Project Description
The house had no name anymore.
Locals in the nearby village used to call it “The Raman Villa,” after the family who built it decades ago. But over time, as stories replaced memories, it became something else—*the place you don’t go after sunset.*
Arjun didn’t believe in any of that.
Urban explorer. Amateur filmmaker. The kind of guy who thought every ghost story was just bad lighting and worse imagination. When he heard about the abandoned house at the edge of the dried lake, he packed his camera, grabbed a flashlight, and went alone.
It was just past dusk when he arrived.
The house stood crooked against the darkening sky, its paint peeled like old skin, windows hollow and watching. The front gate hung open, swaying slightly though there was no wind. Arjun smirked and started recording.
“Alright guys,” he whispered into the camera, “tonight we’re checking out this supposedly haunted place. Let’s see if anything’s actually here.”
The front door creaked open with barely a push.
Inside, the air was thick—dust, rot, something faintly metallic. His flashlight cut through the darkness, revealing broken furniture and walls stained with time. The silence was deep, heavy, like the house was holding its breath.
Then—*thud.*
Arjun froze.
“Probably a rat,” he muttered, though his voice dropped lower than before.
He stepped further in.
The living room opened up ahead. A sofa sat in the center, oddly untouched compared to everything else. It looked… placed. Waiting.
Arjun circled it, camera rolling.
That’s when he noticed the footprints.
Fresh.
Leading from the doorway… to the sofa… and stopping right in front of it.
His smile faded.
“Okay… that’s weird.”
He crouched down, running his fingers over the dusty floor. The prints were clean, as if someone had walked in just moments ago.
Or something.
A faint sound echoed from upstairs.
A slow… dragging noise.
Arjun looked up.
“Hello?” he called out.
No answer. Just silence again.
He hesitated, then laughed nervously. “Content, right?” he whispered to himself and started toward the staircase.
Each step groaned under his weight. The dragging sound returned—closer now. Like something heavy being pulled across wood.
Halfway up, his flashlight flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
At the top of the stairs, the hallway stretched long and narrow, doors on either side. One of them was slightly open at the end.
And from inside…
*breathing.*
Slow. Wet. Close.
Arjun’s mouth went dry.
“Just wind,” he said, though there was no breeze. “Has to be.”
He pushed the door open.
The room was empty.
Just a cracked mirror on the wall and a small wooden chair facing it.
The breathing stopped.
Arjun exhaled shakily. “See? Nothing.”
He turned to leave—
And froze.
In the mirror, behind him, the chair was no longer empty.
Someone was sitting there.
A figure, thin and bent, its face hidden behind long, tangled hair.
Arjun spun around.
The chair was empty again.
His heartbeat slammed in his ears.
“Okay… not funny.”
He backed toward the door, never taking his eyes off the chair.
Then the mirror cracked.
A thin line splitting across the glass.
Then another.
And another.
Until the entire surface shattered—not outward, but inward, as if something inside it was trying to get out.
The room grew colder.
Arjun felt it before he heard it—
A whisper.
Right next to his ear.
“You came back…”
He gasped and swung the flashlight.
No one.
But the door… was now closed.
It hadn’t been.
It *couldn’t have been.*
He rushed to it, grabbing the handle.
Locked.
The whisper came again, louder now.
“You shouldn’t have come back.”
“I didn’t—” Arjun stammered. “I’ve never been here before!”
Silence.
Then—
A laugh.
Soft. Broken. Wrong.
The mirror behind him let out a sharp crack.
Arjun turned slowly.
This time, the figure was there.
Not in the reflection.
In the room.
Sitting on the chair.
Its head tilted unnaturally, as if its neck had been twisted too far. Its hair parted just enough to reveal one eye—wide, pale, and fixed on him.
“You forgot,” it said.
Arjun shook his head, stumbling back. “No… no, I didn’t—”
The figure stood.
Its limbs stretched too long, joints bending the wrong way.
“You left us,” it whispered.
And suddenly—
Memories slammed into him.
Flashes.
A younger version of himself.
This house… not abandoned.
Laughter. A family dinner.
A fire.
Screams.
Smoke filling the halls.
And him—running out the door.
Alone.
Leaving them behind.
Arjun dropped the camera.
“I was just a kid…” he whispered, tears forming. “I didn’t know—”
The figure stepped closer.
“You knew.”
The temperature dropped further.
Frost crept along the walls.
“You heard us calling.”
It was right in front of him now.
Close enough that he could smell it—burnt flesh and damp earth.
“You didn’t come back.”
Arjun sobbed. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
The figure leaned in.
Its face inches from his.
Skin blackened. Cracked. Smiling.
“We waited.”
The lights went out.
The camera, lying on the floor, continued recording.
For hours, nothing moved.
Until—
*thud.*
Footsteps.
Fresh ones.
Leading away from the room.
And stopping… right in front of the sofa downstairs.