Chapter 2: The Closed Door
The sound of heavy breathing in the darkness sent shivers down Aryan's spine. He couldn't muster the courage to stay there for even a single second.
He immediately pulled his mobile from his pocket and switched on the flashlight. The sharp beam of light swept across every corner of the room.
There was no one there.
Only that old chair remained, rocking gently... without the slightest breeze. A creak... creak... sound pierced the silence.
Aryan didn't waste a moment. He bolted towards the door. His hand trembled as he grabbed the heavy brass handle and turned it.
The handle was jammed.
"Oh no!" Aryan muttered. He rattled the handle violently, shoved against it with his shoulder, but the door refused to budge. This was the same door Ramu Kaka had opened easily just two minutes ago. Now, it felt as though someone had bound it with iron chains from the outside.
"Ramu Kaka! Kaka, open the door!" Aryan screamed, pounding on the door with his fists.
But outside, there was only the thunder and the roar of the rain. His voice was drowned out in the stormy night.
Suddenly, the temperature in the room plummeted. Aryan could see his breath fogging up the air. It felt as if he wasn't in a room in Shimla, but standing inside an ice cave.
He swept the flashlight across the room again. His gaze fell upon the table where the diary had been.
Aryan gasped.
The diary was gone.
The table was empty. But on the floor near it... there were wet footprints.
The prints started from the window, led to the center of the room, and ended exactly where Aryan had been standing moments ago. However, there were no prints leading back.
That meant whoever (or whatever) had come inside was still in this room.
Just then, a sound came from inside the old wooden wardrobe in the far corner of the room.
Scratch... scratch... scratch...
It sounded like someone scraping wood with their fingernails. The sound was faint, but in that silence, it felt as loud as an explosion.
Aryan pressed his back against the door. The handle of the wardrobe began to turn slowly... very slowly...
What happened next?