The House That Breathed | Mysterious Story | Looming Story

 The House That Breathed

It all began with a dare. Meera and her friends, Rahul and Sana, were walking home late one night after a party when they passed the old Vishram mansion. Everyone in town had heard the rumors—people said the house was cursed, alive, and no one who went inside ever came out the same.

Rahul laughed as they approached the mansion's broken gate. "Come on, Meera. You’re always saying ghosts aren’t real. Prove it."

Sana shivered. "This place gives me the creeps. I don’t like it."

But Meera wasn’t scared. "Fine," she said, brushing past them and walking toward the gate. "I’ll go in. Are you coming?"

Rahul hesitated, his bravado slipping. "Uh, maybe just you. We’ll wait here."

"Figures," Meera muttered, rolling her eyes. She pushed open the gate, which creaked loudly, as if the house itself didn’t want her to enter. The mansion stood before her, its windows broken, and its roof sagging. But there was something about it—an odd presence, like the house was watching her.

She climbed the steps and walked inside.

The air was stale and damp. The wooden floors creaked under her feet, and the smell of decay filled her nose. Meera switched on her flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness. The entryway was empty except for a few broken pieces of furniture and a grand staircase leading up.

"Hello?" she called out, trying to make light of the situation. "Any ghosts here?"

But the house didn’t answer. It felt strange, alive, in a way she couldn’t explain. The walls seemed to move slightly when she wasn’t looking directly at them, and the faintest of breaths echoed in the silence.

As She walked deeper into the house, she noticed something odd. The wallpaper seemed to ripple, as though it was breathing. Meera leaned closer to get a better look, and that’s when she saw it. The faded floral pattern on the wall shifted and formed words:

“Leave.”

Her heart raced. She laughed nervously. "Nice try, Rahul," she muttered, sure it was some prank he was playing on her.

"Not Rahul," a voice whispered—low and guttural.

Meera froze, her flashlight shaking in her hand. She turned around, but no one was there. Her heart thudded in her chest.

"Okay," she said, forcing a laugh. "You win. I’m leaving."

She turned to head back, but when she looked toward the doorway, it was gone. In its place was a solid wall, pulsating as though it was alive.

"What the—" Meera gasped, reaching out to touch the wall. It was warm, like skin. When she pressed her hand against it, the wall gave slightly, as though something beneath it was moving.

The whispers began.

Hundreds of voices, all overlapping, coming from the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Meera clapped her hands over her ears, but the voices were inside her head now.

"Stay with us."

"Let me out!" Meera screamed, backing away.

The house seemed to respond. The walls inched closer, the ceiling drooped, and the floor rippled like water. She stumbled and fell, her flashlight rolling away from her. The beam landed on a crooked mirror hanging on the far wall.

In the reflection, Meera wasn’t alone.

Behind her, in the mirror, stood a woman—dressed in a torn, old dress, her face hidden by long, tangled hair. The woman raised a hand and pointed directly at Meera.

Meera’s breath caught in her throat. Terrified, she scrambled to her feet and ran toward the stairs. She had to get out of there.

The stairs groaned beneath her weight, but the sound quickly changed to a low growl. She reached the second floor, her heart pounding in her chest. She ran down the hallway, gasping for breath. There were doors on both sides of her, but every door she tried was locked.

Finally, she came to the last door at the end of the hall. It creaked open slowly, revealing a room bathed in moonlight. In the center of the room was a single chair, and sitting in it was the woman from the mirror.

But now, her face was visible.

Meera wished it wasn’t. The woman had no eyes, just hollow black sockets that oozed darkness. Her mouth stretched wide in a grotesque, silent scream.

"Welcome," the woman said, her voice not just her own but a thousand voices at once.

The door slammed shut behind Meera. She tried to scream, but the whispers surged in, drowning her out. The house itself seemed to shake, its walls convulsing with pleasure as if it were feeding on her terror.

Meanwhile, Rahul and Sana were still waiting outside. They watched the front door, waiting for Meera to come back. Minutes turned into an hour, then two.

“She’s taking too long,” Sana said quietly, her voice full of worry. "We should get help."

Rahul looked at the mansion and then nodded. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

But just as they turned to leave, the front door of the mansion creaked open.

Meera stepped out.

"See? I told you she’d be fine," Rahul said, grinning.

But something was off. Sana frowned as she looked at Meera. There was something wrong. Meera’s movements were stiff, her eyes hollow, empty.

Meera smiled at them, but her mouth stretched wide in an unnatural grin.

"Let’s go," she said in a voice that wasn’t quite hers.

The Vishram mansion breathed deeply, satisfied. It had claimed another, and it was already hungry for its next victim.