It was a silent winter night in a small village of West Bengal.
The wind was moving slowly through the bamboo trees, making strange whispering sounds. Even the dogs had stopped barking, as if they already knew something evil was coming.
Ravi had just returned from Kolkata after five years. His grandmother had passed away, and now the old family haveli was left alone, waiting for him.
The haveli stood at the edge of the village — tall, broken, and covered with black moss. People said no one should enter it after sunset. But Ravi did not believe in such village stories.
He unlocked the rusted gate.
Creekkkkk…
The sound echoed inside the empty corridors.
Inside, the air felt cold. Too cold.
Dust covered the wooden furniture. Old portraits were hanging on the walls, their eyes following Ravi wherever he walked. He tried to laugh it off.
"Just imagination," he whispered.
Suddenly, he heard soft footsteps from upstairs.
Tap… tap… tap…
Ravi froze.
"Is anyone there?" he called.
No reply.
He slowly climbed the stairs, his heartbeat growing louder than his steps. At the end of the corridor, he saw a dim light coming from his grandmother's room.
The door was half open.
As Ravi pushed it gently, a strong smell of incense mixed with something rotten filled the air.
Inside the room, he saw his grandmother's rocking chair moving… by itself.
And on the wall, written in dark red letters, were the words:
YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE COME BACK.
Before Ravi could react, a cold hand touched his shoulder.
His scream disappeared into the walls of the haveli.
Outside, the village remained silent.
The haveli had found its new resident.