When the forest felt wrong
The air was too still, like it was holding its breath. Ahaan walked slowly, the journal in his hand heavy as stone. Every step made the leaves crunch under his shoes — but the sound felt far away, like it was being swallowed by something unseen.
In the distance, a house appeared.
Not a normal one.
It was tall, crooked, and covered in vines. All its windows were closed — but Ahaan had the horrible feeling that something inside was looking at him.
He didn't want to go in.
But the journal began flipping its own pages again.
One page stopped. A drawing.
It showed the same crooked house.
Underneath it, in his father's handwriting:
"Saira's last night was here. I was too late."
Ahaan's heart thumped hard. His father had been here. He had known Saira. Maybe… maybe he could find out why.
The front door of the house opened with a slow creak on its own.
A smell came out — wet, rotten wood and something like burnt hair. Ahaan stepped inside.
The floor groaned under his weight.
Dust hung in the air.
Every wall was lined with paintings, but each face in the paintings had its eyes scratched out.
From somewhere upstairs, a girl's voice whispered:
"You came… again."
Ahaan froze. "Saira?"
No answer — just soft footsteps above him.
He climbed the stairs.
At the top was a long hallway with many doors. But the doors weren't wood — they were covered with mirrors. In each reflection, Ahaan saw himself… but the reflections were smiling even when he wasn't.
His hand reached for one door. The moment he touched the cold glass, his reflection in the mirror spoke:
"He lied to you, Ahaan."
Ahaan stumbled back. "What?"
The reflection leaned closer. Its voice was sharper now.
"Your father didn't just try to save Saira. He brought her here."
The hallway lights flickered. Behind the mirror, something moved — thin fingers scratching the inside of the glass.
Ahaan stepped away, but another door burst open. Saira stood there.
Her pale skin looked even colder here, her hair dripping like it was wet. Her eyes were not white anymore — they were pitch black, with tiny specks of light, like a starless sky.
"You need to see," she whispered.
Before Ahaan could speak, she grabbed his wrist.
The world spun — and suddenly they were not in the hallway anymore.
They stood in the same house… but it was not abandoned.
It was alive. The walls were clean. Candles burned.
Ahaan heard laughter. Children's laughter.
He saw his father.
Younger. Wearing a black coat. Talking to another man with a scar on his face.
The man asked, "Are you sure the girl can hold it?"
His father's voice was low.
"She's the only one strong enough. The Watcher can't be destroyed, but it can be locked inside a living soul. She won't survive, but the world will."
Ahaan felt cold all over. His father hadn't tried to save Saira.
He had used her.
Saira's voice came from behind him.
"Now you understand why I'm here, Ahaan. Your father gave me the curse. And now… it's in you too."
The scene shattered like glass.
Ahaan was back in the hallway, gasping, heart racing.
Saira was gone.
But the journal in his hand had a new message written in fresh ink:
"The Watcher will come for the last key. Run."
Then..