sure.

Riya noticed the grand foyer now lit with a brand-new chandelier. Maybe the old one was replaced because it crashed into someone’s head. Here I go, with the worst-possible scenario rundown. She forced herself to remain in the present and admire the beauty of the mansion she stood in.

“Ma’am, your room is ready. Let’s head upstairs.” The man’s voice broke her from her trance. As they walked toward the room, she couldn’t shake the queasy feeling. Something stirs in her periphery. As though the air carried a silent beckoning. Did someone just say my name? It was barely a whisper, but I think I heard something. No, no. Forget it, I’m overthinking this. Her gaze shifted to the wall, where a large portrait of a bald man with a moustache hung. Thick-rimmed glasses rested slightly lower on his nose, and it seemed as though his eyes were fixed on her. 

Something about this place felt off. But what was it, exactly? It didn’t resemble a hotel. An Airbnb, maybe? My friends wouldn’t tell me anything, just booked the stay and sent me here. I wouldn’t even know where I was if my friend hadn’t booked an Uber for me. And it wasn’t the only portrait. There were others lined up at regular intervals—couples, siblings, and a family portrait. It made me wonder if there was some kind of legacy behind this place… or a twisted history.

Okay, I should try sleeping if I don’t want to wake up grumpy in the morning. I definitely don’t want to spend my time here sleep deprived and wanting five espresso shots to stay awake. That’s when Riya saw something outside her window. It wasn’t the tree swaying. An unmistakable outline of a person outside of a room that didn’t have any balcony. How did they even get there? She tried to dismiss it as a figment of her imagination. But then, she saw it again— the figure drifting past the window, vanishing into the night. 

Unable to sleep and now on the edge, she considered the possibility of an intruder. Riya was the practical one among her friends. The first to dismiss baseless claims and a firm believer of facts and perception. Now, either her mind  was playing tricks on her as a result of being overstimulated or it had to be an intruder. If that was the case, she needed to protect herself. 

She left the warmth of her bed and headed to the dining room. The stairs creaked beneath the weight of her steps. Riya descended as slowly as she could so as to not wake anyone else in the mansion. If there were anyone else at all. On the table, sat a steaming cup of tea— neatly placed, as if awaiting the guest’s arrival for a late night tea party. Weird. 

The tea was tempting. She could sit down, take a sip, and let the warmth settle her nerves. But instead, her mind spiralled. What if the hosts were serial killers? Maybe this is how they lured their victims. Maybe she was the next target, and she’d made it far too easy for them.

She wandered to the far side of the kitchen and spotted a small door, slightly ajar. Pushing it open, she found herself looking into a library. It opened to a corner of the room. How had she missed this when she first arrived?

Riya hesitated, deciding against stepping inside. The air felt unnaturally cold, and the room was dimly lit, the faint light barely cutting through the gloom. It didn’t feel wise to explore it with poor lighting and her heart already in fight-or-flight mode. Curiosity could wait until daylight. 

How had I missed this? My surroundings seemed unfamiliar, almost unreal. I was certain the door to the room next to mine had been shut when I left. But now, it stood wide open. Was there another guest wandering around like me? A quick peek couldn’t hurt, right? Maybe I’d find someone to talk to.

She stepped closer, her breath catching as she spotted a woman sitting on a small bench, hands planted firmly at her sides. Her body faced the door, but her head was turned just enough for Riya to catch a glimpse of her face—barely visible, half-covered by long, dark hair. The faint light from the window pooled around her, casting long shadows that clung to her still figure. She looked slender and almost unnervingly pale—as though life itself had drained from her.

The woman’s presence was haunting, almost as if she didn’t belong in the room, or in time itself. Riya’s eyes darted to the old grand piano in front of her. Its dark wood gleamed faintly, reflecting the low light, but the piano seemed out of place—its age evident in the way the polished surface bore the marks of many years gone by.

Without warning, the woman began to play. The notes of Für Elise rang out softly, eerily precise. But her hands were still, rigid, like they were suspended in place, as if someone else were controlling them. Then, without missing a beat, her hands fell lifelessly to her sides. Yet the music did not stop. The keys continued to depress on their own.

Riya froze, her pulse pounding in her ears, unable to move or scream. The scene felt too unreal, too wrong. Heart racing, her body moved without thinking—her legs propelling her toward the door, desperate to escape the overwhelming unease. 

Slamming the door shut behind her, Riya nearly leaped into bed, pulling the duvet over her head. She felt like a child hiding from her younger brother, who was coming for revenge after she’d stolen his share of chocolates. The bravery that had carried her moments ago seemed to evaporate. Maybe that’s how it goes—logic abandoned when faced with something truly unsettling. 

It had to be a dream. It can’t be real. Couldn’t be real. It’s a vivid dream. That’s all. Too vivid for my liking. She squeezed her eyes shut, silently repeating to herself that as long as her eyes stayed closed, the ghosts couldn’t get to her. And if she couldn’t see them, they didn’t exist. Sleep welcomed her then. 

After a restless night, Riya trudged down the grand staircase the next morning, feeling the weight of the house’s eerie presence in her bones. The dining room was large, with old wooden tables set neatly with mismatched china, and the faint smell of something earthy in the air. The couple was already sitting at the table, casually sipping their tea, as though everything was perfectly normal. Riya sat down with them, her mind still reeling from last night’s unsettling events.

She had to ask. Okay, this is going to be awkward. What if they call me crazy and chase me out? I think it’s okay, I don’t fancy this place anyway. Gosh, I want to leave already.

Taking a deep breath, Riya began, “So, about last night…” She hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I saw someone playing the piano in the room next to mine. A woman, I think. She was acting kind of strange.”

The old woman looked up, her eyes twinkling as she replied nonchalantly, “Oh, you just met Ms. Martha, then. She can be like that sometimes.”

Riya blinked, wondering if she was missing something. “Like what?”

“Oh, you know,” the man chimed in with a grin. “She’s got a bit of a mind of her own. Don’t mind her too much.”

Riya wasn’t convinced, but she pressed on. “And the footsteps? I kept hearing these sounds—footsteps, like someone walking around the halls.”

The woman gave a soft chuckle. “Oh, it’s just the house ghosts,” she said, as if it were the most mundane thing.

Riya froze, her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Ghosts? You mean guests right?”

The old man nodded with a shrug. “No. We mean ghosts.”

Riya’s jaw dropped, wide-eyed. She stared at them in disbelief, unsure if they were serious. The couple burst into laughter that reverberated through the empty halls. “We’re just joking, darling,” the man said, his voice laced with amusement. “You probably imagined it. You’re not used to the quiet out here, huh? City girl and all that.”

But Riya couldn’t shake the feeling of gnawing discomfort. There was something strange about the place, and the tea from last night still lingered in her mind as an odd mystery.

Her desire to leave was growing, but the storm outside had other plans. The rain poured relentlessly, and there was no chance of getting a cab. Stuck, once again, Riya sighed in resignation. She would have to spend another night in this unnerving house.

But that day, a chance conversation would change everything.

Later that morning, after some awkward silence and small talk, the old lady, sensing Riya’s unease, decided to tell her a story.

“You know, this place has a history,” she began, her voice low and almost conspiratorial. Riya, sensing a shift in tone, leaned in. “This house wasn’t always a bed and breakfast,” the woman continued. “A long time ago, it belonged to a joint family—many generations lived here. The head of the family was an army general, retired from the force. He ran the family like he ran his regiment—strict, disciplined, no room for mistakes. Unfortunately, one of the children, a little girl who wasn’t well, got caught in the crossfire”

Riya listened, captivated by the woman’s calm delivery, though the chill creeping down her spine was anything but calming.

“The general, in a fit of anger, punished her more harshly than he should’ve. It didn’t end well.” She paused, as if considering how much to say. “The mother, fed up with the way things were, took matters into her own hands. She set the house on fire, hoping to end the cycle of pain. She didn’t survive, but neither did the rest of the family.”

Riya’s stomach churned, but the old woman’s tone was almost detached, as though she had told this story countless times before. “Now, the little girl haunts this place,” she continued. “They say she’s looking for peace, seeking justice for what happened to her.” Riya’s heart sank, but the woman didn’t stop there. “But that’s just one story,” she added with a mischievous smile.

“The portraits you see around here—those are of the people who bought the house after it was abandoned and renovated. But this family—this new family—disappeared one night without a trace. No one ever knew what happened to them.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Disappeared?”

“Yes. And years later, when the house was put up for sale again, the agent and potential buyers found something—”

Riya’s breath caught. “What?”

“They found a human bone in the basement,” the woman said, her eyes narrowing. “The property agent and the potential buyers fled. Something about this place… something sinister erased that family from existence.”

Riya stared at her, trying to wrap her mind around the tale. “And then you bought the house?” she asked, unable to stop herself from questioning them.

The couple exchanged a brief glance before the man spoke. “Well, it wasn’t easy for us, Riya. We were in debt. We couldn’t afford a house, and we were forced to leave our rented place.” He paused, his eyes distant, as if the memory was still fresh. “But we didn’t give up. We decided to spend a night here, to see if we could make up our minds about buying it.”

“And… what happened?” Her curiosity piqued.

“Something happened that night,” the old woman said, her voice lowering. “We heard something strange. So, during the day, we had bought a lottery ticket. And at exactly 3:33 AM, we heard the walls whispering the numbers. We thought we were just imagining it.”

She blinked. “Wait—”

“Yes. The exact numbers on the ticket we’d bought that day. And when we checked the results the next morning, we had won the lottery.” The man smiled, as if it were a story they’d told a thousand times. “With that, we bought this place. And then, we won a few more times after that. Enough to start the bed and breakfast, enough to retire in peace.”

Riya sat back in her chair, stunned. The bizarre reasoning behind their decision to live in a haunted house hit her hard. “So… you just decided to stay here after all that?”

The couple exchanged a glance, and the woman shrugged with a soft laugh. “You know, sometimes, life takes you places you don’t expect. This house has its story, and we’re part of it now.”

Riya shook her head, trying to process it all. “That’s… a strange reason to buy a house,” she murmured. The old woman smiled, her eyes twinkling with a secret only she seemed to know. “Well, personal preferences, right? Who are we to judge?”

Even if I were offered a million dollars and free wifi for the rest of my life, I wouldn’t choose to live in this place let alone buy it. Isn’t it like every other horror move? A couple moving into some gothic house in the middle of nowhere and being confronted with a presence that doesn’t want them there. Classic. Guess I am that character now. Fingers crossed. Hope I survive whatever sinister force this is. 

In the evening, after a much-needed nap, she felt refreshed and decided to explore the place. Riya sat in the dimly lit parlour, trying to distract herself with her phone, the tall, heavy drapes covering the towering windows suddenly billowed outward, as if caught by a gust of wind. 

The parlour is situated on the ground floor of the old colonial mansion, just off the main foyer where guests enter. It’s a cozy yet eerie space, designed to evoke a sense of antiquated charm with a sinister undertone. The room is furnished with vintage armchairs, an elaborate Victorian-style sofa, and a massive, intricately carved fireplace that looms in the centre of one wall. Tall windows with heavy, moth-eaten drapes line the outer wall, while faded portraits of long-forgotten ancestors hang on the opposite side.

 A creaky, old rocking chair occupies the corner, positioned under a grand but dim chandelier that struggles to illuminate the entire room. It’s the kind of place that feels welcoming at first glance but grows increasingly unsettling the longer you linger. But the windows were tightly shut. Her fingers stilled on the phone screen as a low creaking sound began to resonate from behind her. I was told that there were no other guests at the moment. I didn’t hear anyone walk in. Unless…

Slowly turning her head, she saw the massive, antique rocking chair in the corner moving back and forth on its own. Its pace quickened unnaturally, the wood groaning louder and louder until it abruptly stopped. The room fell silent, save for her ragged breathing. She reached for the lamp, but the moment her hand touched it, the light went out, plunging the room into darkness. A faint whisper tickled her ear: “You’re not alone.” She screamed and bolted for the hallway.

Riya stumbled into the kitchen, hoping to find a safe, brightly lit space. The room was eerily quiet, with moonlight streaming in through the tall, arched windows. As she tried to pour herself a glass of water, the faucet began to run red. She dropped the glass, and it shattered against the marble counter. What the hell is going on? 

Suddenly, a cupboard creaked open, and out fell a life-sized doll wearing an old-fashioned dress, its painted eyes staring blankly at her. Riya stood motionless as heart thundered. The doll’s head tilted on its own, emitting a high-pitched giggle. Before she could react, the refrigerator door slammed open, revealing a decapitated mannequin head inside. Its lips moved silently as if trying to speak, but no sound came out.

No, no, no. Not a second longer. I will crawl my way back in the rain but I’m not staying here.

As if on cue, the thunder roared outside. Desperate to escape, Riya dashed up the grand staircase, her feet pounding against the creaky wooden steps. The air grew colder with each step she climbed. She reached the second-floor landing, where the long corridor stretched before her, lined with doors that seemed to go on forever. As she inched forward, the overhead chandelier flickered, and one door at the end of the hall swung open, creaking ominously. Inside, a shadowy figure stood motionless, facing away from her. It was a woman in a tattered Victorian gown. When Riya took a step closer, the figure’s head twisted slowly backward, revealing a grotesque, hollow face. The lights in the corridor went out entirely, and the last thing Riya saw was the figure hurtling toward her with an ear-piercing scream. 

I should have listened to my mom when she urged me to learn the prayers. I’d be a freaking hero for exorcising this spirit and hauling my ass safely back home. Nope no time to think of what ifs. I am leaving now.  

Riya, heart pounding in her chest, hurriedly made her way to the couple’s room. She needed answers. But what she saw when she opened the door stopped her dead in her tracks. The couple sat cross-legged on the floor, a candle flickering between them. Strange, intricate symbols were drawn around the candle, some in a circle, others spiralling outward. Both of them wore masks—blank, featureless faces. 

A cult? Am I being held hostage by a cult? That’s even worse. So I am about to be sacrificed…great. And here I thought the night couldn’t get any worse. The scene was eerily calm, yet unmistakably unsettling, like some sort of ritual was underway. A chill ran down Riya’s spine as she realised that it could only mean one thing—an offering to some dark force.

Panicked and terrified, Riya backed out of the room, running as fast as her legs could carry her. She didn’t stop until she reached her own room. Slamming the door behind her, she bolted it shut and sank to the floor, her mind racing. This had to be the end, right? Surely, she couldn’t make it through another night in this place.

As she huddled at the edge of the bed, trying to steady her breath, she heard a loud bang against the window. The sound sent her sprawling forward onto the floor, scrambling on all fours to look back. There, at the window, was the figure. It wasn’t just there—it was grinning. The wide, ear-to-ear smile seemed to stretch unnaturally, while the rest of the figure’s face was blurred, like the details had been erased, leaving only that twisted grin.

Lord help me!

Riya’s breath came in shallow gasps as she moved through the house, each creak of the floorboards beneath her feet amplifying her anxiety. The ghostly presence she had felt lingering since her arrival was no longer a distant whisper—it was in the very air, pressing down on her chest, suffocating her. Her eyes flicked to the shadows in the corners of each room, half-expecting to see something move, something emerge. The distant sound of the piano, once just an eerie curiosity, now played louder, more insistent. This is a dream. I am going to wakeup any minute now. Or even better, I will think of cherry blossoms and sushi. A better dream. None of this is real.

The room seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, the temperature dropping with every passing second. Riya’s mind struggled to keep up, fighting against the irrational fear creeping into her thoughts. This is all in your head, she told herself, but the next sound—the soft, almost imperceptible shuffle of footsteps from the hallway—shattered that fragile veneer of logic. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She wasn’t alone anymore.

Maybe now I do believe in ghosts. What should I do? The network is so crappy.

Her heart stopped, her mind teetering on the edge of madness. This was it. But then, as if on cue, her phone buzzed with a text. It was from her friend: “Surprise! Enjoy the horror-themed Airbnb stay! 😈🎃”

Riya stared at the screen in disbelief. Her friends had booked her into this twisted, horror-filled weekend as part of the package. The rituals, the eerie figures, everything—it was all a show. The realisation hit her like a freight train. She had been a part of an elaborate prank the entire time. With a mix of relief and frustration, Riya let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Such a fun weekend,” she muttered to herself.

As she steps into the lobby, still shaken, the host grins and hands her a brochure—A Tailored Horror Experience, Just for You. Beneath it, in fine print: No refunds for scares that feel too real.