When Zaid moved into the old house on Gulnagar Street, the first thing he noticed was the closet in his new bedroom. It was tall, crooked, and made of dark wood that cracked like it was trying to speak. His parents told him not to worry, as it was just an old house being old. However, every night, just after the lights went out, Zaid heard whispers coming from inside the closet. They were too soft to understand but too real to ignore.
One night, Zaid decided to catch whoever was making the noise. He stayed up with a flashlight and stared at the closet for hours.
Just after midnight, the door creaked open all by itself. His flashlight flickered, and the whispering grew louder and louder: “Zaid… Zaid… Zaid…” The air turned cold, and something inside the closet moved.
Terrified but curious, Zaid stepped closer and peeked in. There was nothing but clothes, shoes, and an old wooden box he hadn’t seen before. The box was slowly glowing. He reached out to touch it, and screamed in horror.
Suddenly, the door of the closet slammed shut! Behind it, the room was silent.
His parents rushed in moments later, but when they opened the closet, Zaid was gone. Only the wooden box remained right where he had been standing… empty.
No one ever found Zaid, but every child who has lived in that room since says the same thing: the closet whispers their name at night. And if someone ever opens the door after midnight, they might not come back out either.