The Inn Between felt too quiet. Aarav sat on the wooden bench near the entrance, staring at the flickering lanterns that lined the dim corridor. The air was heavy, as if the building itself was holding its breath.
The innkeeper had left him in a room to "rest," but Aarav couldn't shake the unease crawling under his skin. The walls were old, plaster cracked, but it wasn't their age that unsettled him. It was the faint sound—like whispers—coming from inside them.
At first, he thought it was the wind. But when he pressed his ear against the wall, he heard them clearly. Voices. Many of them. Some crying. Some laughing. And one voice that cut through them all:
"You cannot escape… you belong to her now."
Aarav stumbled back, clutching his chest. His breath quickened.
Suddenly, the lantern in his room went out, plunging him into darkness. His hands shook as he fumbled for the matches the innkeeper had left, but before he could strike one, something sharp scraped across the door. Slow. Deliberate. Like nails dragging across wood.
A voice followed. Low. Drawn out. Familiar.
"Aarav…"
The sound of his own name froze him in place.
The door rattled violently. Something—or someone—was trying to come in.
And then… silence.
When he finally struck the match, the flame revealed something that made his blood run cold: in the center of the room, carved into the floorboards, was a wedding ring… fresh and glistening with crimson.