Lahore, Pakistan.
The mansion stood at the edge of the city, tucked away in a narrow alleyway, so easily overlooked that only a few local children dared venture close. Yet those few always left, their faces pale, their eyes wide, their tongues thick with terror.
Some claimed it was haunted.
Others whispered worse things.
---
Saira Malik had heard all the stories. Ghosts. Curses. Demons that roamed at night. But she had no time for such nonsense. A high-profile criminal lawyer, she had grown up in the city, where superstition was often the backdrop for real danger. She knew how to separate myth from reality.
So, when she received the anonymous letter detailing the mansion's dark history, she saw it for what it was: a case.
A chance to investigate, to prove that there was nothing to fear in those crumbling walls.
---
She arrived on a warm summer evening, her footsteps echoing against the cobbled streets. The mansion was even more imposing up close. Its windows were blackened, and the ivy that clung to its sides seemed to twist, as if reaching out to ensnare her.
But there was no turning back.
---
Inside, the air was thick with dust. Her flashlight flickered as she ventured deeper into the house, the beams illuminating peeling wallpaper, rusted fixtures, and shattered furniture. The walls seemed to whisper.
No matter how hard she tried to shake it off, a cold unease spread through her chest, tightening with every step.
Then, she heard it.
A voice.
Low, guttural. Faint, but clear enough to make her heart race.
"Leave now."
---
She spun around, but the house was empty. No one there.
Her breath came in ragged gasps as she moved toward the staircase, ignoring the pounding of her heart. That was when the walls seemed to move.
Not physically — but the sound was unmistakable. A faint echo of whispers, growing louder, urging her forward.
"Leave now, or be bound forever."
---
She continued, determined to uncover the truth.
On the second floor, she found something strange.
A small room at the end of a long hallway. The door was ajar, and through the crack, she could make out a large, ancient-looking mirror.
She stepped inside, feeling the cold touch of the air brush against her skin.
The reflection wasn't hers.
For a moment, the room in the mirror looked identical to the one she stood in. But then something changed. The walls in the reflection were… different.
They began to ripple, twisting and warping. From the center of the mirror, an eerie shape began to form.
A figure.
It wasn't human. Its face was a blur of shifting shadows, its form ever-changing. As it moved closer, the whispers turned into a scream — sharp, blood-curdling.
Saira froze, the temperature in the room plummeting. The figure reached out of the mirror, its hands stretching, fingers twisting into claws, and it grabbed her.
The last thing Saira saw before the mirror shattered was her own terrified reflection, mouthing the word: "Help."
---
The police found the mansion the next morning. The door was wide open, but there was no sign of Saira.
The only trace left behind was her phone, lying on the floor of the shattered mirror room, its screen cracked, and on it, a single message sent to her assistant:
"It's real."
The mansion still stands.
And the whispers never stop.