Scene 1 – The Uneasy Morning
The morning sun slipped through the broken blinds, casting crooked bars of light across the cramped living room of House No. 13. The house was eerily silent except for the occasional groan of wood as if the beams themselves resented the burden of keeping the house upright.
Haris sat at the small table near the window, his elbows resting on the surface, his eyes hollow from a restless night. He had heard the whispers again—so faint, like breaths brushing his ear. Every time he turned, no one was there.
Amina shuffled in, her dupatta loosely hanging over her head, carrying a chipped mug of tea. Her face was pale from lack of sleep, but unlike Haris, she carried a stubborn calm, a refusal to bend under the weight of fear.
"Tum phir sari raat jagtay rahay?" she asked gently, setting the mug in front of him.
Haris rubbed his face. "Kya tum nay nahi suna? Woh… sarrion se jaise koi chal raha tha. Phir se farsi ke neeche se awaaz aayi."
Amina sipped from her own cup. "Haris, yeh purana ghar hai. Lakri cheekhti hai, hawa chalti hai, aur tum dar jate ho. Bachon ko mat darana."
From the other room, Zain's sleepy voice piped up, "Main ne bhi suna tha Baba. Jaise koi farsi ke neeche se kheench raha ho."
Haris stiffened, looking at his son. "Dekha? Main jhoot nahi bol raha."
Amina quickly interrupted, her tone firm, "Zain, tum ne koi sapna dekha hoga. Abhi school ka kaam karo."
But deep in her eyes, a flicker of unease betrayed her.
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Scene 2 – The Loose Plank
That afternoon, while Haris left for the market to buy groceries, Amina busied herself sweeping the living room. The wooden floor creaked under every step, but one particular plank near the corner of the room seemed… different.
Every time her broom slid across it, the board shifted slightly, making a hollow sound.
She frowned, set the broom aside, and crouched. Pressing her fingers against the edge, she tugged. The plank groaned and lifted a little. Dust rose in a cloud, filling her nose and throat.
Zain, who had been lying on his stomach with his schoolbook open, perked up. "Ammi… kya hai wahan?"
Amina hesitated, glancing around as though the walls might be watching. "Sirf dekhti hoon. Kisi ne shayad samaan chupaya hoga."
She pulled harder until the plank lifted free. Beneath it was a shallow compartment. The air rising from it smelled stale, almost metallic.
Inside lay a small wooden box, dark with age, its surface carved with strange patterns—spirals, jagged lines, and what looked like eyes. A thin layer of cloth clung to it like skin.
Zain gasped, his voice trembling. "Ammi… usay mat chhuyiye."
But Amina reached in and lifted the box, brushing off the dust. It was heavier than it looked. The carvings seemed to shift faintly in the dim light, almost writhing.
Her heartbeat quickened, but she forced a smile at her son. "Bas ek purana dibba hai. Shayad malik ghar chorh gaya hoga."
Zain whispered, "Mujhe pasand nahi hai yeh."
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Scene 3 – Haris Returns
By the time Haris returned with a plastic bag of vegetables, the box sat hidden beneath Amina's folded shawls in the cupboard.
He set the bag on the table, his forehead shining with sweat. "Yeh ghar ke andar bohot garmi lagti hai. Hawa hi nahi chalti."
Amina nodded, avoiding his eyes.
As Haris sat, he looked at her strangely. "Tum kuch chhupa rahi ho, Amina?"
Her hands froze over the chopping board. "Kya matlab?"
"Jab main andar aya to mehsoos hua… kuch badla hua hai. Woh kone ki farsi—tum ne usay khola?"
Amina's knife slipped, nicking her finger. She hissed softly, then shook her head too quickly. "Bas safai kar rahi thi. Aur kuch nahi."
Haris leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Mujhse chhupao mat. Yeh ghar waisa nahi hai jaise lagta hai. Mujhe darr hai…" He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Tum ne wahan se kuch nikala hai na?"
Amina's lips trembled. "Wahan ek dibba tha. Maine rakh liya. Bas aik dibba hi to hai."
Haris slammed his palm on the table, startling her. "Pagal ho gayi ho? Aise gharon mein chhupi cheez kabhi nek nahi hoti!"
Zain, frightened, dropped his spoon and stared at his parents. "Ammi, Baba… please jhagra mat karo."
Amina pressed her bleeding finger against her dupatta and muttered, "Main ise phenk nahi sakti. Jaane kyon… mujhe lagta hai yeh hamara hai."
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Scene 4 – The Night Whispers
That night, after Zain had gone to bed, Haris tossed restlessly beside Amina. The house seemed alive with faint sounds—the settling of wood, the distant hum of wind.
But then came the whispering again.
Haris sat up, his eyes wide. The voices seemed clearer now, seeping through the walls, crawling from beneath the floorboards. Words in a language he didn't understand, layered whispers like many mouths speaking at once.
"Haris…"
He froze. That voice wasn't unfamiliar—it sounded eerily like his own name.
Amina stirred, frowning. "Kya hua?"
"Sun rahi ho? Koi bula raha hai mujhe…"
She pulled the blanket over her head. "Bas sapna hai. So jao."
But Haris couldn't. His gaze drifted to the cupboard. He knew the box was inside. Something about it called to him, pressing against his mind like invisible fingers.
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Scene 5 – The Forbidden Opening
The next morning, when Haris left again for work, Amina found herself alone. The box seemed to pulse in her thoughts, tugging at her like an itch she couldn't resist.
She locked the door, checked the windows, then carefully pulled it from the cupboard.
Zain peered in curiously. "Ammi… aap phir usay dekh rahi ho?"
"Chup kar, Zain. Kisi ko batana mat."
The box had no latch, yet it felt sealed shut. Amina's fingers traced the carvings—strange shapes that almost burned her skin. She pressed harder, and with a sudden crack, the lid slid open.
Inside lay yellowed papers tied with a fraying string, a small glass vial filled with dark residue, and a withered piece of fabric stained with something brownish-black.
Zain's face paled. "Yeh khoon hai na, Ammi?"
Amina's throat went dry. She quickly shut the box and shoved it back beneath the shawls, her hands trembling.
That evening, Haris returned to find her pale and distracted. "Tum ne dibba khola hai?" he asked immediately.
Amina's silence was enough.
Haris's jaw tightened. "Bas, ab tum suno. Kal hum yeh ghar chhor denge."
But even as he said it, a loud knock echoed through the house—three slow, deliberate raps on the front door.
All three froze.
Haris approached, his hand trembling as he turned the handle. The door swung open to reveal no one. Only the wet, empty street stretched before him.
But as he shut the door, the whispers began again, louder this time—circling them, filling every corner of House No. 13.
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Scene 6 – The Realization
That night, Amina clung to Haris's arm. Her stubbornness cracked at last. "Tum sahi keh rahe thay. Yeh ghar… yeh dibba… sab ghalat hai."
Haris nodded grimly. "Main kal hi malik ko call karta hoon. Hum yahan nahi reh sakte."
But Zain, lying on his mat nearby, whispered in the dark, "Ab der ho gayi hai. Woh humein jane nahi denge."
Both parents turned toward him in shock. His small voice was steady, as though he were repeating something he had already heard.
"Zain, kisne kaha tumhe yeh?" Haris asked, his voice breaking.
The boy stared at the ceiling, eyes wide. "Unhone. Farsi ke neeche wale logon ne."
The room grew colder. The whispers rose again, curling around them like smoke. Amina held Haris's hand tightly, her heart pounding.
And beneath the floorboards, something shifted.
Something alive.