3:17 AM.
Arjun didn't remember falling asleep.
He woke up on the floor.
Not in his bedroom.
Not in his apartment.
Cold.
Wet.
His cheek pressed against mud.
Real mud.
He opened his eyes slowly.
Dark sky above him.
Clouds drifting.
Cemetery.
He was lying beside Meera's grave.
His heart stopped.
He shot up instantly, breathing fast.
"How…?"
He looked around.
No one.
No lights.
No guards.
Just rows of graves and the smell of damp soil.
Then he looked at Meera's grave.
And his stomach twisted violently.
The grave was open.
The soil was scattered.
The coffin lid was cracked.
Splintered from inside.
His hands were covered in dirt.
Under his nails.
His jeans soaked with mud.
His palms bleeding slightly.
Like he had been digging.
"No… no… no…"
He crawled closer.
The coffin was empty.
Not just empty.
Scratched.
Deep nail marks inside the lid.
Long.
Desperate.
As if someone had tried to claw their way out.
And succeeded.
---
The Security Footage
By morning, police were there.
Questions.
Flashlights.
Accusations.
"You were found here unconscious," the officer said.
"How did you get here?"
"I don't know."
They didn't believe him.
He didn't blame them.
The cemetery guard brought security footage.
The small office TV flickered.
They played the recording from 2:52 AM.
Arjun watched himself on screen.
Walking into the cemetery.
Slow.
Stiff.
Like sleepwalking.
He walked directly to Meera's grave.
Knelt down.
And started digging.
With bare hands.
Non-stop.
For twenty minutes.
Blood visible on his fingers.
But then—
At 3:14 AM—
The footage glitched.
Static.
Screen distortion.
When it cleared—
Arjun wasn't alone.
There was someone standing behind him.
Tall.
Too tall.
Its head almost touching the top of the frame.
Arjun kept digging, unaware.
The figure slowly bent down.
Whispered something into his ear.
Even through the silent footage, you could see Arjun's body freeze.
Then the camera went completely black.
When the image returned at 3:29 AM—
The grave was open.
Arjun was lying on the ground.
And the figure was gone.
The officer turned to him.
"Who was that?"
Arjun's lips trembled.
"I don't know."
But deep inside—
He did.
It wasn't Meera.
It was the thing that had always been there.
The backseat presence.
---
The Autopsy Report
The coffin was taken for examination.
But something was wrong.
When they opened it at the morgue—
There was no body.
But the interior wasn't normal.
The wood inside was wet.
Not from rain.
From something thick.
Dark.
The forensic team found soil mixed with human tissue.
Fresh.
But it wasn't Meera's.
DNA testing later would show something impossible.
It matched no known record.
Not human.
Not animal.
Just… unknown.
And inside the coffin lid—
One sentence carved deep into the wood:
"HE IS THE DOOR."
---
The Door Opens
That night, Arjun was released.
Lack of evidence.
Mental trauma.
They called it grief-induced episode.
He went home.
Or what he thought was home.
When he opened the apartment door—
Everything was wrong.
Furniture slightly shifted.
Walls darker.
Photos missing.
The air heavy.
He walked inside slowly.
His reflection followed him in the hallway mirror.
Perfectly synced.
Normal.
For now.
He sat on the sofa.
Trying to think.
Trying to breathe.
Then he heard it.
Footsteps.
From his bedroom.
Soft.
Bare.
Dragging slightly.
He stood up.
Walked toward the sound.
Every step felt like walking underwater.
He pushed the bedroom door.
It creaked open.
The room was empty.
But the bed—
Had mud on it.
Fresh.
And in the center of the bed—
Something was lying there.
Not a body.
Not fully.
A shape.
Like someone wrapped in darkness.
It moved slightly.
Breathing.
Arjun stepped closer.
"Meera?"
The shape slowly unwrapped itself.
Not Meera.
Not fully.
It had her face.
But stretched.
Eyes too wide.
Mouth too large.
Skin cracked like dried earth.
And inside those cracks—
Something else was moving.
Like multiple faces trying to push through.
"You opened it," she said.
Her voice layered.
Multiple tones speaking together.
"You let us out."
"I didn't—"
"You are the door."
The walls started sweating.
Dark liquid oozing down like the house itself was rotting.
The ceiling bulged.
Like something crawling above it.
He backed away.
But the bedroom door slammed shut behind him.
Locked.
The thing on the bed slowly crawled down.
Limbs bending wrong.
Joints popping.
It moved like it had learned to walk by watching humans—
But never practiced correctly.
"You carry guilt."
Its head twisted 180 degrees.
"You carry regret."
It crawled closer.
"And we feed."
Suddenly—
The bedroom walls dissolved.
Not physically.
But visually.
Arjun wasn't in his apartment anymore.
He was in the car.
Driver seat.
Hands on steering wheel.
Rain pouring.
Meera beside him.
But she wasn't alive.
She was already dead.
Head tilted.
Eyes open.
And in the backseat—
Three silhouettes.
Smiling.
Waiting.
"You never saw us," they whispered together.
"But we saw you."
The brake pedal went soft again.
The truck headlights appeared again.
Crash moment replaying—
But this time—
The silhouettes reached forward from the backseat.
Their hands were on the steering wheel.
Not his.
They had been driving.
---
Final Scene
Arjun woke up screaming.
Back in his bedroom.
Morning light faint through curtains.
Everything normal.
No mud.
No darkness.
No creature.
He ran to the mirror.
Looked at himself.
Normal.
But when he blinked—
For half a second—
He saw something behind his own eyes.
Like shadows moving inside his skull.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
He answered slowly.
This time—
No whisper.
No breathing.
Just one sentence.
Calm.
Clear.
Ancient.
"You're not being haunted."
Pause.
"We're preparing you."
The line disconnected.
Outside his window—
Across the street—
A car was parked.
Engine running.
No driver visible.
But the backseat window slowly fogged up from inside.
And on the fog—
A handprint appeared.
Then another.
Then another.
Three in total.