The laughter faded slowly, leaving the house in a suffocating silence.
Arjun grabbed Meera's arm. "We're leaving. Right now."
Neither of them argued anymore.
They rushed toward the front door, their footsteps echoing loudly across the dusty floor. Arjun grabbed the handle and pulled.
The door didn't move.
He pulled harder.
Locked.
"That's impossible," he muttered. "It wasn't locked before."
Meera looked back toward the wall.
The eyes were still there.
Blinking slowly.
Watching them struggle.
"Arjun…" she whispered nervously.
"Not now," he said, trying the handle again. "The door's jammed."
Suddenly—
THUD.
Something hit the wall behind them.
They turned around.
Another thud came from the hallway.
THUD… THUD… THUD.
Like something heavy moving inside the walls.
The scratching returned.
But now it was louder.
Much louder.
The walls began to tremble slightly, as if something large was crawling through the hollow spaces inside them.
Meera backed away slowly. "They're moving."
Arjun picked up the fallen flashlight from the floor and pointed it toward the hallway.
The beam of light shook in his hand.
The wallpaper in the hallway began to ripple.
Then bulge.
Like something was pushing outward from inside.
The shape of a hand appeared beneath the paper.
Then another.
Dozens of shapes pressed against the wall, trying to break through.
"RUN!" Arjun shouted.
They sprinted down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Behind them—
RRRIIIPPP.
The wallpaper tore open.
Cold hands burst out from the walls.
Thin.
Pale.
Too many fingers.
They clawed at the air as if searching for something.
Searching for them.
Meera screamed as one hand nearly grabbed her hair.
They ran into the kitchen and slammed the door behind them.
Arjun pushed a heavy wooden table against it.
The scratching immediately started on the other side.
Scratch… scratch… scratch…
Then a slow dragging sound.
Something was crawling along the wall outside the kitchen.
Meera's breathing was fast and shaky.
"What is this place?" she whispered.
Arjun looked around the dark kitchen.
Old cabinets.
Broken dishes.
A dusty refrigerator that hadn't worked in decades.
And on the far wall…
There was a newspaper clipping pinned to the plaster.
Yellowed with age.
Arjun walked closer and wiped away the dust.
The headline read:
"LOCAL WRITER VANISHES IN ASHWOOD HOUSE – POLICE FIND NO TRACE."
Below the headline was a photograph.
Meera stepped beside him.
Her blood ran cold.
The photo showed a young man.
The same terrified face they had seen in the wall.
"That's him…" she whispered. "The man who asked for help."
Arjun kept reading.
"Three years ago, writer Rohan Sen moved into the abandoned Ashwood house to work on a novel. After neighbors reported strange noises, police searched the home but found no sign of him. The case remains unsolved."
Meera felt her stomach twist.
"He didn't disappear," she said quietly.
Arjun nodded slowly.
"He became part of the house."
Just then—
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
A sound came from behind them.
They turned slowly.
On the kitchen wall, a small crack appeared in the plaster.
An eye opened inside it.
It was Rohan's eye again.
But this time…
It looked different.
More hollow.
More tired.
The eye moved, looking directly at them.
Then his voice came again, faint but urgent.
"You must leave before midnight."
Meera stepped closer. "Why?"
The eye blinked slowly.
"Because that's when the house feeds."
Arjun felt his chest tighten. "Feeds on what?"
Rohan's voice trembled.
"On people."
The scratching outside the kitchen door suddenly stopped.
Silence fell again.
Then a deep, slow creaking sound echoed through the house.
Like the entire building was waking up.
Rohan whispered quickly, "The house isn't haunted."
Arjun frowned. "Then what is it?"
There was a long pause.
Then Rohan answered with three words that froze their blood.
"It's alive."
Suddenly—
CRASH!
The kitchen door exploded inward.
The table flew across the room.
Dozens of pale hands burst through the doorway.
And behind them, the walls began to open.
The house had started feeding.