The fog was thicker than usual that morning, curling like smoke around the hills as Aarohi stepped out of the car. She looked up at the towering estate in front of her—a grand, three-story colonial house wrapped in creeping ivy and shadow. The paint was chipped in places, the porch sagged slightly, and one of the upper windows seemed cracked like a spider's web. Yet despite its decay, the house had a strange, haunting beauty. A kind of elegance time couldn't erase.
"This," Veer said, slipping an arm around her waist, "is Hollowridge House."
Aarohi turned to him, surprised. "Hollowridge? The name sounds... familiar."
Veer smiled, proud. "It should. It was once owned by someone in your family, believe it or not. I looked it up. Your grandfather sold it almost forty years ago. I bought it from the last owners just before our wedding. Thought it would be the perfect surprise."
Aarohi forced a smile, but something cold pressed against her spine. She remembered her grandmother saying something once, years ago, about a cursed estate. A place where "even the wind wouldn't sing."
She shook the thought away. It was just a house. Her new home. And Veer had gone through so much trouble. "It's… beautiful," she said softly.
Inside, the house smelled of old wood, dust, and something faintly metallic—like rust or dried blood. The chandelier above the entrance hall swung gently, though the air was still. Portraits lined the hallway, faded and cracked, their painted eyes seeming to follow them as they walked by.
Veer led her upstairs to the master bedroom. The room was massive, with dark mahogany floors and velvet curtains that shut out the light. The bed was already made, the sheets freshly washed. But Aarohi couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.
Later that night, after the movers left and they shared wine on the creaking porch, Aarohi tried to ignore how quiet the valley was. No birds. No wind. Just the house settling, groaning like it had woken from a long sleep.
She awoke suddenly.
It was past midnight. The room was pitch black, but she could hear something.
Creak.
Creak.
Creak.
It was coming from upstairs. But… they were already on the top floor.
Aarohi sat up, heart thudding. Beside her, Veer slept undisturbed. She slipped out of bed, feet cold against the floor, and opened the bedroom door. The hallway was empty.
She took a cautious step forward.
Creak.
It was louder now. Not footsteps. Not the wind. It sounded like… a rocking chair.
But they didn't own one.
She followed the sound down the hallway, past the portrait of a stern-looking man with dark eyes. His expression changed in the corner of her vision—his mouth slightly curling into a smirk.
Aarohi froze. She looked back at the painting.
It hadn't changed.
She continued down the hall, stopping in front of a narrow wooden door she hadn't noticed before. The sound was loudest here.
She turned the knob. Locked.
CREAK.
Suddenly, the sound stopped.
Aarohi's breath caught in her throat. She leaned closer, placing her ear to the door.
Silence.
Then, just as she was about to turn away—
BANG!
The door shook violently, as though something had thrown itself against it from the other side.
Aarohi stumbled back with a scream.
The noise woke Veer, who rushed to her side. "What happened?"
"I heard something… a chair rocking, then a bang. From that room!"
Veer looked at the door, then back at her, confused. "There's nothing in there. I haven't even opened that room yet. Probably rats or old pipes."
"But the door shook, Veer! Like someone—something—was inside!"
He rubbed his eyes and chuckled softly. "Baby, it's just an old house. It makes weird sounds. Come back to bed."
She wanted to argue, but his calmness made her feel silly. Maybe she was just overtired. The wedding, the move, the foggy drive… it had all taken a toll.
Still, as she lay beside Veer later, she couldn't stop thinking about that locked room.
Why was it locked at all?
The next morning, Veer had gone into town to run errands. Aarohi wandered the house alone, her slippers whispering across the floor. Everything seemed quieter than before, too quiet—like the house was listening.
In the living room, she found an old mirror above the fireplace. Its frame was ornate, carved with ivy and thorns. Her reflection stared back at her, a little too still.
She turned away.
The reflection didn't.
She froze.
She turned her head back slowly—and there she was. Her reflection now matched her movements perfectly. But for those few seconds, it had smiled before she did.
Aarohi stepped back.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her grandmother.
"You're living in Hollowridge? GET OUT NOW. It won't let you go again."
Aarohi's hands trembled. She stared at the text, unsure whether to reply or run. But before she could respond, her phone powered off on its own, even though the battery was full.
When she looked up again, her reflection was gone.