Scene 1: The Box in the Kitchen
The house was unusually silent, except for the faint ticking of a wall clock that seemed to echo louder than it should. Amina sat at the kitchen table, the wooden box resting in front of her like a forbidden secret. The carved lid caught the dim yellow light of the single bulb, shadows dancing across its surface.
She ran her fingers slowly along the engravings, tracing the deep grooves. The more she touched them, the colder her fingertips felt, as though the box itself rejected human warmth.
Zain entered quietly, dragging his slippers against the floor. "Ammi?" His voice was soft, hesitant.
Amina quickly slid the box closer to her lap. "Yes, beta? You're awake?"
Zain rubbed his eyes. "I heard something… like someone whispering in the hall." He squinted and noticed the box. "What's that?"
Amina forced a smile. "Nothing. Just… an old box I found when I was cleaning."
Zain tilted his head, moving closer. The box seemed to pull at him, the strange patterns hypnotic. He whispered almost involuntarily, "The marks look like writing."
Amina's face stiffened. "Don't touch it." Her tone was sharper than she intended.
Zain stopped, startled. "I wasn't going to… I just… it looks old."
She realized she had frightened him. "I'm sorry, beta. I didn't mean to shout. It's just… dusty. Might have bugs." She forced a laugh, though her hands trembled slightly as she covered the lid with her scarf.
Zain frowned. "Ammi, why are you keeping it? Abbu said it might belong to the house."
For a moment, Amina's eyes darkened, her voice distant. "No. It belongs to me now."
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Scene 2: Haris Notices
Later that evening, Haris returned home, his clothes damp from the drizzle outside. He set his bag down heavily and sat on the worn sofa. Amina was still in the kitchen, quietly washing dishes, but her movements were slower than usual, deliberate, as if her mind were elsewhere.
Haris cleared his throat. "Dinner smells good."
Amina didn't respond immediately. When she finally did, her voice was low. "It will be ready soon."
Zain sat on the arm of the sofa, eyes still fixed on the kitchen. He leaned closer to his father and whispered, "Abbu… Ammi found a box. She keeps looking at it. There's writing on it."
Haris raised an eyebrow. "Writing?"
Zain nodded. "Like scratches, but… like words. I don't think it's Urdu or English."
Haris's shoulders stiffened. He had warned Amina. He stood and walked to the kitchen. "Amina, where is it?"
She froze for a second before replying. "Where is what?"
"The box. Show me."
Her eyes flickered. "It's nothing, Haris. Just an old trinket. Why are you making a fuss?"
Haris's jaw tightened. "Because things have been happening in this house—doors opening, voices… We don't need more trouble."
Amina turned slowly, her wet hands dripping onto the floor. Her gaze was distant, almost cold. "This box has nothing to do with that. Stop imagining things."
Haris took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Then prove it. Let me see it."
Amina hesitated. Her hand instinctively brushed against her scarf, under which the box was hidden in a shelf. "Later," she murmured. "When I'm finished."
Zain, watching from the doorway, shivered. His mother's voice didn't sound like hers.
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Scene 3: Zain Reads the Inscription
That night, when both his parents were distracted—Amina pretending to fold clothes, Haris pacing the living room—Zain sneaked into the kitchen.
He had seen where his mother tucked the box away. Carefully, he pulled the scarf aside and lifted it. The wood felt colder than before, almost damp.
The carvings fascinated him. This time, in the moonlight slipping through the window, the grooves looked sharper, more deliberate. He tilted the box, and faint letters seemed to form in a script he couldn't fully understand.
Zain whispered the shapes under his breath, trying to copy them. As he did, a faint hiss filled the room, like air escaping from cracks. He froze.
"Zain!"
He nearly dropped the box. Amina stood in the doorway, her eyes wide, her face pale. "What are you doing?"
"I… I just wanted to see—"
"Don't!" she snapped, rushing forward. She yanked the box from his hands and held it tightly to her chest. "Never touch it again. Do you hear me?"
Zain's voice shook. "Ammi… the writing… what does it mean?"
Her lips trembled as she whispered, "It says… Do not open. The soul is hungry."
Zain's heart pounded. "Soul? What soul?"
Before Amina could answer, Haris appeared behind her, his face dark with anger. "Enough! This ends now. We're getting rid of it tomorrow."
But Amina clutched the box tighter, almost growling, "No one is taking it away from me."
The tension in her voice made Zain step back. For the first time, he was afraid of his mother.
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Scene 4: The Night's Unease
The family sat in uneasy silence during dinner. Every sound—the clink of a spoon, the rustle of clothes—felt louder, heavier. Amina barely ate, her eyes constantly drifting to the corner where the box now sat on the counter.
Zain pushed his food around his plate. "Ammi," he whispered cautiously, "you're different. Since you found it."
Amina's hand froze mid-air. Slowly, she turned her head, her smile too forced. "Different? No, beta. Just tired."
Haris slammed his glass down. "Stop lying, Amina! I see it too."
Her smile vanished. "You don't understand. None of you do. This house… this box… it chose us."
Zain's eyes widened. "Chose us? For what?"
Amina blinked, as if waking from a trance, and stood abruptly. "Enough questions. Go to bed."
Zain hesitated but obeyed, retreating to his room. He lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to faint murmurs coming from the kitchen where his parents continued to argue.
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Scene 5: A Mother's Whisper
Hours later, long past midnight, Zain awoke to the sound of footsteps. He crept out of bed, tiptoeing toward the hall.
The kitchen light was on. Through the crack of the door, he saw Amina sitting cross-legged on the floor, the box in her lap. Her head was bowed, and she was whispering words Zain couldn't understand.
The carvings on the lid seemed to shimmer faintly, as though responding to her voice.
Zain pressed a hand to his chest, his heart pounding. He backed away slowly, not wanting her to notice him.
But just before he turned the corner, Amina's head snapped up. Her eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, and she smiled.
"Go back to bed, beta. Mama's just talking to an old friend."
Zain ran without answering, diving under his blanket. He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.
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Closing Beat
The next morning, Haris found Zain pale and sleepless at the breakfast table. Before he could ask, Zain leaned closer and whispered:
"Abbu… the box… it's changing Ammi. She talks to it at night."
Haris clenched his fists. He knew then that the real horror of House No. 13 had only just begun.
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