Night had settled like a heavy blanket over the hostel. The wind outside whispered through broken windows, and the wooden floor groaned under every step. The ten students, now a little more familiar with one another, gathered in the common room after dinner.
Laughter echoed off the damp walls as Aryan shared a joke, trying to lighten the mood. But behind every smile, there was a shadow of unease — a silence that lurked between words.
As the group began to disperse for the night, Rohit decided to explore the top floor. The very floor Mr. Mishra had warned them about.
"Don't be an idiot, man," Vishal said. "Didn't you hear the caretaker?"
Rohit smirked. "Come on. Ghost stories? Please. It's just an old building. Watch me — I'll be back in ten minutes."
He grabbed a flashlight and headed up the creaky stairs alone. The others exchanged glances but said nothing.
The top floor was darker than the rest of the building, as if the light itself didn't want to stay. Rohit moved slowly down the hallway, the beam of his flashlight flickering across peeling walls and broken nameplates.
Then… a door at the very end of the hall creaked open on its own.
Rohit froze.
"Who's there?" he called out, but only silence answered him.
He stepped closer. The room beyond was pitch black. He pointed his flashlight inside, but it died — the battery gone in an instant.
Cold air wrapped around him like fingers.
Then a whisper, right behind his ear:
"You shouldn't have come here…"
Rohit turned to run — but the hallway was gone. Just darkness. Endless, suffocating darkness.
The next morning, he didn't come down for breakfast.
At first, everyone thought he was playing a prank. But when they reached the top floor, there was no sign of Rohit. His phone was lying in the hallway, screen cracked, flashlight app still open.
Mr. Mishra only shook his head.
"One down," he muttered under his breath. "It has begun."