It was ten o'clock at night. Rishi wanted to know more about the Writer. He knew the Writer wasn't going to reveal anything easily. He had to do something. Tonight, he pretended to be sleepy so he could skip going to the library. His plan was simple: while the Writer was immersed in his stories, Rishi would search the house.
Over the past few days, Rishi had figured out that the Writer lived alone and spent his nights lost in writing. This was his only chance. He could investigate the house and gather more information about the Writer. He slowly opened the door. There wasn't much left to explore in this room, he had already searched it thoroughly. Now it was time to check the rest of the house.
Outside, the corridor was pitch dark, but Rishi had grown used to it. The fear that once gripped him had now faded or at least wasn't overpowering anymore. He turned on his camera and switched it to record mode. Thanks to its night vision feature, everything was clearly visible even in the dark.
Rishi moved forward, unaware that several shadows were trailing behind him. Their intentions, however, seemed different tonight. He walked to the end of the corridor, the farthest corner of the house. He had never been there before, as the Writer had strictly forbidden him from going near it. That very restriction had made Rishi curious. What was so special about this place?
The Writer had even told him not to clean this part of the house, which explained the cobwebs hanging everywhere. Dry leaves were scattered across the floor, probably blown in through the open window. Rishi was nervous, if the Writer found out, he'd be in serious trouble. But the Writer's silence had pushed him to take this risk.
His eyes landed on a large door. Surprisingly, it was beautifully carved. Compared to the rest of the house, this door was grand and elegant, though neglected and covered in grime.
"What kind of room is this? Why does this door look like it belongs in an old horror movie? Like opening it would unleash a spirit. Is there something hidden here too?" he muttered to himself.
"Rishi, are you still talking about ghosts in this day and age?"
"No, I swear there's something here!"
"Ghosts don't exist anymore. They're just made-up stories."
"No, remember that day? We saw shadows near the windows."
"That was just the darkness playing tricks."
"Shut up, both of you. I'll decide if something's here or not," Rishi snapped at his two inner voices.
The camera was still recording. He looked at the door, there was no lock.
"See? I knew it. If something was hidden here, there would've been a big, old lock." He tried the latch. It was stiff, probably untouched for years.
Finally, Rishi managed to open it. As he pushed the door, it creaked open with a sharp, piercing sound, so loud that it reached the Writer's ears. The Writer stood up with a jolt.
He rushed from the library, but it was too late. The door had already closed behind Rishi.
Inside, Rishi had no idea the door had shut. As he stepped in, his camera slipped from his hand and shattered. He didn't even notice, it was the sight in front of him that froze him.
A girl, probably around twenty-five, was chained to the wall. Her condition resembled that of a prisoner. Her hands were bound with iron chains. Her hair was tangled and looked like it hadn't been washed in years. Her head hung low, her face hidden behind a curtain of hair.
"Wh…who are you?" Rishi asked, his legs trembling. His heartbeat echoed in his ears. The room was eerily silent, not just quiet, but filled with a suffocating stillness, as if the air itself carried a dark energy.
The most shocking part? Someone had been here all this time, and Rishi hadn't known.
Rishi stepped forward as if even the slightest pressure from his feet could trigger an earthquake.
"Ma'am… can you hear me? Wh… who are you? Did… did the Writer kidnap you?" he asked, his voice trembling.
The girl slowly lifted her head. Her face was bruised and stained with dried blood, blood that seemed centuries old, blackened and flaking. Even the floor bore traces of dried blood. But the strangest part was, she was hauntingly beautiful, innocent-looking. Her eyes, however, were terrifying.
"You've come," she rasped.
"D-Do you know me?" Rishi stammered.
"You've come to save me. I've waited for you for years. You're the reason for all this. Come, unlock my chains, Rishi." Her voice was still hoarse.
Rishi stood frozen. He couldn't comprehend what she was saying or why. His heart pounded, warning him to stop.
"Who locked you here? Why?"
"He did. Not just me, he locked all of us. We've all been trapped here. Rishi, free us. He's kept us captive for years. Save me from that monster. We're in unbearable pain."
"Who are you talking about? Who else is here? Why did he imprison you?"
"He's a demon. A beast. He tortures us for his pleasure. He kills us slowly. He abuses us. Take me out of this house. Free me, Rishi. Save me from that devil."
Rishi's head spun. Who were these "others" she spoke of? Had the Writer done something terrible to other girls too?
"D-Did the Writer… do something to you?" Rishi's voice faltered.
"He kept me for his own benefit. And when he was done with me, he locked me here. He raped me."
Rishi staggered. He had always seen the Writer as mysterious, but never imagined him to be this vile.
"Does this mean the Writer is a psychopath? Has he buried other girls here? Has he committed murders?" Rishi's thoughts screamed inside him.
He rushed toward the girl. Just as he reached for the chains, the door slammed open.
Rishi and the girl turned to look.
The Writer stood at the doorway like a shadow of death itself. In one hand, he held a long string of cowrie shells; in the other, the same sword. Rishi shivered. His entire body went cold.
The girl screamed so loudly that Rishi stumbled and fell to the ground.
"Free me, Rishi! Unlock me, or he'll kill me today!" she cried.
Rishi sprang to his feet.
"Think ten times before going near her, Rishi," the Writer's voice thundered, sending chills down Rishi's spine.
"Why? Because I've discovered your truth? I will free her. Your dark deeds are no longer hidden from me, Mr. Writer!" Rishi stepped forward.
But the Writer threw the cowrie string toward him, it wrapped around Rishi's wrist. Before he could react, the Writer gave it a sharp tug, pulling Rishi straight to his feet.
The Writer swung his sword, and a protective shield enveloped the room. The girl screamed inside, but her voice couldn't escape the barrier.
"Let her go! Look at her condition, she'll die!" Rishi shouted.
But the Writer didn't respond. He dragged Rishi away. Rishi was pulled behind him, scraping across the floor, as the door shut on its own.
"You won't be able to hide this for long, Writer. I will get her out of here. Who do you think you are? Why have you locked her up like this? How many girls have you kidnapped? Where are the others? Did you kill them? You're not listening because you raped them. You're a rapist. I will expose your crimes to the world!"
The Writer dragged Rishi and threw him onto the bed. Then he shut the door behind him.
Rishi looked at the door, then at the Writer. His eyes blazed with fury, as if he had committed some unforgivable sin. But Rishi stared back with equal rage.