Hexed Bliss

CHAPTER 19 - 2 YEARS LATER

Hayat's Pov

Two years ago, my life was a series of plans and predictable routines. I lived by the clock, mapping out every second of every day. Then, Mishka died, and everything fell apart. Now, here I am, blessed with a son, yet haunted by a past that refuses to stay buried.

I remember the day Mishka’s light went out like it was yesterday. The house was alive with her laughter. Then, in a heartbeat, it was gone. They said it was an accident, a tragic misstep. But the shadows in this house, the whispers that curl around corners, they tell a different story.

Nobody enters Mishka’s room anymore. Not since that day. The door remains locked, a silent guardian to memories too painful to confront. Her room is full of secrets. I used to stand there, my hand on the knob, willing myself to turn it, to face whatever truth lay beyond. But I never could. The fear of what I might find—or feel—always held me back.

Now, as I cradle my son Arhan, a new chapter unfolds. He’s the light in my darkness, But even his innocent presence can’t banish the shadows completely.

Dhruthi and Akshat got married after 1 year past that incident. Maya’s daughter, Praithya, a lively two-year-old, brings a touch of innocence and joy to our otherwise somber household. We’ve always found strength in numbers, but Mishka’s death left a void none of us can fill.

Evenings are when the house feels most alive. Tonight, as we gather for dinner, the air is thick with a mixture of warmth and tension.

“So, how was everyone’s day?” Agam asked, trying to break the silence as we sit around the table.

“It was good,” Dhruthi replied, her smile bright but eyes shadowed with concern.

“Akshat and I took Praithya to the park. She loved it.” dhruthi continued

Praithya, sitting in her high chair, beams up at us. “I played with a ball, Mama!”

“That’s wonderful, sweetie,” Maya says, ruffling her daughter's hair.

Aryan, always the observant one, glances at me. “Hayat, you look tired. Is everything okay?”

I manage a weak smile. “Just the usual. Arhan keeps me on my toes.”

Aditya, ever the joker, chimes in. “How about a movie night this weekend?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Aarna agrees, her eyes twinkling. “We could all use some fun.”

The conversation continues, the warmth of their voices a temporary balm to my aching heart. But beneath the surface, the tension remains. The whispers from Mishka’s room have grown louder, more insistent. I know I can’t keep ignoring them.

Later that night, as I put Arhan to bed, the air grows heavy, almost suffocating. I hear a soft whisper, so faint I can barely make it out. It sounds like Mishka’s voice, calling my name. I turn around, but there’s no one there. Just shadows and silence.

As the days pass, the strange occurrences in the house become more frequent. Objects move on their own, cold spots appear in random places, and we hear whispers in the night. Each incident frays my nerves a little more, making it harder to dismiss the possibility that Mishka’s spirit is still with us.

Author's POV

The house creaked as the wind whispered through its walls. Midnight, Praithya was sleeping. Her tiny ears perked up as she heard faint whispers echoing from somewhere within the house.

With a childlike curiosity, Praithya wriggled out of her blankets and toddled across the cold wooden floor of her bedroom. The whispers grew louder as she approached the hallway. Her little hand reached out, grasping the doorknob of a room she had never been allowed to enter before.

The door, usually locked, swung open with an unexpected ease, revealing a room frozen in time. Dust danced in the moonlight filtering through the tattered curtains, casting strange shadows across the walls. Praithya's eyes widened in wonder as she stepped into the room, drawn by the mysterious whispers that seemed to emanate from the very air itself.

To her innocent gaze, the room appeared as a wonderland of forgotten treasures. Books lay scattered across the floor, their colors faded and their once vibrant hues dulled and covered with dust. The bed stood untouched, its sheets neatly folded as if waiting for their owner to return. But it was the mirror that drew Praithya's attention, its surface tarnished and cloudy, reflecting a distorted image of the room.

As she approached the mirror, Praithya felt a chill run down her spine, as if a thousand icy fingers were trailing along her skin. The whispers grew louder, swirling around her like a sinister melody, and she could almost make out words forming in the darkness.

"Mishka Masi (Aunt)" she whispered with her innocent voice but her voice was barely more than a breath. "Are you here?"

The room fell silent, the whispers fading into nothingness as if swallowed by the shadows themselves. But then, just as suddenly as they had disappeared, they returned suddenly, filling the room with their ghostly presence.

Praithya's heart pounded in her chest as she turned back to the mirror, her reflection now warped and twisted. And then, from the depths of the mirror, a figure emerged, its form flickering like a candle in the wind.

It was Mishka, her pale skin translucent and her eyes empty voids devoid of life. She reached out to Praithya with spectral hands, her touch sending a shiver down the young girl's spine.

"Who are you?" Praithya whispered, her voice trembling with fear.

"Your Masi (Aunt)" the ghostly figure replied, her voice a hollow echo of its former self.

Praithya's eyes widened in confusion. She had never met her aunt Mishka, but she had heard her parents speak of her.

With a cry of terror, Praithya turned and fled from the room, the echoes of Mishka's laughter following her down the darkened hallway. She stumbled and fell, her tiny legs unable to carry her fast enough to escape the ghostly apparition that pursued her.

But just as she felt the cold touch of death closing in around her, Maya burst into the hallway, her arms outstretched and her eyes filled with fear.

"Praithya!" she cried, scooping up her daughter and holding her close. "What happened? Are you alright?"

Praithya buried her face in her mother's shoulder, her tears mingling with the fabric of her nightgown. She knew that she had come face to face with something beyond her understanding.

And as she clung to her mother's embrace, Praithya prayed that she would never again hear the whispers that had led her to Mishka's room.

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With love,
Afrah 💜💛