Night Ahaan didn't sleep.
He couldn't.
Every time he closed his eyes, he heard the voice again.
Not just whispering anymore.
It was calling him by a different name.
"Hello, Rihan…"
But that wasn't his name.
He was Ahaan.
Wasn't he?
He sat on the floor, staring at the orphanage photo. His father stood there—young, scared, forgotten. The more Ahaan looked at it, the more the photo changed.
Now… some of the children's faces were gone completely.
Just black empty ovals.
And his father's face… was starting to fade too.
Ahaan opened his father's journal again.
This time, the ink had bled on one page, revealing a line hidden underneath:
"They don't kill you.
They take your name.
And once they have it… you stop existing."
Ahaan's blood ran cold.
He quickly grabbed a pen and wrote his name on a page.
Just to make sure.
A H A A N
But as he stared at the letters, something strange happened.
The ink started to move.
The letters began to stretch.
Twist.
And vanish.
One by one.
Until the page was empty.
He blinked.
Suddenly, his head hurt.
He tried to remember something simple—his birthday.
Nothing came.
His favorite food?
Gone.
His mother's voice?
Faint… like it was underwater.
His name?
He tried to say it out loud:
"A… Ah… A…ha…"
The word wouldn't leave his mouth.
Panic hit him like a wave.
He opened the book.
It glowed red again.
A new case had appeared:
CASE SIXTEEN: The Name-Eaters
They whisper in dreams.
They wear faces you trust.
They eat your name, then your memories, then your soul.
Speak not. Or they'll hear you.
At the bottom:
"You have already spoken."
Suddenly, his bedroom light flickered.
Ahaan turned.
Someone stood near the door.
Small.
Still.
A child.
Wearing old clothes.
Face turned away.
Not moving.
Then—slowly—it tilted its head, bone cracking as it turned.
And whispered:
"You forgot me first.
Now you'll forget yourself."
The lights exploded.
Ahaan woke up gasping.
He wasn't in his room.
He was standing in front of a large gate.
Behind it stood the orphanage.
Saint Elora.
But it was even worse now.
The building was pulsing… breathing.
The windows screamed with no sound.
A sign on the gate read:
"FORGOTTEN CHILDREN ONLY."
Ahaan looked down at his hands.
They were smaller.
Younger.
Like a child's.
He touched his face.
It didn't feel like his anymore.
He didn't feel like Ahaan anymore.
He didn't even remember what he looked like.
The voice inside him whispered again:
"They are taking pieces of you.
Do not give your name.
Do not speak.
Do not trust the children."
Ahaan stepped through the gate.
Inside, everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
He heard soft humming from one of the rooms.
Like a lullaby.
He followed the sound… past crooked paintings and shattered toys.
He opened a door.
Inside were children sitting in a circle.
All silent.
All staring at the wall.
Their eyes were black.
Mouths sewn shut.
One of them slowly turned.
It was his father—but as a boy.
His voice echoed inside Ahaan's head:
"They took my name.
I stayed too long.
You must leave… before they feed on what's left of you."
Ahaan stepped back.
Then he heard laughter.
Cold.
High-pitched.
Dozens of voices.
The hallway behind him filled with shadows.
Children crawling on the walls.
Walking upside down.
Whispers bouncing through the air like knives.
He ran.
But every hallway changed shape.
The floor stretched.
Doors vanished.
Walls moved.
He tripped.
Hit the ground.
And then—
Everything stopped.
He was in a small room.
Alone.
A mirror stood in front of him.
In it, he saw himself.
But the name above his reflection said:
"UNKNOWN."
And his reflection… didn't move.
It just stared.
Suddenly, all the lights went out.
Hands reached from the walls.
Soft. Small. Cold.
They began pulling at him.
His voice.
His face.
His memories.
Each hand whispered a word:
"Forget…"
"Forget…"
"Forget…"
Ahaan screamed inside.
But his mouth didn't open.
He couldn't speak.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't remember.
Who was he?
Why was he here?
Then… something inside him pulsed.
A small light.
From the book.
It glowed.
It burned through the dark.
And with it came a new voice—not the whisper.
This one felt… real.
Strong.
"Remember who you are, Ahaan.
Speak it, even if your voice shakes.
Your name is your sword."
Ahaan stood up, shaking.
The shadows screamed.
The mirror cracked.
Hands pulled harder.
And he shouted—not with fear—but with power:
"MY NAME IS AHAAN!"
Light burst from the floor.
The children screamed.
The shadows turned to dust.
The building groaned like it was dying.
The mirror shattered.
And Ahaan woke up—back in his room.
Soaking in sweat.
Breathing hard.
But he remembered.
He remembered.
The book sat beside him.
A new line appeared:
"You saved your name…
But next time, it will want your face."
Ready for twist and scary...
Ready