First Night
February 12, 2019
The night descended upon Miraj Al-Ghaib Estate like a heavy velvet curtain, smothering the last remnants of daylight. The oppressive silence wrapped around the mansion, broken only by the occasional creak of settling wood and the distant whisper of the wind through the ancient woods. Laura lay in bed, her eyes wide open, every nerve on edge.
Outside, the moon cast a pale light over the lake, turning the waters into a silvery mirror that reflected the shadowy silhouette of the mansion. The whispering woods seemed to come alive with unseen movements, their secrets pressing against the house's walls.
As Laura tried to sleep, she felt a sudden chill, as if someone had opened a window, letting in the winter air. She pulled the covers tighter around herself, but the cold seemed to seep into her bones. The oppressive silence was broken by a soft, almost imperceptible whisper. She strained to hear, but the words were indistinct, lost in the rustle of the leaves outside.
She turned to Thomas, who was lying beside her, seemingly oblivious to the eerie atmosphere. “Thomas, do you hear that?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He stirred slightly but didn’t open his eyes. “Hear what, Laura? Go back to sleep. It’s just your imagination.”
Laura frowned, the feeling of unease growing stronger. She sat up and listened intently. There it was again—a soft whisper, like someone speaking just out of earshot. She couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was urgent, almost pleading.
She slipped out of bed and padded to the window, peering out into the night. The garden was bathed in moonlight, the pathways and water features casting long, eerie shadows. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, but the feeling of being watched was overwhelming.
Down the hall, Emily and Sam’s rooms were dark and quiet. Laura hesitated, then decided to check on them. She moved silently, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. As she passed a large mirror in the hallway, she glanced at her reflection and froze. Behind her, in the reflection, a shadowy figure stood just at the edge of the frame. She spun around, her heart pounding, but the hallway was empty.
“Mom?” Emily’s voice came from her bedroom door, small and frightened.
Laura turned to see her daughter standing in the doorway, clutching her stuffed rabbit. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“I heard someone talking. In my room,” Emily whispered.
Laura knelt down and hugged her daughter. “It’s just the old house settling, honey. Nothing to be afraid of.”
But as she said the words, she didn’t believe them herself. She took Emily back to bed and sat with her until she fell asleep, the whispers continuing just beyond the edge of hearing.
Back in the master bedroom, Thomas was awake, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Laura. “You’re filling their heads with nonsense,” he said sharply. “There’s nothing here. This house is old, it makes noises. That’s all.”
Laura opened her mouth to protest, but Thomas’s glare silenced her. “I won’t have you scaring them with your foolishness,” he continued. “Get back to bed and stop this nonsense.”
Laura nodded, swallowing her fear and anger. She climbed back into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. The whispers seemed to follow her, a constant, unnerving presence.
Downstairs, the faint sound of music floated through the air, an old gramophone playing a scratchy, haunting tune. Laura knew they hadn’t unpacked the gramophone yet. She slipped out of bed again and crept down the stairs, the cold seeping through her nightgown.
The music led her to the parlor, where the gramophone stood, its horn gleaming in the moonlight. The record spun slowly, the needle scratching out a melody that seemed to belong to another time. She reached out to stop it, but the moment her fingers touched the needle, the music ceased, and the room was plunged into silence.
A soft laugh echoed from the corner of the room, sending a shiver down her spine. She turned, her eyes searching the shadows, but found nothing. The cold spot where she stood seemed to grow, enveloping her in a frigid embrace.
“Laura, what are you doing?” Thomas’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and angry. He stood in the doorway, his face a mask of irritation.
“There was music,” Laura stammered. “The gramophone was playing by itself.”
Thomas stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the scene. “You’re letting this house get to you,” he said, his voice tight with control. “It’s all in your head. Now, come back to bed and stop this foolishness.”
Laura felt a surge of frustration but nodded meekly, allowing Thomas to lead her back upstairs. The whispers followed them, growing fainter but never disappearing entirely.
As she lay back in bed, Laura stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. The house was alive with secrets, its shadows hiding things she couldn’t understand. And Thomas’s refusal to acknowledge it only made her feel more isolated.
The night stretched on, every creak and whisper amplifying her fear. She could feel the house closing in on her, its ancient walls pressing in, suffocating her with their weight. She knew they were not alone, and whatever watched from the shadows was growing bolder.
The whispers, the cold spots, the fleeting shadows—each was a piece of a puzzle she couldn’t yet see. And as the first light of dawn began to seep through the heavy drapes, Laura realized that their first night in Miraj Al-Ghaib was only the beginning of a nightmare from which there might be no escape.
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