ghost house

 
ghost house

My grandmother's ancient house stood tall like a sleeping beast in the heart of the village, telling old stories about families that lived and departed, and about secrets buried within its cracked walls. I did not fear the house; rather, I saw it as a refuge, a place where I could explore another world, a world filled with mysteries and enigmas.

I visited my grandmother every summer, spending my time exploring every nook and cranny of that house. I would climb the old, battered stairs, open the creaky wooden doors, and wander through the dark rooms adorned with pictures of my ancient ancestors.

One night, I decided to explore the upstairs, a floor that was forbidden for me to enter. I felt an intense curiosity to discover what that dark place held. I slowly opened the door and stepped into a long, dark corridor, its walls covered in peeling wallpaper, and the floor creaking beneath my feet.

I walked down the corridor until I reached a room at the end. This room was different from any I had seen before. It was very dark, containing only an old wooden bed and a small table. I felt a shiver run through my body, and fear began to creep in.

I approached the bed and reached out to touch the heavy curtains. Suddenly, I heard a faint whisper, as if someone was calling my name. I turned around quickly, but I found no one. My heart raced, and I began to breathe heavily.

In that moment, I felt a cold hand grasping mine. I screamed in fright and tried to pull my hand away, but it was too strong. I looked down and saw a transparent hand emerging from under the bed. I tried to escape, but I couldn't move.

Suddenly, the light went out completely, and darkness enveloped the room. I heard strange sounds, as if someone was walking around me. I felt intense terror and began to scream for help.

At that moment, I felt myself rising off the ground, starting to float in the air. I saw a pale face looking at me from the darkness; it was the face of an old woman, her eyes empty, and her long hair white.

I suddenly woke up, gasping for breath. I was covered in sweat, and my heart was pounding like a drum. I looked around and found myself in my bed. The sun was shining through the window, and the room was filled with light.

At first, I thought everything that had happened was just a dream, but I could still feel the remnants of fear in my body. I decided to tell my grandmother what I had seen, but she smiled and said to me, "This house tells many stories, my dear, and some of them can be frightening, but don't be afraid; ghosts only harm those who deserve it."

I no longer believed my grandmother; I was convinced that I had seen a ghost that night. Since then, I had not dared to go up to the upper floor of the house. I visited my grandmother every summer and spent my time exploring every nook and cranny of that house. I would climb the old, creaky stairs, open the wooden doors that creaked ominously, and wander through the dark rooms adorned with pictures of my ancient ancestors.

One night, I decided to explore the upper floor, the floor that was forbidden for me to enter. I felt a strong curiosity to know what that dark place held. I slowly opened the door and entered a long, dark corridor, its walls covered with peeling wallpaper, and its floor creaking under my feet.

I walked down the corridor until I reached a room at the end. This room was different from any I had seen before. It was very dark, with only an old wooden bed and a small table inside. I felt a shiver run through my body, and fear began to creep in.

Years passed, and I forgot that incident, but every time I visited the house, I felt something strange about it. There was always a sense that I was not alone, and that there were eyes watching me from the darkness.

One night, while I was sitting alone in the living room, I heard a faint voice calling my name. I looked around, but I found no one. A shiver ran through my body, and I began to remember that night when I saw the ghost.

At that moment, I decided to confront my fear. I got up and went upstairs, opening the door to the room where I had seen the ghost. The room was as dark as it had been before, but this time I did not feel afraid.

I slowly entered the room and stood in front of the bed. I said aloud, "I know you are here, and I am not afraid of you. If you want to tell me something, then speak."

Nothing happened. I thought I was hallucinating, and I was about to leave the room when I heard a whispering voice say, "Leave."

I turned around quickly, but I found no one. I rushed out of the room and hurried to my grandmother. I told her what had happened, but she was not surprised. She said to me, "It is time for you to leave this house, my dear, for this house is not a place for you."

I understood what my grandmother meant. This house held many secrets and mysteries, and it was trying to warn me about something. I decided to leave the house and forget everything that had happened in it.

But before I left, I stood in front of the house and sighed deeply. I thanked the house for everything it had given me and for all it had taught me. Then I smiled and turned away from it.

The young man left the old house behind, carrying with him unforgettable memories and secrets that remained uncovered. He returned to his normal life, trying to forget everything that had happened in that house. But the ghost continued to haunt him in his dreams, appearing to him in different forms, sometimes as the face of an old woman, and sometimes as a shadow moving in the dark.

After many years, the young man decided to return to the old house. He had married and had children, and he wanted to show them the house where he spent his childhood. But when he arrived at the house, he felt a strange coldness wash over him, as if the house had been waiting for him.

The young man entered the house and wandered through its old rooms. He felt as if he had returned to the past, to that night when he saw the ghost. He remembered everything clearly, as if it had happened yesterday.

That night, the young man decided to confront the ghost once again. He went upstairs and stood in front of the room where he had seen the ghost. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

The room was as dark as it had been before. The young man entered the room and lit a candle. He looked around the room and saw a picture hanging on the wall. It was a portrait of a beautiful young woman, bearing features similar to those of the ghost he had seen.

The young man approached the picture and examined it closely. He noticed a date written on the back of the photo. The date was the same as the date the house was built.

Suddenly, he heard a faint voice calling his name. He turned around, but found no one. His heart began to race, and he started to feel scared.

Then he heard another voice; this time it was the voice of the woman in the picture. She said in a sad tone, "I’m sorry for everything I caused you. I didn’t mean to frighten you."

The young man asked the woman, "Who are you? And why are you here?"

The woman replied, "I lived in this house with my husband and children. My husband and children died in a fire, and I couldn’t leave the house. I am trapped here forever."

The young man wanted to help the woman, but he didn’t know how. He asked her, "What do you want from me?"

The woman answered, "I want you to tell my story to the world, so that no one forgets me."

The young man promised the woman that he would tell her story. He left the room and turned on the lights throughout the house. Then he began to search for information about the woman in the picture.

After several days of searching, the young man found some information about the woman. Her name was Fatima, and she lived in this house with her husband and children in the nineteenth century. Her husband and children died in a fire, and Fatima was trapped in the house forever.

The young man decided to hold a religious ceremony to honor Fatima’s spirit. He invited the imam of the mosque and asked him to pray for her mercy and forgiveness.

After the ceremony ended, the young man felt a great sense of relief. The ghost disappeared and no longer appeared to him in his dreams. The house became quiet and peaceful.

The young man returned home and told his wife and children the story of Fatima. They listened to his story with interest and felt sorry for Fatima.

Since then, the young man began to visit his grandmother's house regularly. He brought with him a gift for Fatima, a bouquet of flowers. He would place it on Fatima’s imaginary grave and recite Al-Fatiha for her.

And thus ended the story of the ghost, but it left many questions in the hearts of people. Was Fatima’s story real or just a figment of imagination? Do ghosts really exist? No one knows the answers to these questions. But one thing is certain: Fatima’s story will continue to be told to future generations as a warning against the dangers of attachment to places and material things.