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  • Writer's pictureDragonfly Films

The Silent Echoes of Haunted Love

The walls of Karthi's home echoed with his silent fury. "What are these strangers doing in my house?" he seethed, his incorporeal form swirling with confusion and anger. It had been a week since he first noticed their presence—living intruders who seemed oblivious to his spectral existence. They moved through his cherished spaces, rearranging furniture, and creating a life within the walls that once belonged solely to him.




In his desperate attempts to communicate, Karthi's whispers went unheard, his attempts to move objects were futile. The strangers carried on with their lives, laughing in the living room, cooking in his kitchen, and sleeping in his bed. It was as if he was a ghost haunting the periphery of his own life, powerless to intervene.


Late one night, Karthi watched the strangers gather in the dimly lit living room. Shadows danced on the walls as they conversed, their voices a murmur that seemed to mock the silence he was trapped in. Determined to understand, Karthi floated closer, his incorporeal form shimmering with the intensity of his emotions.

As he hovered near them, a sudden chill filled the room. The strangers shivered, exchanging uneasy glances, but continued their conversation. Karthi, desperate for acknowledgement, tried to manipulate the air around them, to make them feel his presence. A flicker of fear passed through their eyes, yet they remained oblivious to the ghostly force in their midst.


In a last desperate attempt, Karthi focused all his energy on a single object—a family portrait hanging on the wall. The frame trembled, and the strangers, now visibly disturbed, exchanged frightened whispers. However, their curiosity didn't extend to the unseen force lingering in the room.


Frustration gnawed at Karthi's ethereal being. He retreated to the shadows, watching the strangers leave the room, their nerves on edge. As the door closed behind them, he found himself alone in the dimly lit space, a silent scream caught in the hollows of his phantom throat.


Determined to unravel the mystery, Karthi drifted through the house, discovering a room he had never noticed before. The door creaked open, revealing a forgotten space filled with dusty artifacts and an old, worn-out Ouija board. The air grew heavy with the weight of the past as he realized the truth—he was not the only spirit in his home.


The next night, as the strangers gathered once more, a soft, haunting melody filled the air. The atmosphere crackled with an otherworldly energy. The room grew colder, and the strangers exchanged nervous glances. Suddenly, the planchette on the Ouija board moved, spelling out a message: "Help me."


Fear gripped the strangers as the room seemed to pulsate with an unseen force. Karthi, still unaware of his own ethereal nature, watched as the strangers scrambled to leave the room, their faces pale with terror.

The following days brought an unexpected turn of events. The strangers, now convinced of the supernatural presence, sought the help of a paranormal investigator. As the investigator delved into the history of the house, a chilling revelation emerged—a tragedy had occurred, claiming the lives of a family, including a man named Karthi.


As the investigator uncovered the painful truth, Karthi's memories began to surface. The strangers, realizing the depth of the tragedy, opened their hearts to the ghostly figure that had unknowingly shared their home. Together, living and dead, they embarked on a journey to bring peace to Karthi's tormented soul.

In the end, tears were shed for the love lost, the lives taken too soon, and the shared understanding that transcended the boundaries between the living and the dead. And as the spirits found solace, a poignant sense of closure filled the air—the echoes of a ghost's lament transformed into the gentle whispers of a lingering love, leaving a bittersweet resonance that lingered in the hearts of all who had been touched by the ethereal tale.


Suresh Menon



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