The silence after the blackout was unbearable.
No hum of electricity. No chirping crickets. Not even the wind.
It was as if Hollowridge House had exhaled, and the world forgot to breathe.
Aarohi gripped Veer's hand tightly. Her flashlight flickered once… then died.
"We need candles," Father Desai whispered behind them.
"No," Veer said, his voice hollow. "We need to get out."
A low creeeaaaak echoed from below.
It came from the basement door.
Aarohi turned sharply. "We never opened that."
The priest's eyes narrowed. "That door wasn't there earlier."
It had appeared.
Or… it had been waiting.
Reluctantly, they descended the stairs.
Each step was heavier than the last, the shadows stretching around them like black vines.
The basement door stood wide open, revealing a staircase that spiraled into suffocating darkness. The stench of rotting earth rose to meet them.
Father Desai handed them blessed salt and drew a protective mark on each of their foreheads.
"Whatever happens," he warned, "do not speak to it."
Aarohi nodded. But her pulse roared in her ears.
She knew he would speak to her.
The basement was damp and ancient, lined with stone walls and old wooden support beams. Cobwebs hung like funeral veils, and water dripped from unseen cracks.
But what truly caught their attention were the scratches.
Names, hundreds of them, etched into the stone.
Some were clear.
"Anaya Deshmukh – 1943"
"Tapan Roy – 1967"
"Meera Joshi – 1995"
"What… what is this?" Veer breathed.
Aarohi stepped forward. Her fingers traced the names.
"All the people who tried to live here," she whispered.
And then… she saw it.
A new name carving itself slowly into the wall.
"Aarohi Bhattacharya – 2025"
She stumbled back.
The stone bled.
Behind them, the temperature dropped. Their breaths fogged.
Then—
Footsteps.
From the far corner of the basement, Dev stepped out of the shadows.
His body was blackened beyond recognition, yet fluid, constantly dripping ash and shadow like oil in water. He made no sound—but the walls whispered for him.
"She bears the mark."
Veer stepped in front of Aarohi, holding out the vial of holy water.
Dev stopped.
But he didn't retreat.
Instead, he raised one charred hand and pointed directly at Aarohi.
And then—he vanished.
Just like that.
Gone.
The house groaned again—louder, deeper.
And the entire basement shook.
Bricks cracked.
A pipe burst above them, spraying foul, black water.
They ran back upstairs just as the door slammed shut behind them.
Everything had changed.
The house was… alive now.
The walls pulsed, like something was breathing behind them.
Doors opened on their own.
Shadows darted just out of sight.
And worst of all—their reflections in the mirrors began to move differently.
Aarohi screamed when she passed by the hallway mirror and saw her own face blink a full three seconds after she had.
Father Desai gathered them in the living room.
"Dev is feeding off this house now. He's rooted here. The guilt, the violence, the denial—it gave him power."
"So what do we do?" Veer asked.
The priest placed a crucifix in the center of the floor. "We draw him out. Not with anger… but with truth."
Aarohi's throat tightened. "You mean I have to let him in."
Father Desai nodded slowly.
"Yes. Invite him. Face him. Let him see the truth through your eyes. That's the only way to end this."
That night, Aarohi sat alone in the attic, surrounded by candles. Veer and Father Desai waited below, ready to intervene.
She stared at the scorched ring in the floor.
"I'm here," she whispered. "Dev. You wanted me. You wanted justice."
Silence.
Then—flames erupted in the candles, burning high and blue.
Smoke curled around her, thick and hot.
She couldn't see.
Then—he appeared.
Not in front of her—but inside her mind.
Suddenly, Aarohi was no longer in the attic.
She was chained to the floor.
Fire licked at her skin.
Dev stood above her.
But his face wasn't angry—it was hollow.
"You watched me burn," he said.
"No," she cried. "It wasn't me. It was him. Rajnath. My great-grandfather."
"But your blood built this house."
She trembled. "Then take it. Take the house. Take the curse. End it. Just… let us go."
He leaned closer, his eyes like pits of coal.
"No one leaves until justice is done."
And with that, he vanished.
When Aarohi opened her eyes, she was alone.
The candles had melted to puddles.
The house was silent again.
But when she stepped downstairs, she saw something new:
All the names on the wall had disappeared.
All except one.
"Rajnath Bhattacharya – 1925"
The house had chosen its target.
Now it was time to finish what had begun a century ago.