Arko was a professional photographer.
For a long time, he had been obsessed with photographing old mansions and abandoned zamindar houses. Because of that passion, he once reached a remote village in Birbhum, where a huge, broken royal mansion had been standing as a silent witness of time for nearly 100 years.
The villagers warned him,
"Khoka Babu, please leave before daylight fades. Even the walls of that house have ears."
Arko simply laughed off their words.
That Night
When Arko entered the mansion, evening was slowly turning into night. Taking out his camera, he began photographing the old chandeliers and moss-covered pillars. Suddenly, he felt as if someone was standing behind him.
He quickly turned around.
No one.
Only a broken window shutter was creaking in the silence. But the strange thing was—there was no wind in the room.
Arko thought it must be his imagination. He raised the camera again and looked through the viewfinder to take one last shot.
What He Saw Through the Viewfinder
Through the camera lens, the corridor looked unusually long. Suddenly, in one corner of the lens, a white figure appeared.
Arko removed his eye from the camera and looked straight ahead.
No one. The corridor was completely empty.
He looked through the lens again.
This time he froze in fear.
The figure was now much closer than before. The camera trembled in his hands as he noticed—
The figure had no face.
It was wearing royal clothes from the old era, but they were soaked in blood.
Slowly, it raised its finger and pointed directly at Arko.
The Escape
Arko didn't wait another second. Throwing the camera bag over his shoulder, he ran toward the exit. Behind him he heard the sound of heavy boots—
Khut… Khut… Khut…
It felt as if someone was running right behind him.
Just before he crossed the gate of the mansion, Arko felt an ice-cold hand touch the back of his neck. He screamed and collapsed outside the gate.
The Next Morning
The villagers found him unconscious by the roadside the next morning.
When Arko finally recovered and turned on his camera, he checked the last photo he had taken.
There was no mansion,
no corridor.
The entire frame showed only a skeletal hand, gripping the camera lens from the inside, as if trying to break through the glass.
Since that day, Arko has never again photographed an old house.
And sometimes, in the middle of the night, when he remembers that icy touch on his neck…
he still wakes up in terror.