Chapter 1: Dear Ghost, Please Don't Kill Me

Riya Sharma hated two things in life: ghosts and deadlines. Unfortunately, both were staring her in the face.

The rusted iron gate of Shanti Villa stood before her, wide open like a hungry mouth. The walls were covered in betel stains and graffiti that read "Bhoot hai yahan". But the scariest thing was the message blinking on her phone.

Publisher Mehta: "Riya beta, you already took 50,000 advance. No horror novel by next week and I’m filing a fraud case. 7 days. Tick tock."

Riya clutched her dupatta tight. "Thakur saab, are you sure this place is actually haunted?"

The old caretaker took a drag from his beedi. "Bitiya, in 2019 the Mehra family was wiped out in this house. Father, mother, son. All three. Police wrote suicide. But how do suicide people slit their own throats? All three? In one night?"

Riya's throat went dry. "I... I think I’ll go back."

Then her phone rang. Mehta's voice boomed: "Riya! You reached? Good! Write fast. Readers want blood, you understand? Blood!"

The gate creaked open with a scream. A gust of stale air hit her face. Riya closed her eyes and stepped inside. "Fine. You win. I lose."

It was 1 AM. Riya opened her laptop in the drawing room. An old typewriter sat in the corner. Remington brand. Covered in dust. She typed on her laptop: Chapter 1: The night was dark and stormy...

Tak. Tak. Tak.

Riya's heart jumped to her mouth. The typewriter was moving on its own. No one was near it. Words appeared on the paper:

WRONG. THE NIGHT WAS NOT DARK. IT WAS POORNIMA. THERE WAS MOONLIGHT. AND I WAS ALIVE.

Riya fell off the chair. "Maa... maaa... maaaamiiii!"

The typewriter did not stop. DON'T SCREAM. WRITE. MY MURDER STORY. I WILL MAKE YOU FAMOUS.

Riya sat on her knees, hands folded. "B-B-Bhaiya ji... I have never watched a full horror movie. I write comedy. Please let me go."

The typewriter made one loud tak. THEN WRITE COMEDY. BUT TELL THE TRUTH ABOUT MY DEATH. DEAL?

Tears filled Riya's eyes. "D-Deal confirmed? You won't scare me? You won't kill me?"

PROMISE. JUST LET ME TYPE AFTER 12 AT NIGHT. YOU WRITE DURING THE DAY.

Riya sniffled. "O-Okay... what is your good name?"

The typewriter stayed silent for five seconds. Then it wrote: KABIR. AND I WAS KILLED BY RIYA SHARMA.

The phone slipped from Riya's hand. "WHY... WHY IS MY NAME THERE???"

At 6 AM Riya woke up. She had slept on the floor. In front of her was the typewriter. And next to it were ten fresh sheets of paper. Written neatly.

The title on top read: My Murder By Riya Sharma - Part 1

Riya picked up the first page with shaking fingers. She read the last line and her blood turned cold.

Let's start from last night... when you were 8 years old... and I was 13.

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