|
Listen Here
Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...
|
Riya stared out the window, watching the snow swallow the world outside. The storm had come in fast, much quicker than the weather app predicted, but it was almost… beautiful, the way the cottage stood isolated, wrapped in nature’s harsh embrace. Aakash sat beside her, flicking through a magazine, unaware of the growing unease she felt.
“Can you believe we won this?” Aakash said with a grin. “Out of all the people in that mall, and we just happen to get a free stay in this gorgeous cottage?”
Riya forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah, lucky us.”
They had been married for three months, and everything still felt fresh—too fresh sometimes. There were things Aakash didn’t know about her, things she wasn’t ready to tell. And there were things she knew about him, things he hadn’t shared either. Secrets. They both carried them, carefully tucked away.
“I’m going to get more firewood,” Aakash announced, standing up and heading toward the door. “You’ll be okay?”
Riya nodded, watching him leave. As soon as the door clicked shut, the silence pressed in, thick and heavy. The air in the cottage seemed different when Aakash wasn’t around—too still, as if the walls were holding their breath.
Her eyes drifted to the large antique mirror in the corner, the one she had noticed when they first arrived. It was beautiful but unsettling. The room in the reflection seemed darker, more blurred than the one she was standing in.
As she stepped closer, a glint caught her eye. Carved into the wooden frame, almost hidden by the ornate designs, was a name: Simran.
The chill that had crept into her bones wasn’t from the cold. Riya knew that name all too well. Simran—Aakash’s dead wife.
She had never brought it up, never asked Aakash about Simran. It was an unspoken rule between them. He hadn’t mentioned her in months, not since they first met. But Riya had seen her—alive. It was during one of her NGO trips to Shimla, a few months before the wedding. Riya had gone to the hospital for work, only to find herself face-to-face with the woman she believed had died in a tragic accident.
Simran had survived. Barely.
Riya froze, her fingers tracing the name on the mirror’s frame. She had told herself back then that she would handle it—that she would make sure Simran didn’t ruin her plans. But she hadn’t expected to find herself standing in the very house that once belonged to Simran and Aakash.
A sudden thud echoed from upstairs. Riya flinched, her heart leaping into her throat.
“Aakash?” she called out, her voice trembling.
No answer.
Her eyes darted toward the staircase. Another creak, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps.
She swallowed, gripping the banister as she made her way up the stairs. The hallway was dark, but at the far end, she could see a door slightly ajar. It was the master bedroom.
Riya pushed the door open, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The room was empty, just as they had left it—except for one thing. A section of the wall had shifted, revealing a hidden door. It was slightly open, a sliver of light spilling out from the room beyond.
She approached cautiously, her heart pounding in her ears. The door groaned as she pushed it open further, revealing a narrow room lit by a single lantern. The air inside was thick with dust and decay, but it wasn’t the state of the room that made her stomach churn.
In the center of the room, propped up against the wall, was a portrait.
It was Simran.
And she was wearing a wedding dress.
Riya’s breath hitched. The image of Simran in that white gown felt too real, too alive. The eyes in the painting seemed to follow her, accusing, watching. A shadow flickered behind her in the reflection of the mirror on the opposite wall, and before she could react, the door creaked shut with a resounding click.
Riya spun around, her back pressed against the wall. Her eyes darted to the door. It was locked.
Suddenly, the light in the room flickered. The air felt suffocating, as if the walls were closing in. The mirror on the wall reflected not just her image, but the entire room behind her, distorted. And then, in the dim reflection, she saw it—a shadow, unmistakable, standing just behind her.
Her heart lurched. Slowly, she turned her head to look behind her.
Aakash stood there, his expression unreadable, eyes cold and dark. His hand hovered near the frame of the hidden door, as though he had been waiting for her to find it. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before, a heaviness that pressed against her chest.
“I told you not to go upstairs,” he said, his voice eerily calm.
Riya felt her pulse quicken, her mind racing. “What is this place?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Aakash’s gaze flicked to the portrait of Simran. He stared at it for a long moment before turning his eyes back to Riya. “I didn’t want you to find this.”
Riya took a step back, her back pressed against the cold wall. “Why? What is it?”
Aakash didn’t answer, his silence more terrifying than anything he could have said. His eyes held hers, cold and distant, before he finally spoke.
“This was her room,” he said quietly. “Simran’s.”
Riya’s stomach dropped, her mind spinning. The realization hit her like a wave of ice. Simran had lived here. This was her house, her life. And now Riya was standing in the middle of it, an intruder in a place she never should have been.
“I didn’t mean to…”
But before she could finish, the sound of footsteps echoed again from somewhere deeper in the house. Riya’s blood ran cold. She hadn’t imagined it.
Someone else was here.
She turned back toward the door, panic setting in. “Aakash, we need to go. Now.”
But Aakash didn’t move. He stood there, his face unreadable, eyes fixed on something behind her. And then he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.
“She’s not gone, Riya.”
Riya froze every nerve in her body on edge. The shadows in the room seemed to close in around them, and suddenly, the house felt alive—alive with something far darker than she could have ever imagined.
Part 2 coming soon!
