Scene 1 – The First Night
The rain had finally subsided by the time the small family returned with their modest bundles. The streets of Karachi were slick with muddy water, reflecting the dull yellow glow of the streetlights. The neighborhood of House No. 13 looked calmer than the noisy slum they had been driven from. Yet, there was something strange about its silence.
Haris carried a bundle of blankets, his shoulders slouched with exhaustion. Amina held a worn-out shopping bag stuffed with kitchen essentials—a dented kettle, two mugs, a few plates, and a jar of tea. Zain walked slowly, dragging his schoolbag like a tired soldier returning from battle. His eyes scanned the houses as they passed. All looked ordinary, except the one they were heading toward.
House No. 13.
It stood taller than the others, its white paint yellowed with age, patches of black moss clinging to the walls like scars. Its windows, dark and wide, reflected nothing. A faint creak echoed as the front gate swayed slightly with the breeze.
Amina tried to sound cheerful.
"See, Zain? We finally have a proper roof. No leaking tin sheets, no landlord screaming every morning. Alhamdulillah."
Zain frowned, his twelve-year-old face pinched with suspicion.
"But Ammi, why was the rent so cheap? Nobody rents out a house this big for that little money."
Haris cleared his throat, forcing a smile.
"Don't think too much, beta. Sometimes we're lucky. Allah has His ways."
But even he sounded unconvinced.
They entered the house. Amina struggled with the rusty lock, pushing hard until the door groaned open. A gust of stale, musty air greeted them. It smelled of damp wood, like something long locked away.
Inside, the hall stretched deep, dimly lit by a single bulb hanging from frayed wires. Their footsteps echoed unnaturally loud against the concrete floor.
"Strange… no furniture, no curtains," Amina whispered, her voice dropping as if instinctively respectful of the house's silence.
Zain tugged Haris's sleeve.
"Abba, I don't like it."
Haris tousled his son's hair.
"You'll get used to it."
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Scene 2 – Shadows in the Corners
They spread the blankets on the living room floor. Amina heated water in the dented kettle using a small gas stove they had carried with them. Soon, steam rose, mixing with the damp air.
Zain sat cross-legged, sketching in his notebook by torchlight. The pencil scratched softly, but every so often, he'd glance toward the staircase at the end of the hall.
It was wide, wooden, and spiraled upward into darkness.
Amina noticed his nervous glances.
"What are you drawing?"
He showed her: a rough sketch of the staircase, with dark shapes hidden in the corners.
Amina forced a laugh.
"Aray, Zain! You're imagining things. It's just shadows. New houses always feel strange at first."
Zain lowered his voice.
"I heard something there. Like… someone breathing."
Before Amina could respond, Haris yawned loudly, interrupting the moment.
"Don't start your stories tonight, Zain. We've all had enough stress. Let's drink tea and sleep."
The family sat in silence, sipping lukewarm tea. The wind rattled a loose window somewhere upstairs.
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Scene 3 – The First Whisper
Later that night, Amina lay awake beside Haris on the blanket, listening to the rhythmic sound of his snores. The house creaked with the shifting of its old bones. She tried to convince herself it was nothing unusual. Old houses always made noises.
Zain, unable to sleep, sat upright with his torch. His eyes kept drifting back to the staircase.
Suddenly, there it was again.
A faint murmur. Almost like a voice.
"…come… closer…"
Zain's skin prickled. He froze, straining to hear. It came again—soft, dragging, like words spoken through water.
"Abba…" he whispered, nudging Haris.
Haris stirred, half asleep.
"What is it now?"
"There's someone whispering…"
Haris rubbed his eyes, annoyed.
"Bas karo, Zain. It's rats. You know how they sound. Small houses, big houses—it's the same everywhere."
Amina rolled over.
"Yes, beta. Don't worry. Sleep."
But Zain didn't sleep. His eyes remained fixed on the staircase.
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Scene 4 – The Door
At around two in the morning, a sudden creaaak echoed through the house.
The door at the top of the staircase had opened by itself.
Zain gasped, clutching his blanket. The sound had woken Haris too, who sat up groggily. He rubbed his ears, trying to shake away the ringing silence that followed.
"What was that?" Haris muttered.
Zain pointed, his hand trembling.
"Abba… the door…"
Haris squinted. In the faint glow of the bulb, he could see the dark shape of the upstairs door, slightly ajar. The old hinges groaned as if still settling into their new position.
Amina sat up now too, alarmed.
"Who opened it?"
"Nobody," Zain whispered.
Haris forced a chuckle.
"It's the wind. These old houses, they don't shut properly."
But even as he said it, a shiver crawled down his spine. The air was perfectly still.
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Scene 5 – Confronting the House
Haris stood, shoulders squared, trying to act brave for his family. He grabbed the torch from Zain and walked toward the staircase.
"Where are you going?" Amina hissed.
"To check. If we're going to live here, I can't let every noise scare us."
The wooden steps groaned beneath his weight as he climbed. Zain hugged his knees, watching his father's torchlight bob upward.
Haris reached the top, shining the light into the empty corridor. Dust hung in the air. The door that had opened revealed only darkness.
He pushed it wider with a cautious hand. The hinges shrieked.
The room inside was empty, just four walls and a broken chair in the corner. He stepped in, the floor creaking under him. The smell of damp wood was stronger here.
"See?" Haris called down, forcing confidence into his voice.
"Nothing. Just a draft."
But as he turned to leave, something made him pause.
From behind the broken chair came a faint sound.
A whisper.
"…stay…"
Haris spun around, torchlight shaking across the walls. The chair was empty. No one was there.
He swallowed hard, then laughed nervously at himself.
"Too much stress… I'm hearing things."
He closed the door firmly and descended, trying not to show the unease on his face.
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Scene 6 – Uneasy Rest
When Haris returned, Amina studied his expression. She noticed his pale face, the tightness in his jaw.
"Everything okay?" she asked softly.
"Fine," he said quickly, lying back down.
"Just an old house. We'll get used to it."
Zain whispered, "Abba, you heard it too, didn't you?"
Haris didn't answer. He turned his back and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep.
The silence returned, heavy and oppressive. Somewhere upstairs, the door groaned shut again—on its own.
Amina clutched her blanket tighter.
Zain lay awake until dawn, listening for whispers that came and went like breaths on the stairs.
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End of Chapter 3