writer and Rishi now stood at the gate of Red Pine. But the strange shadows flickering across the windows made Rishi scream.
"Why are you screaming?" Writer's voice held no sympathy. "You chose to come here yourself."
"But you were the one who brought me here first..." Rishi's voice trembled.
"I also came back to drop you off."
"This place is terrifying... anyone would be scared."
writer stepped forward. There was a strange gleam in his eyes.
"You haven't even seen what terrifying really means."
"What are you trying to say?" Rishi's voice rose with fear. "Have you buried someone here? Have you committed murders? What's so horrifying about this place?"
writer pushed open the main door. A long, creaking sound echoed, like a whisper dragged across metal. It pierced Rishi's ears like needles.
"Even such a grand house has a door that creaks?" he muttered.
writer said nothing. The hall was pitch dark. Rishi stood behind him, shivering. He remembered the day he had tried to escape from this place. Since then, he knew, something was deeply wrong with this house.
Yet somehow, being with writer made the fear feel half as heavy.
"Why do you live here alone?" Rishi asked. "In this dense forest, with no road, no path... how do you even get supplies?"
"That's not my job."
"Then who brings them?"
"There are plenty of people here... who do my work."
"Where's your cook? He brought me food that day."
"Now you're here to work."
"Me?"
"Yes. I won't feed you for free. You'll have to clean and do chores if you want to stay."
"You expect me to work?"
"Why not? Are your hands broken? Got some incurable disease?"
"How can I clean such a huge house? I only had one room, and Vedant used to clean it."
writer didn't respond. He walked straight into the kitchen, rolled up his sleeves, and began washing his hands.
"I'm really hungry. What are you making?" Rishi asked.
Writer's hands paused for a moment. But he said nothing. He pulled out vegetables from the fridge, washed them, and placed them aside. Then he began muttering something into a bowl.
Rishi made a face.
writer glanced at him, then dried his hands and walked toward him. Rishi immediately stepped back.
"If you want to stay here, you'll live by my rules, Mister Rishi Thakur. If you want chapati, knead the dough."
"I don't know how to make roti."
"Then stay hungry."
In the kitchen, the blade of the knife was now slicing through the skin of vegetables. Raiter's face remained calm, but his eyes held a cold, unsettling gleam. He chopped the vegetables with precision, as if each piece was part of a larger plan.
Rishi made a face and picked up the flour container beside him. After washing his hands, he poured water into the flour. But on his very first attempt, the mixture turned into a watery mess. Not thick, but thin, so thin a boat could float in it.
Writer's sharp gaze fell on Rishi. His hands were buried in the dough, which clung to his palms like it was mocking him. Writer's face now burned with anger.
Just as Rishi reached for the water jug again, writer grabbed his wrist.
"You were supposed to knead the dough, not flood it, idiot." His voice was icy. "What do you expect to make with this? Dough soup?"
Before Rishi could respond, writer dragged him to the sink and began washing his hands himself. Then he nearly shoved him onto the dining table.
"If you get up from here, I'll cut off your legs and boil them in the pressure cooker." There was no humor in writer's voice. Rishi quickly pulled his legs up.
writer stormed back into the kitchen. Only the sound of clattering utensils remained. Rishi rubbed his reddened wrist and looked toward the kitchen. writer was now adding finely chopped vegetables into the thin dough, like a scientist conducting a secret experiment.
Quietly, Rishi took out his phone and snapped a few pictures of writer.
"Those pictures better stay in your phone. If they go anywhere else, you won't live to regret it." Writer's cold voice sent a chill down Rishi's spine. He nodded silently.
writer returned to his work. Rishi kept watching him. Every movement had a strange calmness, as if everything was part of a carefully crafted plan.
Dinner was ready. writer arranged each item on the table with meticulous care. Rishi watched. If it had been him, half the crockery would've been broken by now.
writer placed a plate in front of Rishi and began serving him. Rishi looked into his eyes. The same seriousness. The same coldness.
"Do you want to eat the food or me?" writer asked, glancing up.
Rishi panicked and quickly scooped vegetables into his mouth with a spoon.
"Umm... do you always eat chicken? I mean... don't you like vegetarian food?"
"I do," writer replied, but his eyes lingered on Rishi's lips.
Rishi lowered his head in fear, but he could feel his ears burning. A faint smile flickered across writer's lips... and vanished just as quickly.
Behind the walls of Red Pine, something was hidden. Something only writer knew. And Rishi was now dangerously close to that secret.
After dinner, writer gestured toward the dishes. Rishi made a face but quietly began washing them. writer had made it clear, if even one dish broke, Rishi would have to pay for it. And he knew his entire year's salary wouldn't cover the cost of two plates. So he washed them slowly and carefully.
writer stood nearby, drying and arranging the dishes with precision. When Rishi finished the last one and turned around, he saw writer leaning against the fridge, drink in hand, staring at him with piercing eyes. Rishi froze and pressed himself against the sink.
"Wh-why are you looking at me like that?" Rishi asked nervously.
writer took a sip, swirled it in his mouth, and let it slide down his throat. Rishi could see every drop disappear.
"You've got guts," writer said. "You jumped into that forest without thinking."
"What if I hadn't come?"
"You'd be dead."
"And what would you gain?"
"Satisfaction."
"Satisfaction? How?"
"That I tried everything I could."
"That's not trying. That's stupidity."
"That's what you think. But for me, it's part of the job."
"Nothing is more important than life."
"And I don't enjoy living a dead life. If you don't live with courage, it's not living at all."
For a moment, surprise flickered in writer's eyes. He hadn't expected that from Rishi.
"What do you hope to gain by knowing about me?" writer asked.
"I enjoy anything that involves adventure. And more than money, I value inner satisfaction."
"Do you only talk big, or do you actually have the strength to endure adventure?"
"If I didn't, I wouldn't have entered that haunted forest."
writer said nothing. He picked up his glass and walked outside. Rishi followed him. But Rishi didn't know that something else was following him too, the same creature that had stalked him in the library that day.
They were in the corridor when writer suddenly turned around. Rishi stopped. Writer's eyes shifted past Rishi's shoulder. A shadow slipped away into the corner. Rishi tried to turn and look.
"I think it's time you finish what you left halfway," writer said.
Rishi nodded, and they both entered the library. But as they stepped inside, the creature's shadow emerged again. Its drool dripped onto the floor.