The first time the lights flickered, Aarav thought nothing of it.

Old houses breathe, his grandmother used to say. They sigh through cracked walls and whisper through loose wires. This house—his house now—had been empty for nearly ten years. Dust gathered in corners like secrets, and the wooden floors creaked even when he stood perfectly still.

Still, a flicker was just a flicker.

He tightened his grip on the flashlight and moved deeper into the hallway. The electricity had come back, but only barely—enough to power a dim yellow bulb that swung gently overhead. He hadn’t touched it.

That was the second thing he tried not to think about.

“Wind,” he muttered under his breath.

Except the windows were shut.

Aarav exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. He had come here for a reason. His parents wanted the house sold, but first someone had to clean it, check it, make sure it was even safe.

And Aarav—being the one who didn’t scare easily—had volunteered.

At least, that’s what he told them.

The truth was simpler. He wanted to understand why his grandmother had refused to leave this place until the day she died.

At the end of the hallway stood a door.

It was the only one still locked.

He had tried the key earlier. It didn’t fit. The handle wouldn’t budge. Even the wood around it felt… different. Colder.

Now, standing in front of it again, Aarav felt that same chill crawl up his spine.

“Just a room,” he whispered.

The bulb above him flickered again.

Once.

Twice.

Then went out.

Darkness swallowed everything.

For a moment, Aarav didn’t move. He could hear his own breathing, too loud in the silence. Then he clicked on his flashlight. The beam cut through the dark, shaky at first, then steady.

The door was still there.

But something was wrong.

The handle… was turning.

Slowly.

Aarav froze.

He hadn’t touched it.

The soft click echoed louder than it should have.

The door creaked open by itself.

Inside was nothing but darkness.

Not the kind his flashlight could chase away. This darkness felt thick, like it had weight. Like it was watching him.

Aarav swallowed. Every instinct told him to walk away.

But he didn’t.

He stepped inside.

The air changed instantly.

Colder. Heavier.

The beam of his flashlight flickered as if struggling to stay alive. The room was empty—or at least it looked empty. Bare walls. No furniture. No windows.

Just a faint smell.

Damp.

Rotten.

And something else… something metallic.

Aarav took another step forward.

Then another.

The door behind him slammed shut.

He spun around, heart racing, and grabbed the handle. It wouldn’t move.

“Hey—this isn’t funny!” he shouted, though there was no one to hear him.

Silence answered.

Then—

A whisper.

Soft. Faint.

Right behind him.

“You came back…”

Aarav’s breath caught. He turned slowly, flashlight trembling in his hand.

No one was there.

“I—who’s there?” he stammered.

The whisper came again. Closer this time.

“We waited…”

The flashlight flickered wildly now, the beam jumping across the walls.

And that’s when he saw it.

Scratches.

Dozens of them.

No—hundreds.

Covering the walls from floor to ceiling. Deep, uneven marks like something had clawed its way out—or in.

Aarav stepped back, his foot hitting something on the ground.

He looked down.

A shape.

No—more than one.

The beam steadied just enough for him to see.

Handprints.

Pressed into the floor.

Dark.

Dried.

Too many to count.

Leading toward the center of the room.

Aarav’s chest tightened.

“This… this wasn’t here before…”

The whisper laughed.

A low, broken sound.

“You didn’t see…”

The temperature dropped suddenly. His breath fogged in front