Aarav didn't move.
He couldn't.
The sound of the door creaking still echoed through the building—long, stretched… unnatural.
There were only six doors.
He had counted.
Twice.
So what had just opened?
The candle went out.
Darkness swallowed the room instantly.
"Damn it—"
His voice sounded smaller now. Thinner. Like the darkness was pressing against it.
Then—
A sound.
Drip.
…Drip.
…Drip.
Aarav slowly turned his head toward the wall.
The handprint.
It was still there.
But now—
It was moving.
A fresh streak of dark liquid slid downward, thick and slow.
Not dust.
Not water.
Something heavier.
Something alive.
Aarav staggered back, his heart pounding violently.
"This… this isn't real."
But the smell hit him again.
Stronger this time.
Metallic.
Rotten.
The whisper returned.
Closer.
Clearer.
"Come…"
Aarav froze.
The voice wasn't inside the room anymore.
It was outside.
In the corridor.
For a long moment, he stood there, breathing heavily.
Every instinct screamed at him to stay.
To hide.
To wait for morning.
But curiosity—
No.
Something stronger than curiosity—
Pulled him forward.
🚪
The corridor looked different now.
The moment Aarav stepped out, he felt it.
The air had changed.
It wasn't still anymore.
It was… moving.
Slowly.
Like something invisible was breathing through the hallway.
Inhale.
The walls seemed to tighten.
Exhale.
They relaxed.
"…What the hell…"
The six doors were still there.
Standing in silence.
But now—
There was a seventh.
At the far end.
Aarav's stomach dropped.
"No…"
His voice trembled.
"That wasn't there."
The door looked older than the rest.
Darker.
Its wood cracked and twisted like burnt flesh.
A faint symbol was carved into its surface—something jagged and unnatural.
Something that hurt to look at.
And from behind it—
Came the sound.
Scratching.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Aarav's feet moved on their own.
Step.
Step.
Step.
"Stop…" he whispered to himself.
But his body didn't listen.
The closer he got—
The colder it became.
His breath turned visible.
His fingers numb.
The scratching stopped.
Silence.
Aarav stood right in front of the door now.
His hand trembled as it lifted toward the handle.
Then—
A voice.
Right behind him.
"Don't."
Aarav spun around.
Someone was standing there.
A girl.
Her long hair covered her face, dripping wet as if she had just stepped out of water. Her clothes were old—torn, stained, clinging to her unnaturally still body.
She wasn't breathing.
Aarav stumbled back.
"W-Who are you…?"
Slowly—
Very slowly—
She lifted her head.
Her face—
Empty.
No eyes.
No nose.
No mouth.
Just smooth, pale skin stretched over nothing.
Aarav's mind went blank.
His body refused to move.
Then—
A crack.
A thin line split across her face.
Then another.
And another.
Until—
Her "face" opened.
Like something tearing from the inside.
A black hollow formed where her mouth should be.
Endless.
Deep.
Wrong.
And from it—
Came dozens of whispers at once.
"Too late…""He opened it…""It's awake…"
Aarav screamed and fell backward.
His hand hit the ground—
And the door handle.
Click.
The Seventh Door opened.
Everything went silent.
The girl stopped moving.
The whispers stopped.
Even the air—
Stopped breathing.
Aarav slowly looked up.
Inside the room—
There was no room.
Just darkness.
Endless.
Moving.
And within it—
Shapes.
Hundreds of them.
Twisting.
Watching.
Waiting.
Then—
They all turned toward him.
At once.
Aarav's heart stopped.
And one voice emerged from the darkness.
Deeper than the others.
Older.
Hungry.
"You came back…"
The door slammed shut.
Aarav gasped and found himself lying alone in the corridor.
The six doors stood silently.
Unchanged.
No seventh door.
No girl.
No darkness.
Only one thing remained.
On his hand—
A mark.
Black.
Burned into his skin.
The same symbol that was on the door.
And from somewhere deep inside the walls—
A whisper.
"Now you belong to it…"
To Be Continued…