Ahaan had always been... different.
While other kids his age obsessed over cricket, cartoons, or video games, Ahaan was busy reading ghost stories under his blanket with a flashlight at 2 AM. His room wasn't filled with action figures or superhero posters — instead, dusty books on haunted forts, cursed objects, and mysterious disappearances lined his shelves. He even had an old Ouija board tucked away beneath his bed, though he hadn't dared to use it.
Yet.
He was only twelve, but he spoke like someone twice his age when it came to ghosts, spirits, and the supernatural. He could tell you about the Woman in White who haunted the roads of Delhi, the Chudail of Rajasthan, or the abandoned village of Kuldhara, where no one had lived for 200 years. His friends called him weird. His teachers called him imaginative. His parents... well, they didn't know what to make of him.
"Ahaan, stop scaring your little cousin!" his mom would scold whenever he told horror stories at family gatherings. But secretly, even she leaned in closer when he talked about a man who disappeared after taking a selfie near a haunted lake.
To Ahaan, the world was full of questions — dark, hidden questions that most people were too scared to ask.
He wanted answers.
That's why he found himself, on a hot July evening, sneaking into the old library on the edge of town. It was technically closed for renovations, and a large "NO ENTRY" sign was nailed to the door. But Ahaan didn't believe in signs. He believed in stories. And according to the internet, this library once belonged to a man named Hari Prasad — a librarian who vanished without a trace forty years ago after claiming he had "finally found the truth."
The building was more shadow than structure. Broken windows, peeling paint, and vines that curled up the walls like green fingers. Ahaan's heart raced, but it wasn't fear. It was excitement — the kind that pulsed in your chest when you felt something big was about to happen.
He ducked under a loose panel in the side gate and stepped onto the creaking floorboards inside. Dust danced in the shafts of sunlight streaming through cracked windows. Shelves stood tall like ancient trees, and the smell of old paper filled the air like a forgotten memory.
Ahaan held his breath.
He wasn't supposed to be here. But he also knew something others didn't: every haunted place has a story waiting to be told.
And tonight, he wanted to hear it.
He moved between the rows of books, his fingers brushing against spines with strange titles — Shadow Walkers, Spirits Among Us, The Book of Vanishing. One book had no title at all, just a black leather cover and a lock on the side. Of course, that was the one he picked up.
"It's locked," he muttered, frowning. But the moment he touched it, the air grew colder.
Ahaan froze.
It wasn't just his imagination — he was sure of it. The temperature had dropped. He looked around. Nothing moved. No wind. No open window. Still, he could feel it: something had shifted.
And then he heard it — a whisper. So faint, it could've been mistaken for wind. But no… it had shape. Words.
"Don't open it."
His spine stiffened.
"Who's there?" he called out, spinning in circles. "Hello?"
Silence.
He glanced at the book again. The lock had somehow clicked open.
"No way…" he whispered.
His hands trembled as he opened the cover. The pages were yellow, handwritten, and full of strange symbols. Drawings of creatures with too many eyes. A map with no names. A list of dates — all in the past, all followed by the word Disappeared.
This wasn't just a book.
It was a record. Of people, places, things... gone without explanation.
Ahaan turned another page and stopped. His own town was listed. Right at the bottom: Jasranpur - July 2025 - Unknown boy, disappeared inside library.
His breath caught.
That was this library.
And this month.
And… him?
"No," he muttered, slamming the book shut.
But the room wasn't the same anymore.
It was darker.
The shadows moved when he didn't.
Then he heard footsteps. Not loud, not threatening — but slow. Deliberate.
Coming closer.
Ahaan ducked behind a shelf, heart pounding like a drum. His mind raced. Was it a security guard? A ghost? Something else?
The footsteps stopped. Silence again.
Then a voice, deep and calm, echoed through the room: "Curiosity is dangerous, boy. But you already know that, don't you?"
Ahaan didn't answer.
He clutched the book, unsure whether to run or listen.
"I'm not here to hurt you," the voice said. "But you've opened something. And once opened… it must be followed."
The shadows shifted. A figure stepped into view — a tall man in a dusty coat, his face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. He didn't look alive. But he didn't look dead either.
"Who are you?" Ahaan asked, voice shaking.
The man smiled, revealing teeth that looked too sharp. "Let's just say... I'm your guide. And if you truly want to understand the stories you chase, then you'll have to come with me."
"Where?"
The man extended a gloved hand. "To where the stories live."
Ahaan hesitated.
Every instinct screamed at him to run. But something deeper — that same feeling that made him read about monsters at night — told him this was it. The beginning.
He took the man's hand.
And the library vanished.