The Whisper Behind the Door
.jpg)
There was a room in Amina’s grandmother’s house that no one ever entered.
Old, locked, and hidden at the back of dusty curtains, it was called “the quiet room.”
But at night… it whispered.
Amina become twelve whilst she first heard it. Her call, spoken softly from at the back of the door. As if a person was respiratory through the timber.
“Amina... Open the door... Please…”
Her grandmother warned her:
“Never open it. That voice is not your friend.”
But one stormy night, curiosity received.
She became the cold brass knob. The door creaked open... Revealing total darkness.
No fixtures. No windows. Just shadows — and a unmarried reflect in the corner.
In the reflect, she didn’t see her reflection.
She noticed any other lady. Same face. Same hair. Same eyes.
But that female was smiling… and Amina wasn’t.
Before she could circulate, the mirrored image whispered:
“Now it’s your flip to be in the back of the glass.”
The reflect went dark.
In the house, her grandmother nevertheless hears whispers at the back of that door.
But Amina is no longer there.
Three days exceeded due to the fact Amina disappeared.
Her grandmother by no means called the police. She couldn’t.
How should she give an explanation for that her granddaughter vanished internal a reflect?
Every night, she sat near the door. Candle lit. Whispering prayers.
On the fourth night, the whisper back.
But this time… it wasn’t Amina’s voice.
“I’m no longer Amina…”
“Leave the door open… only for this night…”
The candle flickered out. The door creaked open — slowly, on its personal.
The replicate was still there.
But now... It changed into cracked down the middle.
And from that crack, a hand reached out.
Small. Cold. Looked like Amina’s hand — however blackened, burned, lifeless.
Before the antique lady could scream, a familiar voice echoed:
“Grandma... I’m right here... Don’t consider what you spot...”
The hand pulled itself forward, and a female crawled out. Half her face gave the look of Amina… the other half, twisted and darkish.
“I’m hungry…”
She spoke with voices without delay.
Grandma slammed the door close and locked it tight, sealing it with holy water.
But ever considering that night time, the mirror inside modifications.
Sometimes it shows faces.
Sometimes crying children.
And sometimes… it just shows your reflection smiling when you’re not.