Everyone in Bhairavpur village admired Anaya.
At seventeen, she had the kind of quiet beauty that didn't ask for attention—dark eyes that noticed everything, hair always tied loosely, like she was ready to run at any moment. People said she looked too serious for her age. Anaya thought that was because she had learned early how fragile happiness could be.
She lived with her mother, Meera, and her little sister, Riya, who was only eight and smiled like the world had never hurt her. After their father's sudden death, they had moved into Anaya's grandparents' old house, a massive structure at the edge of the village.
No one had lived there for years.The house stood behind a rusted iron gate, surrounded by neem and banyan trees whose roots twisted like knuckles pushing up from the earth. Its walls were cracked, its paint yellowed, and its windows always looked dark—even at noon.
The villagers had tried to warn them.
"That house doesn't stay empty for no reason," one old woman whispered.
But Meera had nowhere else to go.
The first night
The first night passed quietly… almost too quietly.
No crickets. No dogs barking.
Just silence—thick, heavy silence.
Anaya slept in the room that once belonged to her grandmother. Riya slept beside their mother. Around 2:17 a.m., Anaya woke up suddenly, her heart racing.
She felt it before she heard it.
Someone was whispering her name.
"Anaya…"
The voice came from inside the room.
She sat up, breath shallow. The whisper came again—soft, loving, almost familiar.
"Anaya, come here…"
Her eyes moved slowly to the old wooden wardrobe in the corner.
Its door was open.
She was sure she had closed it.
Riya Starts Talking to Someone.
Over the next few days, strange things began to happen.
Riya laughed when no one was around. She waved at empty corners. Once, Anaya found her sitting on the staircase, talking softly.
"Who are you talking to?" Anaya asked gently.
Riya smiled.
"Dadi," she said.
Anaya's stomach tightened.
"Our grandmother?"
Riya nodded.
"She says you don't remember her properly. But she remembers you."
That night, Anaya dreamed of hands brushing her hair, the way her grandmother used to when she was little. She woke up crying, her pillow damp, her ears ringing with the sound of breathing that wasn't hers.
The locked room
At the end of the corridor was a room that had always been locked.
Their mother told them never to go near it.
"That room… is where your grandfather died," Meera said, her voice strained. "Promise me you won't open it."
But the house had its own plans.
One afternoon, while Meera was at the market, Anaya heard a thud from the corridor. The locked door was slightly open.
Inside, the room smelled of rot and incense.
The walls were covered in scratches, deep and uneven, like someone had tried to claw their way out. In the center of the room was a cracked mirror—and when Anaya looked into it, she didn't see herself alone.
Behind her stood an old woman.
Smiling.
When Anaya turned around, the room was empty.
But the mirror was still warm.
The truth
That night, Anaya confronted her mother.
Meera broke down.
She confessed that Anaya's grandmother had never been kind. She was obsessed with Anaya—believing the girl was "chosen." When Anaya was younger, her grandmother had tried to perform rituals to "protect her soul."
The grandfather had tried to stop her.
He died in that room.
The grandmother died soon after—but not peacefully.
"She said the house would keep her," Meera whispered. "That she would never let Anaya leave."
The House Wakes Up
The walls began to creak at night, like bones shifting. Footsteps echoed where no one walked. Doors slammed shut on their own.
One night, Riya went missing.
They found her standing in front of the locked room, eyes glassy, fingers wrapped around the door handle.
"She wants to take you," Riya said in a voice that was not her own.
"She waited so long."
The lights went out.
The mirror in the locked room shattered, and from the darkness, hands emerged—dozens of them, gray and brittle, reaching for Anaya.
The house screamed.
The choice
The grandmother's voice filled the air.
"Stay with me, Anaya. Let the little one go. One soul is enough."
Anaya stepped forward, shaking, tears burning her eyes.
She remembered every time she had protected Riya. Every time she had been strong because she had no choice.
"No," she whispered.
She grabbed Riya and ran.
The house shook violently, walls cracking, roof collapsing—but they made it outside just as the front door slammed shut on its own.
The house went silent.
After
The villagers say the house still stands.
Empty.
But at night, lights turn on in the windows. And sometimes, people hear a young woman crying—not in fear, but in anger.
Anaya never went back.
But she knows something stayed behind.
And sometimes, when she brushes her hair, she feels fingers helping her…
gentle…
possessive…
waiting.