The heavy oak door groaned on its rusted hinges.
A high-pitched metallic shriek that echoed through the hollow hallway as Rahul pushed it open.
The beam of his flashlight cut through the stagnant air.
Illuminating dancing dust motes that seemed to swirl like tiny, frantic spirits.
Inside, the air wasn't just cold; it was heavy.
A thick, damp pressure that made every breath feel like a deliberate effort.
Rahul glanced back at Priya.
Her knuckles were white, gripping the hem of her sweater so tightly the wool seemed ready to fray.
Her face, usually vibrant, was now the color of parched bone.
And though her lips parted to speak, only a jagged, silent breath escaped.
Ritik stood at the rear.
The rhythmic thud-clack of his boots against the stone floor sounding like the labored heartbeat of a dying animal.
"Look there," Ritik whispered, his voice cracking as he pointed toward the grand staircase.
A dark, viscous trail smeared the marble steps, leading upward into the devouring gloom.
When the flashlight hit the streak, it glistened.
A fresh, tacky wetness as if something heavy and sodden had just been dragged into the heights.
The silence was so absolute that Rahul could hear the dry friction of his own blinking eyelids.
Suddenly, from the landing above, a sound drifted down—tap... tap... tap...
The deliberate rhythm of long fingernails drumming on a wooden table.
Priya's hand clamped onto Rahul's shoulder, her fingernails digging through his jacket.
Rahul swung the light upward.
A silhouette stood by the banister.
It was a void, a shape darker than the surrounding shadows, standing perfectly still.
It had no discernible features.
Just a jagged outline that seemed to absorb the very light he shone upon it.
"Who's there?"
Rahul's voice died in his throat, reduced to a dry rasp.
The figure didn't speak.
Instead, it pivoted with a sound like dry autumn leaves being crushed underfoot.
A sudden, sharp scream from Ritik tore through the air.
Rahul and Priya spun around, but the space behind them was vacant.
Where Ritik had stood, only his phone remained on the floor.
Its screen shattered into a spiderweb of glass, smeared with a single, crimson thumbprint.
The walls began to breathe.
A low hum, not quite a voice but a vibration, rattled Rahul's teeth.
Panic surging, Priya bolted back toward the entrance, but the massive door was gone.
In its place stood a seamless stone wall lined with ancient, gilded portraits.
The subjects in the paintings had no eyes.
Only hollow, charcoal pits that seemed to track her every move.
Rahul watched in horror as shadows on the floor began to detach themselves.
Crawling toward him like ink-black serpents.
He tried to lift his feet, but the floor felt like thickening tar, dragging him down.
The flashlight flickered, the batteries dying.
In the final, dying pulse of light, he saw Priya in the corner.
She was hovering inches off the ground, her face pressed flat against the wall.
Her body twitching in a rhythmic, unnatural jerk.
Tap... tap... tap...
The sound was now directly behind his ear.
A touch, colder than glacier ice, settled on the nape of his neck.
The air grew metallic, thick with the iron scent of fresh blood.
Rahul opened his mouth to scream, but the darkness rushed in.
Filling his lungs until there was nothing left but the black.
- The End -