THE HOUSE THAT BREATHED
On the outskirts of Rudrapur, where the road ended and the forest swallowed the path, there stood a house that locals never looked at twice. Its windows were hollow eyes, its walls mottled with dark stains that looked too much like dried blood. People said the house breathed at night. Some said it whispered. Others claimed it waited.
For years, no one went near it—until Arvin, a 17-year-old boy who loved exploring abandoned places, decided the stories were nothing more than superstition.
"Just an old building," he told his friends. "What can it do?"
He would soon learn the answer.
---
The Dare
One late evening, Arvin's friends dared him to spend just one hour inside the house.
"Go in, take a video, come out," they said.
Easy.
Arvin agreed.
His friends dropped him at the iron gate, its hinges warped and covered in rust. They promised to wait outside, but as he stepped in, fog rolled in from nowhere—thick, white, swallowing sound. The headlights of their bikes blurred, then vanished.
"Guys?" he called.
Silence.
The fog pushed him forward, almost guiding him to the front door.
It was open.
Waiting.
---
Inside the House
The moment Arvin stepped in, the air changed. It felt heavy, wet, like breathing through cloth.
The smell hit him next—something old… something rotting.
His phone flickered as he tried to switch on the flashlight.
Static.
Then it lit up, but instead of the usual bright white, the beam glowed a sickly yellow, barely cutting through the darkness.
The walls were covered with symbols—circles, triangles, strange runes drawn with something thick and brownish. He tried to convince himself it was mud.
But it wasn't.
A soft exhale sounded behind him.
Like someone standing inches from his neck.
He spun around—
No one.
But the door had shut.
---
The Whispering Room
Arvin moved deeper inside. Every floorboard creaked like bones cracking under weight.
He reached a room with a huge mirror that covered an entire wall.
Odd, because the house was supposed to be abandoned.
The mirror was clean.
Too clean.
He raised his flashlight and saw the reflection: himself… the hallway… the room…
And a figure standing behind him.
A tall, thin shadow with no face.
Arvin whipped around.
The room was empty.
When he looked back at the mirror, the shadow was closer.
He stepped back.
The reflection stepped forward.
Then the mirror cracked—not like glass breaking, but like something inside was pushing to come out.
He ran.
---
The Breathing Walls
As Arvin raced through the hallway, the house began to change. The wallpaper bulged as if something was moving behind it.
The walls expanded—
And contracted.
Like lungs.
The house was breathing.
He tried another room. Inside was a child's bed, small and old. Toys lay scattered around the floor, but their eyes were scratched out, leaving hollow holes in their faces.
He lifted one of the dolls.
It whispered.
A dry, tiny voice:
"Don't let her see you."
Arvin dropped it instantly.
"Who—who is she?" he asked, voice shaking.
The doll's head twisted on its own.
Slowly.
Cracking.
"She lives here," it whispered. "She watches. She feeds."
A cold wind brushed the back of his neck.
"She found you."
---
The Woman in the Dark
Arvin didn't wait to see more. He rushed to the staircase leading to the lower floor. The steps groaned under his weight.
Halfway down, everything fell silent.
He heard a woman humming softly, like a lullaby sung wrong. Off-key. Slow. Dripping with sorrow.
The humming grew louder.
Something moved at the bottom of the stairs.
A woman emerged from the darkness—hair covering her face, wearing a torn white saree stained with brown and red. Her arms hung at unnatural angles, like broken branches.
She wasn't walking.
She was floating.
Her head tilted as if sensing him.
Though her eyes were hidden, Arvin felt her stare carve into him.
He froze.
The humming stopped.
And she smiled—a wide, unnatural grin that stretched too far.
---
Run
Arvin bolted up the stairs. The woman shrieked behind him—not loud, but high-pitched and sharp, like metal scraping metal.
Doors slammed open along the hallway as he sprinted. Hands reached out from the darkness. Shadows crawled along the walls.
The house didn't want him to leave.
The house wanted to keep him.
When he reached the front door, he grabbed the handle.
It wouldn't turn.
The wood pulsed under his palm, warm like skin.
He slammed his fist against it.
"LET ME OUT!"
The house exhaled deeply.
Lights flickered.
The woman's footsteps echoed behind him—slow, deliberate, getting closer.
He turned—
She was inches from his face.
Her hair started sliding back, revealing—
Not eyes.
Empty sockets.
Dark.
Moving.
Something inside them writhed, like worms.
Her mouth opened wider and wider, stretching impossibly.
She screamed.
Everything went dark.
---
Outside
When Arvin woke, he was lying outside the house on the grass. His friends shook him awake.
"Bro, what happened? You disappeared in the fog!"
He stared. The house behind them looked totally abandoned again—no breathing walls, no symbols, no woman.
"Let's go home," he whispered.
His friends nodded and started their bikes.
As they rode away, Arvin felt a strange coldness on his wrist.
He lifted his sleeve.
There were finger marks burned into his skin.
Long… thin… and claw-like.
He didn't tell anyone.
But every night since then, when he tries to sleep…
He hears humming.
A woman's humming.
Right next to his bed.