The knocking inside the mirror did not stop when Aarohi ran.
It followed.
Not loud.
Not fast.
Persistent.
Each step she took down the hallway echoed twice — once from her feet, once from somewhere just behind time itself. The house had begun copying her rhythm, like a heart syncing to a body it wanted to inhabit.
She reached the staircase.
But the staircase was no longer climbing upward.
It bent.
Twisted.
Stretched downward like a throat swallowing light.
Cold air crawled upward from below, smelling of wet soil and old metal. Aarohi hesitated at the top step. The railing felt warm, slightly soft, like touching a pulse instead of wood.
"Don't," she whispered to herself.
The house answered by breathing.
The steps groaned, not under weight but under intention.
Aarohi descended.
The light changed color with every step — yellow, grey, bruised blue. Shadows moved ahead of her even when she stood still. At the bottom waited a single hanging bulb, swinging gently though no wind touched it.
The basement opened wider than the house above allowed.
Its walls were not stone.
They were written.
Names covered everything — carved, scratched, burned, painted with blood, ink, charcoal, even fingernails. Some were neat. Some desperate. Some looked like they'd been written while screaming.
Aarohi stepped closer.
Her breath fogged.
She read a few.
MAYA KHAN — STAYED.
RAJ PATEL — RETURNED.
ELI TURNER — FORGOT.
Her chest tightened.
She searched the walls wildly.
And then she found it.
Near a beam soaked dark with age:
AAROHI SEN — RETURNED.
Her knees buckled.
"I never agreed to this."
The bulb flickered violently.
The ground shifted.
Shadows gathered in the far corner, folding into each other like wet paper until a shape formed. Not human. Not beast. It looked like memory forced into posture.
Faces grew across its surface — children, elders, strangers — all whispering different emotions at once. Some cried. Some laughed. Some begged to be forgotten.
The thing leaned forward.
Its voice layered dozens together.
"The house keeps what leaves unfinished."
Aarohi's lips trembled. "What are you?"
It tilted its head slowly.
"I am regret given architecture."
The walls pulsed.
The names shimmered.
And the basement inhaled.