“Thirty Days in the Dark”Day 2

                                  

                                                

                                               Day 2: The Whispering Walls

                       

Daniyal barely slept during his first night in the lighthouse. His eyes burned from exhaustion, but fear had kept him awake. The soaked Quran still haunted his mind. How could it be wet with seawater inside a locked room? He tried to convince himself that it was all in his head, that stress and darkness had played tricks on him.

But deep down, he knew something was wrong.

In the morning, he forced himself to explore further. The lighthouse had multiple floors — small chambers, storage rooms, and narrow corridors. Everything was covered in dust and mold, the smell of decay heavy in the air. He found an old wooden desk in one of the rooms, covered with yellowed papers. Most of the ink had faded, but he could just make out fragments of sentences: “voices at night… can’t leave… they want…”

His heart skipped a beat. These must have belonged to one of the lighthouse keepers who had died here decades ago.

As the sun set, Daniyal set up his small stove and cooked some instant noodles. The sound of the boiling water gave him a strange comfort. For a moment, he almost felt normal again. But when he turned off the stove, the silence was unbearable — so deep it felt alive.

Then it began.

Soft whispers seeped from the walls themselves, as though the building was breathing secrets. At first, they were faint, like the wind, but soon Daniyal could hear words. “Leave… leave… leave…”

He pressed his ear to the damp stone wall. The whispers grew clearer, but not in one voice — in many. Men, women, even children. Some crying, some laughing, some begging.

Panic rose inside him. He backed away, clutching his flashlight. Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from upstairs, like a heavy object crashing. He ran up the spiral staircase, his pulse thundering, but found nothing. Only the broken mirror from the night before — except now, it wasn’t cracked anymore. It stood tall and clean, reflecting him perfectly.

But behind his reflection… someone else was standing.

A shadowy figure loomed just over his shoulder. Its face was hidden, but its mouth stretched unnaturally wide, whispering silently. Daniyal spun around — nothing. When he looked back at the mirror, it was cracked again, just as before.

Shaking, he stumbled back down to his sleeping bag. He tried to sleep, but the whispers never stopped. Sometimes they called his name. Sometimes they imitated the voices of his friends, even his mother.

Around 3 a.m., his flashlight flickered and died. In the pitch-black darkness, he felt movement all around him. And then, warm breath brushed against his ear as a woman’s voice whispered clearly:

“You cannot leave.”

When dawn finally broke, Daniyal sat in the corner, pale and trembling. He hadn’t slept at all. He realized the lighthouse wasn’t just haunted — it was alive, and it wanted him.