The wind outside howled like it had a mouth.
Ahaan sat on his bed, flipping through the old book again. After what happened with his shadow, he couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that fake version of himself… smiling with no mouth.
But tonight, something else was wrong.
Something was whispering.
Not outside.
Not through the window.
Inside his head.
It started soft.
"Come find me…"
Ahaan froze.
He looked around.
The room was empty. Silent.
He held the book close, breathing fast.
"Come find me… before they do."
He jumped up and grabbed his backpack.
There was only one place that could hold more clues — his father's old storage box. His uncle kept it locked away in the attic.
Ahaan tiptoed out of his room, climbed the narrow stairs, and pushed open the attic door.
Dust hit his nose.
Spiders ran across the wooden beams.
The air felt colder up here — like something had never left.
In the corner, under a sheet, sat the box.
He pulled it open.
Inside were old clothes… broken watches… and a small, leather-bound journal.
His father's journal.
Ahaan sat down and opened the first page.
Dust fell off the edges.
There were sketches — strange symbols, maps, shadowy figures.
But halfway through, something caught his breath.
A photo.
Black and white.
Old.
An old building with broken windows and vines crawling up the walls.
A sign at the top: "Saint Elora Orphanage."
But the worst part?
In the corner of the photo, barely visible…
Was his father.
Younger. Maybe just a teenager.
Standing next to a group of children.
And behind them… a dark figure with no face.
Ahaan turned the photo over.
Written in shaky handwriting were the words:
"They never left.
I heard them.
I still do."
Suddenly, the voice in his head returned — clearer this time.
"Come. The place still remembers.
The walls whisper.
The truth is buried inside."
Ahaan's hands trembled.
He didn't know why, but he had to go there.
It was like the voice was pulling him.
He packed the photo, the book, and the journal in his bag.
An hour later, he stood at the edge of town.
Past the river.
Past the fields.
Where no one ever went anymore.
There, in the middle of a dead forest, stood the orphanage.
Just like the photo.
Crumbling bricks. Broken glass.
And a black sky hanging above it like a blanket.
As he stepped closer, the air got colder.
The trees were dead.
No birds.
No sound.
Just the creaking groan of the building breathing — like it was alive.
The gate opened on its own.
Ahaan didn't even touch it.
Inside the orphanage yard were old toys scattered in the mud.
A rusted swing moved slowly, even though there was no wind.
He stepped through the front doors.
The air was heavy.
Dark.
The lights flickered.
On the wall was a huge photo frame — old, dusty, cracked.
It showed a group of orphans.
Same as the one from his father's photo.
Except…
Each face was scratched out.
Except one.
His father.
Still a teen.
Staring right at Ahaan.
With wide, terrified eyes.
The voice in his head spoke again.
But this time… it wasn't asking.
It was warning.
"You're not supposed to be here.
They see you now."
Ahaan turned sharply.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Tiny ones.
Like children.
But no one was there.
Then came the laugh.
High-pitched. Hollow. Too close.
He ran down the hallway and pushed open a door.
Inside was a nursery — walls painted with clouds and stars. But everything was ruined. Torn blankets. Cribs full of cobwebs.
On the far wall, someone had written in red:
"NO ONE LEFT. NO ONE GROWN.
THEY TOOK OUR NAMES. WE BECAME THEIR OWN."
Ahaan backed away.
Then suddenly—
The door slammed shut.
Lights exploded.
Children's shadows danced across the walls.
But no children.
Only shadows.
And whispers.
"Stay…"
"Play…"
"You belong now…"
Then one shadow stepped forward.
Small. Child-sized.
It looked like a girl.
But her head… was turned the wrong way.
And she walked backward… without moving her feet.
The voice in Ahaan's head screamed.
"RUN. RUN NOW."
He turned and kicked open the door.
He ran through the hallway, breathing fast, heart pounding.
Down the stairs. Through the main hall.
Out the front doors.
He didn't stop until he reached the river again.
Only then did he look back.
The orphanage was gone.
Like it had never been there.
Only the cold wind and dead trees remained.
Back at home, Ahaan opened the book again.
A new case had appeared:
CASE FIFTEEN:
The Orphanage That Swallowed Names
Forgotten by the world.
Remembered by shadows.
A place where souls grow quiet… and monsters take their names.
And written in messy ink:
"Your father tried to escape it.
Now it's your turn."
Now story befins with horror ready for it....