"Wanna play a game?" Ornob asked his college friends. His tone wasn't casual this time — there was something strange in it, something that made the others pause. The group of eleven exchanged glances, their earlier laughter dissolving into an uncertain silence.
Each of them had a different kind of energy — loud and quiet, brave and timid — but at that moment, all their attention was drawn to Ornob.
Junayed finally broke the silence, frowning slightly. "What game? Lunchtime is almost over. What can we possibly play?"
Ornob clicked his tongue in annoyance, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Not now, dummy. A game tonight, in our own houses."
The friends exchanged confused looks. A game that night? In their own houses? The idea didn't make any sense.
Jaker leaned forward, his curiosity mixed with suspicion. "Are you talking about an online game?"
Ornob's lips curled into a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "No. A real game. A game that will summon a ghost."
The words hit the group like a cold breeze. For a moment, no one spoke. Ghost? Summon? What was he talking about? The casual conversation had suddenly taken a darker turn.
Ornob continued, his voice lowering as if revealing a secret he shouldn't be sharing. "The game is fairly simple. At the end of a month, you have to look outside the window just 10 minutes before midnight. Then you have to close your eyes and imagine a presence outside the window before shutting it. Then you have to sleep near the window, facing the opposite side. Then, after an hour or so, a ghost will visit you. It will knock on the window that only you can hear. You have to wait till sunrise to defeat it. Till then, you cannot sleep or move or let it realize that you are awake. If you succeed, it will go away. Sounds fun, right?"
The room felt different now. The sunlight that once seemed warm suddenly appeared dimmer, as if the air itself had chilled. None of them laughed, though a few forced a smile. Deep down, each of them felt the same uneasy thought — what if the game was real?
Junayed said, "Hell no! Why would I risk my life for a stupid game?" His voice was sharp, echoing the disbelief that ran through the group. The tension broke for a moment as a few chuckles escaped, but no one truly disagreed with him.
Then Rafi spoke up, his tone calm but skeptical. "Besides, if the game is not real, it will just waste our time and energy."
Murmurs followed. One by one, the others began sharing their doubts — excuses layered with nervous laughter. Some joked to mask their unease, others simply shook their heads. The excitement from earlier had already begun to fade into uncertainty.
Just as the discussion seemed to die down, Ahsan's voice cut through the noise. "I'll do it. Sounds like fun."
Every head turned toward him. Of course, it was Ahsan. The one person who never hesitated.
Ahsan was the kind of young man who carried curiosity like fire — bright, restless, and impossible to contain. Fear rarely touched him. He was brave to the point of recklessness, the kind who saw danger not as a warning, but as a challenge.
He grinned and added, "Besides, tomorrow is our weekly vacation. Why not waste some energy and time in the name of science?"
A few laughed uncertainly, but his words lingered. The rest of them had brushed it off as nonsense — but Ahsan's enthusiasm gave the game a pulse again. And somewhere, deep in the back of their minds, a thrill began to stir.
Ornob said, "Excellent. Then it is you and me. Let's see what happens, shall we?" His words were casual, but there was a steady edge to them — like the calm before a storm.
Ahsan smiled, reckless and bright. "Real or not, the thrill itself will be worth it. Besides, if the ghosts come, I'll simply punch them senseless." The bravado landed like a joke; the group burst into loud, relieved laughter, the kind that pushes danger back into the safe distance of shared noise.
They laughed because laughter is easier than admitting fear. They laughed because it made the idea of a ghost seem absurd. But while everyone else loosened up, Ornob felt the room tighten around that one sudden, small possibility. He let the laughter wash over him outwardly, but inside, a thin, cold certainty took root — this was not a dare to shrug off. There might be real danger.
That night, Ahsan decided to play the game exactly as Ornob had described. His bed sat right beside the window — convenient, he thought. The rules seemed simple enough, and he felt a flicker of thrill as he lay down, facing away from the glass. The room was quiet, almost too quiet.
An hour passed. The excitement faded, replaced by boredom. He sighed, thinking the whole thing was a joke. Figures, he thought. Just another stupid story to scare us.
Then, he heard it.
A faint knock.
It came from the window. Soft. Careful. Almost polite.
Ahsan froze. His heart lurched in his chest, and every muscle in his body went rigid. No way. It couldn't be. But there it was again — another knock, clearer this time. His blood turned cold. The ghost... it really came.
He didn't dare move. The instructions echoed in his head — Don't let it know you're awake.
The knocking grew louder, faster, angrier. It rattled the glass like a fist pounding to be let in. Ahsan squeezed his eyes shut, his breath shallow. The window trembled under the blows; it sounded like it might shatter any second. Then — silence.
For a few tense seconds, he thought it was over. Maybe the ghost had gone. Relief flickered in his chest. But then a darker thought clawed its way into his mind — What if it's pretending?
He stayed frozen. Minutes crawled by, slow and heavy. Then came the sound again.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Violent this time — relentless, furious. Ahsan felt like the creature on the other side was trying to break through, to reach him, to drag him away. His throat burned with the urge to scream for his parents, but the fear was stronger. He remembered the rule — if it knows you're awake, it will kill you.
So he endured it. The endless knocking. The terror that clung to every breath.
And then, finally, light.
The first rays of dawn slipped through the curtains, soft and golden. His alarm buzzed faintly beside him. The knocks were gone. The silence that followed felt almost sacred.
Ahsan let out a shaky laugh. He had done it. He had survived. He had defeated the ghost.
Relief flooded him — until he rolled over.
And in that instant, he realized his mistake.
A mistake so terrible that regret hit him like a scream trapped in his throat.
Ahsan turned toward the window — and froze.
Outside, pressed against the glass, was a massive blob of flesh. It pulsed and twitched as if it were alive, its surface shifting and quivering in grotesque, unnatural ways. The sight alone made Ahsan's stomach twist; it wasn't something that should exist.
Then, the window creaked.
His heart nearly stopped. He knew — he knew — he had locked it. He had double-checked before lying down. Yet the latch slid open on its own, slow and deliberate, like invisible hands undoing it from the other side.
As the window opened, darkness spilled into the room — not the usual kind of darkness, but something thicker, heavier, almost alive. It swallowed the air, swallowing the faint light of dawn until only three things remained visible: Ahsan, the window, and the thing beyond it.
The entity moved. A long, sinewy arm emerged, glistening and distorted. Before Ahsan could react, it grabbed his left leg. The touch was cold — wet and cold — and as it pulled, he felt his body slide across the bed.
The iron bars on the window stopped it from dragging him out, but that didn't stop the creature. Instead, it yanked his leg as far as it could and then bit down.
Ahsan's scream never came. His mouth opened, but no sound escaped — only a silent, suffocating agony. He felt the creature's teeth tear through flesh, the hot gush of blood soaking the sheets.
He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He wanted to fight, but his body wouldn't listen.
Then, the entity's other arm reached for his right leg. Desperate and trembling, Ahsan shut his eyes tight. It's over, he thought. It's going to take me too.
But suddenly — the grip loosened.
A wet, heavy sound hit the floor beside him. He opened his eyes. The creature's arm lay severed by his leg, twitching and leaking black, viscous blood that steamed against the cold air.
He looked toward the window again — and it was gone. The blob, the darkness, the horror — all vanished.
Ahsan's vision blurred. The pain throbbed through his body, his bed soaked in red. The last thing he saw was the broken window and that severed arm still twitching beside him before his world went dark.
Suddenly, Ahsan's eyes shot open. His heart pounded against his ribs as if it were trying to escape.
Morning light poured through the window, golden and gentle. Birds chirped outside, their song bright and peaceful — too peaceful. He blinked several times, disoriented.
The clock on the wall read 10:00 a.m.
He sat up slowly, breath trembling. The room was just as it had always been — clean, familiar, utterly ordinary. For a long moment, he just stared at the window, half-expecting to see the monster's silhouette pressed against it again. But there was nothing. Only sunlight and the swaying branches outside.
Then he looked down at his legs.
Whole. Perfect. Not a single wound. Not even a scratch.
Ahsan's mind spun. How...?
Was it not real? Was it just a dream? But the pain, the blood, the fear — they had felt so vivid, so horribly real that the memory still burned in his nerves. How could a dream hurt like that?
The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. His mother entered the room, smiling warmly.
"Breakfast is ready," she said softly, her voice as comforting as ever.
He turned to look at her — and for a brief, blissful second, everything felt normal again. His mother, the morning light, the smell of food wafting from the kitchen.
Then he saw it.
Something above her head.