Echoes in the Halls: Testimonies from a Haunted Home

Written By: Iliana Tangarova
Graphic By: Aruna Muthupillai

Part 1: Whispers from the Past

SPIRIT 1: 
I wasn’t always a whisper, you know,
Once a breath and a heartbeat,
Now I linger in sighs.
This house, it kept my secrets,
Each creaking floorboard a confidant.
And when I fell—body cold, breath done—
It held me tighter than anyone else ever had.
Now I drift between dust and daylight,
A bitter jest of unfinished love affairs,
Of letters never sent, of dreams left in drawers.

SPIRIT 2:
And yet, I find a rhythm here—
A ballroom with no partners but time.
I waltz with the curtains, letting the breeze lift my hem.
Why mourn when eternity’s a melody?
These walls, old friend, we sing together.
I laugh at the living, how they jump at shadows,
When all we want is a chat, a bit of gossip.
A house like this, it’s a mirror,
Reflecting the stories we never told aloud.
Is it so wrong to stay?
To be remembered by silence and starlight?

Part 2: Voices of the Living

NEW OCCUPANT: They told us not to come, that this house held too many guests. “Haunted,” they whispered,

OLD RESIDENT: The first time I saw her, she wasn’t a ghost—just a figure in the mirror. She looked tired like she’d been waiting too long.

NEW OCCUPANT: Like it was a secret the house itself might overhear. We stayed anyway—

We always liked a bit of mischief.

OLD RESIDENT: “Are you lonely?” I asked, not expecting an answer. But she nodded, and I set another place at the table. Loneliness is a funny thing—it bridges worlds and makes ghosts of all of us.

NEW OCCUPANT: And they… the spirits? They stayed, too. Sometimes at midnight, the kitchen sings, cups rattling like a jazz band. We sip tea and let the steam rise, a quiet toast to unseen neighbors.

OLD RESIDENT: In time, we stopped being afraid, and started asking for advice instead. These walls, they’ve seen more than we ever could.

Part 3: The House Speaks

If a house could hold its breath,
I have.
I am both a cradle and a cage,
A sanctuary and a prison.
For I am haunted, yes,
But by stories, by memories—
Each breath, each laugh, each tear,
They echo in my halls long after bodies fade.
Do you not feel it, the weight of words unspoken?
I have held weddings and wakes,
Watched children grow, lovers quarrel,
And ghosts linger for reasons of their own.My walls are scarred with stories—
Some joyful, others heavy with regret.
And as much as they leave me,
I keep a piece of them,
In whispers, in shadows, in the spaces between breaths.
To those who linger, I offer comfort.
To those who fear me, I am a challenge.
To all who pass through, I am a witness.
So let these testimonies live on in you,
A memory of what it means to stay,
To be more than just bricks and wood.
For in the end, aren’t we all seeking—
A home, a connection,
A place where echoes become something more?
A place where echoes become something more?