Ayaan couldn't even remember the ride home.
Rehan's words played over and over in his head like a broken tape:
"Sameer is missing."
Missing.
Sameer—the guy who never sat still, who spammed memes at midnight, who was always around—had vanished. No calls. No texts. Phone switched off. His house? Locked from the outside.
Ayaan felt cold. Not the kind of cold you fix with a blanket. A strange stillness filled the space, like the air was holding its breath.
His phone buzzed.
Rehan: Any news?
Ayaan: Nothing. You?
Rehan: Went to his place again. Neighbors said he left early in the morning. No one's seen him since.
Ayaan: This doesn't feel right. Something's off.
There was a pause. Then another text.
Rehan: You think this has anything to do with… that place?
That place.
Ayaan didn't reply.
Because deep down, he'd already asked himself the same thing. Over and over.
That night, sleep came in pieces. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt like something was watching. Shadows moved when they shouldn't. The ceiling creaked like it was breathing.
Then—
Creak.
His eyes flew open.
The sound came again. Creak.
From beneath the wooden floor.
He sat up slowly, heart drumming in his chest.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He froze. It was faint—but real. Like fingernails or knuckles… rapping against the boards beneath him.
He leaned forward, holding his breath.
Silence.
Then—
A whisper.
So soft, it felt like the air itself spoke. He blinked, unsure if he imagined it.
But then he heard it again.
"Ayaan..."
He shot up, heart racing, stumbling back until he hit the wall.
No. This isn't real.
But it kept going.
"You brought it back... You crossed... now we all pay..."
Ayaan clapped his hands over his ears.
"Stop! Leave me alone!" he yelled.
And just like that—quiet.
No whisper. No tapping. Just the sound of his own breath and the distant hum of the night.
By morning, he looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. He didn't tell his mother. How could he? "Hey, I think something under the floor is whispering my name"—what kind of sense would that make?
He left the house quickly. Fresh air. That's what he needed.
As he passed the park, he slowed down.
The swings stood still—except for one.
Something was tied to the chain.
A thin red thread.
The same kind he'd seen near the border—where it all began.
His stomach dropped.
Etched into the wooden seat, with something sharp, were six chilling words:
"One by one, they'll vanish."
Ayaan stared. The wind tugged gently at the swing.
Sameer was first.
But he wouldn't be the last.
---