Ahaan stood in front of the rusted door marked Room 7.
He held the silver key tight in his hand.
His heart thumped fast in his chest.
His palms were sweaty.
Something told him once he opened this door… things would change forever.
Not just ghost stories.
Not just curses.
This would lead him closer to the truth.
He slid the key into the lock.
Click.
The door creaked open slowly on its own.
It was dark inside.
No lights.
No sound.
Only silence.
He stepped in and closed the door behind him.
Then—
A soft voice began to sing.
It came from the corner of the room.
Ahaan froze.
The voice was high and smooth… like a child.
But the words?
They were his name.
🎵 "Ahaan... Ahaan... why did you come?
The song is written... the end has begun..." 🎵
He turned his flashlight on.
The light flickered for a second.
And then he saw it—
Instruments.
Dozens of them.
Violins. Drums. Flutes. Guitars.
All hanging from the walls by rusty hooks.
But they weren't made of wood or metal.
They were made of something else.
Skin. Bones. Teeth. Hair.
Ahaan's stomach turned.
He covered his mouth.
Was this room built with… real people?
The voice sang again:
🎵 "Ahaan, the one who listens too deep...
Soon, like the others, you too shall sleep..." 🎵
Suddenly, one of the violins moved.
It swung gently back and forth.
Then another.
And another.
Soon, all the instruments began to sway and hum.
But the hum wasn't music.
It was breathing.
Fast.
Heavy.
Panicked.
The journal in Ahaan's bag flipped open again.
He pulled it out.
New words appeared:
CASE TWENTY-FOUR: The Song That Knows Your Name
"Room 7 was sealed for a reason.
The instruments here were made from the children who couldn't leave.
Each one still remembers their pain.
One of them sings, but no one knows which.
If the song reaches the final verse… the listener disappears forever."
Ahaan looked around, terrified.
Which instrument was singing?
He had to find it before the song finished.
He walked through the room, flashlight shaking in his hand.
The instruments whispered as he passed:
"Why did you come?"
"He gave us up…"
"You're just like him…"
Then, he saw it.
In the middle of the room: a small piano made of blackened bone.
One key was glowing faint red.
The song came from there.
It was almost at the end.
🎵 "Ahaan… your story's near close...
Like petals that fall, like blood on the rose..." 🎵
He rushed to it.
He remembered what the last page had said.
If the song ended, he would vanish.
He reached inside his bag and pulled out the shard of the White Tree mirror.
He placed it near the piano.
The red glow reflected in the shard…
And inside the reflection, he saw a face.
Not his.
His father.
But younger. Scared.
Sitting at this very piano.
Ahaan gasped.
His father had been here.
And he was the one who locked this room.
To keep the song trapped.
But now, it had found his son.
The final verse began:
🎵 "Ahaan… one step more, you'll be gone…
A breath, a blink, then you'll be withdrawn…" 🎵
Ahaan screamed, "NO!"
He slammed the mirror shard onto the glowing key.
CRACK!
The piano let out a painful screech.
Not music.
Not singing.
Just pain.
The sound shook the room.
All the instruments stopped moving.
The lights exploded above.
And then—
Silence.
Smoke filled the room.
Ahaan coughed and stepped back.
The piano was gone.
Turned to ash.
And on the floor lay a torn, bloody page from a notebook.
He picked it up.
His father's handwriting.
Shaky, rushed:
"I locked Room 7. I buried the song. If someone finds this, I'm sorry. I had to give up the boy to protect my real son. Ahaan... forgive me."
Ahaan froze.
His head spun.
"What boy?"
What did his father mean?
Who was the child he gave up?
The same one from the photo?
The same one from the orphanage?
The journal flipped again.
One sentence appeared:
"The next case... is not a ghost. It's your blood."
Ahaan's hands trembled.
Was the next horror... his own family?
Or the other Ahaan?
Say it.....