Routines
February 12, 2019
Morning light filtered through the heavy drapes of Miraj Al-Ghaib Estate, casting a muted glow over the grand rooms. The house seemed to awaken reluctantly, its ancient bones creaking and groaning in protest. Laura moved quietly through the kitchen, preparing breakfast with methodical precision, conscious of Thomas’s strict expectations.
Thomas appeared promptly at eight, his presence filling the room with an unspoken tension. He surveyed the table, his eyes flicking over every detail. “Good,” he said finally, sitting down. “Emily, Sam, come eat. We have a lot to do today.”
Emily and Sam shuffled into the room, their movements careful and subdued. They took their seats, waiting for Thomas to start before beginning to eat.
“Remember, Emily, you’re responsible for organizing the library today,” Thomas said between bites. “I expect the books to be arranged by subject, then by author. No exceptions.”
Emily nodded, her face pale. “Yes, Dad.”
“Sam, you’ll help me in the study. We need to catalog all the documents and artifacts. Be thorough and don’t miss anything.”
“Yes, Dad,” Sam echoed, his voice barely a whisper.
Laura watched them, her heart aching. She wanted to comfort them, but Thomas’s controlling presence made it impossible. She forced a smile and poured more coffee, trying to ignore the oppressive atmosphere.
As the day wore on, the house seemed to close in on them, its silence heavy and suffocating. Thomas moved through the rooms like a commander, his charm a thin veneer over his oppressive nature. He insisted on exact meal times, specific ways of doing chores, and criticized any deviation from his standards.
“Laura, the sheets on the bed need to be tucked in tighter,” he called from the bedroom. “And Emily, those books are out of order. Do it again.”
Emily’s eyes filled with tears, but she nodded and started over, her small hands trembling as she arranged the books precisely as Thomas demanded.
In the study, Thomas became increasingly absorbed in the estate’s history. He pored over old documents and diaries, his obsession growing with each passing hour. He muttered to himself, scribbling notes and tracing the lineage of the Al-Farouq family with feverish intensity.
“Fascinating,” he murmured, barely glancing up when Sam entered the room. “Did you know this estate has been in the Al-Farouq family for centuries? There are tales of djinn and ancient pacts… remarkable.”
Sam stood awkwardly, unsure whether to interrupt. “Dad, I—”
“Quiet, Sam. Can’t you see I’m busy?” Thomas snapped, his eyes never leaving the pages in front of him.
Sam sighed and left the room, his shoulders slumped. He wandered through the house, the weight of his father’s expectations heavy on his young shoulders.
As the day turned to evening, the supernatural occurrences began to escalate. Laura was in the kitchen, washing dishes, when the room suddenly grew cold. She glanced around, but there was no reason for the chill. A whisper brushed against her ear, so faint she couldn’t catch the words. Her heart raced as she backed away from the sink.
In the library, Emily felt a similar chill. The books on the shelves began to shift, their spines creaking as if unseen hands were rearranging them. She watched in horror as one by one, the books fell to the floor, their pages fluttering like dying birds.
“Mom!” she screamed, running out of the room.
Laura rushed to her daughter, wrapping her in a protective embrace. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay,” she whispered, though she felt anything but okay.
Sam, exploring a dusty hallway, felt a sudden draft. The paintings on the walls seemed to watch him, their eyes following his every move. He heard footsteps behind him, but when he turned, the hallway was empty. A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision, disappearing before he could fully see it.
“Dad, something’s wrong,” he said, finding Thomas in the study.
“Not now, Sam,” Thomas replied, his eyes fixed on an old map. “I’m on the verge of a breakthrough.”
“Dad, please. The house—”
Thomas slammed the book shut, finally looking up. “Enough, Sam. This house is old. It makes noises. You’re imagining things. Go help your sister.”
Sam’s shoulders sagged as he left the room. The whispers grew louder, filling the silence with their unsettling presence.
Laura and the children gathered in the living room, their fear palpable. “We have to do something,” Emily whispered. “This house… it’s haunted.”
Laura nodded, her mind racing. She felt the house closing in on them, its ancient secrets pressing against her consciousness. The whispers, the cold spots, the shifting shadows—all signs that they were not alone.
Thomas’s obsession with the estate’s history had blinded him to the growing danger. As he delved deeper into the past, the supernatural activity intensified, each occurrence more frightening than the last.
The night fell again, bringing with it a sense of impending doom. Laura lay in bed, her eyes wide open, listening to the house creak and groan. The whispers were louder now, insistent and urgent.
Thomas slept beside her, oblivious to the terror that gripped his family. His control over them tightened with each passing day, but it was the unseen forces within the house that held the true power.
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