A night was too quiet.
Even the wind didn't blow.
Ahaan sat on his bed, heart still heavy from what happened in the Red Room. He looked at the mirror. The other Ahaan — his twin — wasn't there anymore.
He wasn't in the glass.
He wasn't hiding.
He was… somewhere.
Maybe free.
Maybe not.
But something else felt wrong.
The house felt colder.
Like someone — or something — had come back with him.
He opened the journal.
It flipped on its own to a fresh page:
CASE THIRTY-FOUR: The Eyes That Were Shut
"Not every curse ends in peace.
Some doors, when opened, awaken something older…
Something that watches from beneath."
Under the words, a rough drawing appeared:
A giant face carved into the ground, its eyes shut tight… and cracks beginning to form on its eyelids.
Ahaan felt sick.
He slammed the book shut.
He didn't know what it meant, but one thing was clear:
He brought something back.
Not just the mirror boy.
Something older.
The next day, he walked to the orphanage again.
But something was different.
The grass was dead.
The trees had no leaves.
And the sky above the building was gray, even though it was sunny everywhere else.
When Ahaan stepped through the orphanage gate, he heard whispers.
Not in his head.
In the ground.
Low… rumbling voices.
Calling his name.
"Ahaan…
You opened the door…
You brought us light again…"
He followed the sound to the back of the orphanage, near the old playground. The swings were still. The slide was cracked.
And in the dirt near the fence, he noticed something new:
A face.
Half-buried in the earth.
Stone. Giant. Ancient.
Its eyes were shut, but thin cracks ran across its eyelids, like they were trying to open.
And above the cracks, a message was carved into the soil:
"We sleep until the child calls."
Ahaan stepped back, heart pounding.
What did I wake up?
Suddenly, the air changed.
The wind picked up. Leaves swirled. And from the ground, tiny black hands began crawling out — made of ash and dust.
One touched his shoe.
Cold.
Sticky.
Whispering.
"You broke the seal… now the Sleeper knows your name."
Ahaan ran.
The journal in his bag burned hot.
He opened it while running.
New words appeared fast — as if written by someone in panic:
"The Eyes belong to the Sleeper.
He was buried to keep the world safe.
The orphanage was built to keep him quiet.
But now he stirs."
Another message appeared under it, written in red:
"You must seal the cracks before his eyes open.
Or he will wake… and nothing will survive."
Ahaan reached home, slamming the door shut.
His hands were shaking.
He looked in the mirror.
Nothing strange.
No shadow boy. No ghost.
But when he blinked… for just a second…
He saw his own eyes in the mirror…
Bleeding.
He fell to the floor, dizzy.
The voice returned.
But not the soft whisper like before.
This one was deep.
Like a mountain speaking.
"You brought light into my tomb.
You called me back.
Now… I will rise."
Suddenly, Ahaan couldn't move.
His arms were stiff. His chest heavy.
Like something invisible was holding him down.
The journal fell open beside him.
Images flashed across the pages:
The face in the dirt, now with one eye open.
Children crying, trapped in mirrors.
A giant shadow rising behind the orphanage.
A boy… holding a lantern… and walking straight into the Sleeper's mouth.
Ahaan gasped.
The voice whispered again:
"Come closer, child of the broken mirror.
Your soul smells like promise.
And pain."
Then — silence.
Everything went still.
Ahaan sat up, breathing hard.
The journal now had only one word glowing:
RUN.
But Ahaan didn't want to run anymore.
He stood up, grabbed a flashlight, and said out loud:
"If something is waking up…
Then I need to know what it is.
And why it knows me."
He turned to the mirror.
No reflection.
Only darkness.
But a single sentence appeared across the glass:
"Come to the grave beneath the floor."
Ahaan nodded slowly.
He knew what he had to do.
He'd go back.
To the orphanage.
To the crack in the ground.
To the eye trying to open.
Because if something was waking up,
he needed to face it…
Before it fully opens its eyes.
When.....