The Unforgetting Mansion - By Kabir Vohra

Written By: Kabir Vohra

Category: horror

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Kabir Vohra captivates with "The Unforgetting Mansion," a haunting entry in the Creative Writing category of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This horror story delves into the eerie experiences of Victor, an American veteran, as he encounters the supernatural within an abandoned mansion. Vohra's contribution to the competition underscores the chilling theme of memory and the unexplainable, inviting readers into a world where the past refuses to rest.

About the Work

"The Unforgetting Mansion" envelops readers in a chilling atmosphere with its vivid imagery and gripping suspense. Vohra masterfully intertwines elements of horror with psychological tension, exploring themes of loss, memory, and the unknown. The story's evocative descriptions and haunting mood create an unsettling experience, leaving the reader questioning the boundaries between reality and imagination.

The unforgetting mansion

Original Submission by Kabir Vohra

The Unforgetting Mansion

Victor was an American veteran, who spent most of his life in a small cottage on the coast of Miami when he wasn’t fighting wars in the military. He was already grey haired and had wrinkly pale skin, ragged, torn clothes. He had sharp blue eyes and ears that looked half-bitten. Victor had Impeccably clean black boots with Italian leather. He had set off in his ’85 Ford Mustang to an abandoned wooden mansion. It was peculiar that the landlords had declared the house “Free”. Victor spent a long time debating and questioning and defective areas of the house, and he was told every inch of the household was intact and functional.

Still a few more hours to kill. Victor felt a damp, pungent smell coming from the leather exterior coating of the car’s seats. He ignored it. If he arrived at the house early, he would get bored quickly since he’d have to stay out of it. The exterminators and cleaners were still preparing the mansion. Although he could use the extra time out of the mansion as an advantage, as he could take a look at the garden or the backyard.

Robust and sturdy trees filled the view, signalling Victor had accidentally driven off road while he was lost in his thoughts. Victor jerked the steering wheel to his right, where he caught a better yet distant and vague glimpse of the newly painted road, yellow and white dotted lines following across the dried cement like a stream. The car revved in response to this sudden movement, the driver’s seat door scraping against a spiralling branch. More road became visible, Victor sighed in relief as if he’d just escaped a nuclear explosion. Victor manoeuvred the blue sports car with a boisterous fit of energy. He seemed mad, frantically turning the wheel and shaking his entire body for no reasonable purpose.

After a few more long moments of this seizure-like behaviour, Victor finally got back on the road. The traffic light was a blazing red. Victor ignored it, taking a risky U-turn on the right, consequently nearly running over a Mini Cooper. The drive yelled a few swears at Victor. Shut up, Victor felt like saying. Then he realised it was his fault the accident nearly occurred and he should’ve apologised. Though Victor wasn’t that kind of person. After an hour of reckless driving, Victor finally arrived at the house. He realised the cleaners probably weren’t ready yet, and that it would be a good idea to ask. A sign rooted into the piles of earth in the garden read WELCOME!. This signalled that the cleaners were ready.

Victor got out of his car and carelessly slammed his car door shut. The mansion reminded him about his previous cottage, which had been bombed, ruthlessly blowing his wife and daughter to smithereens. Victor had spent many precious years trying to erase the incident from his life, to turn over a new leaf. Get a new life, new house, maybe even a new car. But the bombings had been a part of his life, and more than he’d like to admit, they made him stronger. They were a monument, something he couldn’t just remove. The everlasting memory was buried in a section of his mind to deep to forget. He shook himself free from his thoughts and snapped back to the present. There were more important things to think about, like why the mansion was free when it supposedly had no defects.

Victor took a few more illustrative glances at the house, wondering wether or not the mansion was fully-furnished. No description or detail of the house was given to him whatsoever in the phone call he engaged in with the former owner. The owner’s voice had been shaky, as if he wanted to get rid of the house as soon as he could. He had given slight praise and implicit criticism of the establishment. Victor recalled his voice, breaking but tying to stay calm, “It’ll need a bit of cleaning, a little touch up, but it’ll look fabulous after that. I left it here for forty-two years, but nobody would give a penny for it. So eventually, I started trying to just-give it away.”

Victor took a few deliberate steps towards the mansion, and the grand establishment had seemed to create it’s own, blinding yet invisible spotlight. The house stood out from any other aspect of the scenery. The roof awkwardly tilted to It’s right, the brown chipped wood sticking out on the edges. Small tile like structures were In-built into the top of the roof, where a bird’s nest lied to accommodate a few white ovular eggs. Dead leaves clung to the roof like a padlock and a metal link. The upper windows were faded with shimmering frosted glass, divided equally into 4 cross-cut sections, the translucent frosted glass bulging in a decagon between the wooden frame. Dozens of cobwebs filled the exterior of the house, making the outer walls only slightly visible. Victor could hear unsettling metallic clanging coming from the house. The sound stopped when he shook his head free, as if trying to symbolise his efforts of regaining his sanity over the years in a single, short and sharp movement. The mansion’s front walls was covered from the roof to the ground in cobwebs. The wood was black in some areas, protruding through some of the chipped brown wood.

The house had an overpoweringly eerie atmosphere overall. The edges of the house were misshapen and twisted in such a way the almost looked like human skull, hanging over the double-locked door as if they were about to fall.

Ghostly figures dashed through the chambers, partially visible through the cobweb coated windows. The scampered from one room to another, their tall, pale white bodies vaguely visible, along with their blazing, silver eyes. Chattering could be heard from the house. Victor heard the sound instantly and ignored it. It started to grow louder and shriller, making it impossible to make out what was being said. Louder and louder, the gibberish was taking over Victor, who was amazed by how easily his power to control himself was being suppressed. He was unable to think, and clasped his hands over his ears in an attempt to shake away the disturbing noises. Suddenly, the chattering came to an end, and so did the ghastly figures.

It’s just a figment of my imagination, Victor tried to assure himself, his mind losing certainty of wether or not what he just saw was real. He approached the door, two bloodshot red skull shaped padlocks guarding it. They were grinning widely, and Victor heard a maniacal cackle coming from the door, though the skulls lips didn’t move. I’m hearing things, he thought.

He searched his pockets for the keys he was given earlier in the week. He took them out, and fiddled with them, recklessly trying to insert them into the padlocks. He turned both of them at once, binding the powerful locks free from the door. They dropped on the flowerbed of the garden with a small clang, still grinning widely as if they were amused.

Victor sighed and pushed the door open, which creaked loudly due to the vacancy of about forty years. The interior was filled with cobwebs even more, the old fashioned recliners half-torn and stained. A black spider scattered across the floorboards which gave a pungent smell of rotten wood. A spiralling staircase led to the highest floors of the mansion, towering over Victor’s head. Strangely, the house seemed smaller on the outside. Before he could analyse anymore of the house, a telephone to his right started vibrating and ringing loudly. He picked it up, stretching it as far as the wire connecting to the dial pad limited him.

“Hello?” Victor’s voice came out low, almost sounding intimidating. “Hello?” He said again, without the slightest change in tone. He patiently waited for a reply, which came to him within a few more seconds.

“Hi, am I talking to a Victor Hargrove? Asked a male voice.

“Yeah, that’s me,” replied Victor, disinterested.

“Great! Listen, there’s something I need to tell you about the house you’re in. It’s really, really old, so if you hear any strange sounds or see anything- undesirable, please contact me immediately. My number is stuck to the rocking chair on your right. Speaking of which, it might be the source of any creaking sounds at night. I recommend you hire some carpenters to make this house more adequate in beauty, or, of course, you could just do it yourself, if you’re up for the exercise. There are a few more things I need to talk through. Like any vacant establishment, the house is bound to attract rumours and speculation. If you hear anything of that sort, just remember it’s all myths and legends. Oh yeah, also, the previous owners of the house, a couple and their children, just died yesterday. Some of the neighbours may bring that up and relate it to their crazy stories, but keep in mind they just make all this up ‘cause they have no better way to use their time. Also, there’s something you weren’t told before you agreed to stay in this house. The house is actually bigger on the inside, and there is an explanation for this. The roof is tilted in such a way the staircase can lead to higher floors through the gap between the roof and the second-highest point of the house. Don’t freak out after you hear what I say next. Those rooms are filled with corpses, which nobody ever took out. That, has no explanation. The previous owners said they were there ever since they first bought the house. They just left them in that room, saying they were afraid they’d start walking around or somethin’ in they took them somewhere. Those corpses never age somehow, and since their just dead bodies, you, as the owner of this establishment, have legal permission to bury or dispose of them in any way you like without causing harm or inconvenience to anyone else. As I mentioned earlier, we have no clue why they’re there, or how they died. One thing I would recommend you against is leaving them in another room. They’re put in that very room so the smell can’t travel to any other part of the mansion. Yes, they don’t age, but they still stink. A lot. Putting them in any other room will take the smell to the entire mansion. If you want, you can just leave them there, since it won’t really affect you much either way. Once again, nobody knows how they died, and if anyone in the neighbourhood claims they do, just ignore them, they could say they got ripped apart by a flying pig for all we know. Anyway, with all that being said, enjoy your new home, and keep in ming whatever I told you, especially the part on rumour and speculation.”

The man’s voice cut off abruptly, a distorted noise cutting into his speech. It felt a lot like static, but without the visuals. Victor yanked the wire connecting the telephone desperately, hoping it would stop the noise. Strangely, the static continued, and started to climax higher and higher, eventually leading to a sudden stop. That can’t be normal, thought Victor. He started to recall what the man had told him over the phone; those rooms are filled with corpses. Why on Earth would they be crammed together in one of the highest rooms of the house? Victor suddenly felt this urge to search for answers, along with a sudden, thought reasonable spark of anger. Why wasn’t he told all this before? Why only once he entered the house had he been giving this information? Victor further remembered the man telling him bluntly that there was no explanation to the bodies. There has to be an explanation. People don’t just randomly die in a room of a mansion and stay there for more than forty years. Was nobody else told this? Someone was bound to find out, such a crazy secret couldn’t be held for forty years. And once someone other than the owner discovered that secret, wouldn’t the police be involved? Wouldn’t they remove the bodies, examine them and find out what happened. Maybe the neighbours weren’t told? No, they wouldn’t have anything to make up rumours about if they didn’t know there were dead bodies filled in a room of an enormous mansion. Maybe I should tell someone? But there is indeed a question of national security. I can’t simply release information like this without it sparking some sort of havoc in the media.

Victor shook himself free from his thoughts, then walked towards the spiralling staircase. He climbed it until he was so fatigued he wished the house had an elevator instead. He walked down the hall, hoping to find a master bedroom. He found a small compartment between the hall and the continuation on the staircase. He pushed open the wooden door which had a peeled off, aged yellow coat of paint. The compartment was filled with utensils, bags of rotten flour, baseball bats and boxes. It seemed to be a storage room, except there were curtains at the left corner of the wall. Victor peered searchingly through the purple, torn silk curtains for a bed. He caught a glimpse of a folded white fluffy sheet covering a king-sized mattress. He pushed aside the curtain to reveal a spacious, glamorous bedroom. The curtain was not to signal the end of the room, but to lead to a completely different bedroom!

The bedroom looked nothing like the rest of the old, withered mansion. It was covered with bright blue and white paint, glimmering brightly through Victor’s eyes. A humongous bed covered a vast amount of space in the room, covered with white silky sheets and a green-painted wooden frame. The mattress was filled with designs of birds and flowers, standing out brightly in the bedroom. A bedside table with four shelves stood on the left of the bed, a flashlight hung loose from a single strand of string connecting the table to the bed. The room was illuminated with a crystal-clear transparent blue chandelier which’s bulbs were filled with turquoise filament, emitting a brilliant blue light. It hung through a small piercing in the ceiling, swaying constantly from left to right and right to left. Victor couldn’t see a switch for it on any of the walls.

The rest of the mansion was dark, no light shone in any corners of the rooms. This was the only room with functional light bulbs and a Morden day design. Victor lunged towards the bedside table and grabbed the flashlight, clicking it on and off. Miraculously, It had power and could emit light! Victor pushed through the curtains to find himself back in the storeroom. He walked out of it, flashing his light in the dark hall. He had faced lots of trouble climbing up the stairs in the dark, at least he had a beacon to help him this time.

Victor went down the stairs, flashing his light at the creaking, rotten wood. Victor heard a soft squishing sound as he put his foot into a hideous pile of molten flesh. It was small, but terrifying. Piles of blood were streaked through the stairs. There were rotten patches of skin piled on top of each other, around the size of a human palm.

“Must be a dead mouse,” Victor wondered aloud. “Or rather many dead mice” he added, muttering to hisself. Throughout the rest of his miniature journey down the spiralling staircase, he didn’t find anymore- strange sightings. He reached the bottom floor of the mansion, more and more worried about the mysterious establishment. Once again, he felt betrayed. Backstabbed. Why wasn’t he told anything, anything at all about the corpses in the rooms before he agreed to live in the house. Why wasn’t he told it was a pitch black labyrinth, filled with unusual rooms and possibly even creatures?

I need to get my mind off things. A walk could help.

Victor walked towards the front door, but before he could lay a finger on the rusty doorknob, he heard knocking, the sound of knuckles being rapped on the door. There was a small peephole, through which he saw a young, brown haired woman waving with a small smile. He opened the door.

“Can I help you?” Victor asked disinterestedly.

“Hi, I’m Vanessa.” She shook Victor’s hand.

“Listen, if you’re a neighbour and are here to tell me some of your cooked up stories about this house, than you might as well-” Victor began.

“No, I’m not the kind who spreads rumours. Listen, were you informed about a set of secret rooms between the roof and the-

“Yeah, the bodies.” Victor cut Vanessa off.

“Okay, good. So you do know something’s about it. Were you, by any chance informed about the Hardlock Estate murders?”

“The what now?”

“Hardlock was a name given to this mansion in the early ‘50s. In 1972, the town was going through it’s darkest phase. Our people were losing jobs, the economy was more unstable than ever. We didn’t even have the money to maintain our trade harbours, and the ships were built with gaping holes.” Vanessa paused to clear her throat. “But there was one rich family amongst all the poverty. The Greenwood’s were known to be an arrogant lot. They had this mansion built from scratch, and were posh and often stingy. The man of the house, Harold owned a car business, and was notorious for selling second hand cars for twice the regular rate. His wife and children were invisible to the community. Nobody cared about them, Harold was the main man. At first, the townsfolk were jealous. However, it didn’t take long for that jealousy to turn into hatred. So in December that year, six men schemed a plan to put an end to Harold’s everlasting legacy of wealth. They had meetings in an underground tunnel, which the illuminated with lights and signboards. They discussed on how to execute their plan. Then they’re ideas started to get violent. Too violent. “Let’s just put a bag over his head, hit him with a shovel and throw him onto a train rail!” Eventually the people got an even more wicked plan. Why just kill Harold? Imagine the pain in his eyes when he sees his entire family succumb, one by one! So, after a week had gone by, the six men broke into the mansion, silent as assassins, and slowly crept through the everlasting staircase. They squeezed their way into the smallest bedroom in that floor, to discover two young brothers sleeping, one with a blue bouncy futon on the floor. Then they took out their knives and sank them into the chests of both brothers, staining the mattresses with blood, grinning as they imagined the next few horrible deeds they could do. Next was the mother. One of the men took out a spiked bat and drove it into the mother’s head. Now was the time for the biggest part. The man dragged the bodies into the highest section of the house, and into the bedroom in which Harold was in. As soon as he woke up, he yelled a shriek so terrifying even the killers had jumped a bit. Harold was terrified, he started to yank hair out of his scalp. After that, he was killed to. The men left the bodies in the room in cold blood, then dashed out of the house.” Vanessa concluded the story with a small sigh.

Victor took a while to process all the information he had just been given.

Vanessa chuckled. “It’s just that, sometimes, the townsfolk, even the previous owners mentioned, decaying flesh on the house staircase.”

Victor racked his brains. Then he remembered- an oozing pile of flesh covered his staircase earlier in the day. It was so recent- how could he forget? He mentally fought with himself over wether he should tell Vanessa. She’ll think I’m crazy. Perhaps it’s better to keep this to myself.

“On that note, if you need anything, just get over to my house. It’s three blocks away from your’s.”

“Alright,” replied Victor, after which he slammed the door shut. The rusty hinges seemed to make a creaking sound of disapproval, which came to an abrupt end. Victor dragged himself away from the living room to a set of purple curtains. He pushed them open and peered out. The pitch-black night sky was filled with stars that seemed to gaze back at him, in a strange constellation. Suddenly, a thought jerked into Victor’s mind. The sun was shining brightly just a minute ago when I was talking to Vanessa! How did it become dark so quick. He shook himself free from his thoughts. I’m losing it. I need to get some sleep.

As Victor approached his master bedroom, he saw the chandelier flicker, then run out of power. Slowly, he crept thought the darkness and let out a gasp of shock as he saw a pair of burning red eyes. They stared at Victor. Cold, bloodshot and lifeless. More pairs of eyes appeared and stared at Victor, unblinking. The light flickered slightly, causing Victor to get a short glimpse of the bodies. Blood oozed down their rotten, flesh-deprived legs as chipped beige bone bulged out of their knees. The light flickered again. This time, it was longer. Victor could get a better glance at the hideous

undead ghouls. Victor stared into one of their face’s. Then, to his shock, he realised their wasn’t even a face. It was as if the face had been torn off, ripped out to reveal a half crushed skull. It’s teeth stuck out, gold and half broken, pointing outward awkwardly.

The rest of their face’s stared at Victor, their skulls protruding ridiculously. Small patches of blood and flesh stuck to their bodies. They were, unmistakably, the undead form of the Greenwood family. To them, he was an outsider. An uninvited guest. They circled Victor, inching closer every few seconds.

Then an idea struck Victor. A knife! He needed a knife! The Greenwood family were all killed with a knife, so, if Victor was holding one, they’d be scared away. Maybe they wouldn’t run away, maybe they wouldn’t even budge. But they certainly wouldn’t close in on him. Victor scanned his surroundings. Fortunately for him, a knife lay on his bedside table, its silver blade shining. It was symbolic. Of course, there was a very real possibility his plan wouldn’t work, but there was no harm in trying. He sunk his fist into one of the Greenwoods’ skulls, putting his many years of army training. Then, he lunged to the bedside table, grabbed the knife, and pointed it threateningly.

““Don’t come any closer,” said Victor calmly.

He approached his bed and watched as the red eyes slowly faded into the darkness. His fear turned into exhaustion. He sank into his bed and shut his eyes tightly.

Guess I’m keeping this knife in bed with me.

For a few seconds, the mansion was completely silent.

Then, from somewhere above him, came the faint sound of a knife being dragged slowly across the wooden floor.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious platform celebrating diverse voices in literature. It invites writers worldwide to showcase their talents across various genres, fostering creativity and innovation. The competition is a testament to the power of the written word, providing participants with an opportunity to share their unique stories with a global audience.

We extend our gratitude to Kabir Vohra for his haunting narrative, "The Unforgetting Mansion," presented in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Vohra's story is a compelling exploration of horror and memory, engaging readers with its atmospheric tension and mysterious plot. Thank you, Kabir, for sharing your creative vision with us.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.