Chapter 1: "The Silent Shadow"
Shweta tugged at her suitcase, the wheels dragging across the uneven stone path as she made her way to the C building. It was her first day at the prestigious engineering college in New Delhi, a milestone she had long dreamed of. The air buzzed with excitement, and students milled about, chattering, their laughter echoing in the open courtyard. But as Shweta neared her new home—a five-story, aging hostel building tucked into a corner of the campus—the noise faded, leaving a strange hush in its place.
The C building had a worn, almost forgotten look. Its once-bright paint had faded, the walls streaked with mildew from monsoons long past. Shweta ignored the odd sense of unease creeping up her spine as she entered, dragging her luggage through the dimly lit hallways.
Her room, 203, was on the second floor. She found the door ajar, the key waiting in the lock. She pushed it open, stepping into her new space. The room was modest but clean, with three single beds lined against the walls. The windows were barred, casting faint streaks of afternoon light across the floor.
Shweta noticed a girl sitting on one of the beds, her back turned, unpacking her belongings.
"Hi, I’m Shweta," she said brightly, eager to break the ice.
The girl turned around with a slight smile. "I’m Priya. Nice to meet you."
They exchanged pleasantries, and Shweta felt the tension ease slightly. Priya seemed nice, if a bit reserved. She didn’t say much, but Shweta figured she was just shy. As they continued settling in, Shweta couldn’t help but glance at the third bed in the corner. Unlike the other two, it was untouched, the sheets tightly tucked in, the blanket folded neatly. But something about it felt off.
Later that night, after unpacking and a full day of orientation, Shweta climbed into bed, exhaustion weighing her down. Priya had already turned in, her bed lamp off, and the room was steeped in a cold, quiet darkness. Shweta pulled the covers up, sighing as her body relaxed into the mattress.
But something was wrong.
A faint chill swept through the room, making the air feel damp, oppressive. Shweta turned, glancing at the window—closed. The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, but it wasn’t enough to explain the biting cold that seemed to settle into her bones.
She sat up, rubbing her arms. "Priya?" she whispered, glancing at the other girl’s bed.
No answer.
Priya was there, under the covers, but her silhouette was perfectly still. It was as if she hadn’t moved at all since lying down. The faint light from the streetlamps outside cast strange, twisting shadows on the walls. Shweta’s gaze drifted to the third bed. The one that was supposed to be empty.
Her breath caught in her throat. The bed wasn’t as untouched as she remembered. The sheets were rumpled, as if someone had sat on it—no, slept in it. The blanket lay in a crumpled heap, the pillows pressed down, showing the clear imprint of a head.
Shweta blinked, her heart hammering. "Was… was someone in here?" she muttered under her breath.
She quietly slipped out of bed and crossed the room, her steps slow and cautious. The floor creaked beneath her weight, a sound that seemed deafening in the dead silence. As she stood beside the empty bed, a cold gust of air brushed past her, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She stared down at the mattress, her mind racing. Maybe Priya had used it earlier? Maybe someone had come in during the day? She shook her head, trying to dismiss the gnawing unease.
But the cold. That unnatural cold.
Suddenly, a rustling sound broke the silence.
Shweta spun around, eyes wide. Priya was still lying in her bed, unmoving, her back to Shweta. The sound was faint, like someone shifting in the sheets—but it was coming from the third bed.
A pulse of fear surged through her. She leaned closer, her fingers trembling as she reached out, just inches from the rumpled blankets. Before she could touch it, the rustling stopped.
The room went still again, the air thick with dread.
Shweta pulled her hand back, backing away from the bed slowly, trying to convince herself she was imagining things. Maybe it was just nerves. After all, it was her first night in a new place.
She crawled back into her own bed, forcing her eyes shut, willing herself to sleep. But even as fatigue weighed on her, the oppressive cold remained, clinging to the room like an unseen presence.
That night, her dreams were filled with dark, twisting shadows, and the sound of someone whispering her name.
And when she woke up the next morning, the third bed was neatly made again, as if nothing had happened at all.
Except for the faint indentation of a head on the pillow.
Chapter 2: "The Inverted Sleep"
The second week in the hostel started with an unsettling stillness. The energy Shweta had felt during her first few days on campus was gone, replaced by a strange heaviness that clung to her every move. Classes were piling up, assignments were due, but something else weighed her down more than academics—a growing unease about Priya.
At first, it was subtle. Priya, who had been quiet but pleasant, now seemed completely disconnected from reality. She barely spoke during the day, only offering Shweta the occasional vacant stare before retreating back to her bed. More troubling was the fact that Priya stopped sleeping at night. The rustling of sheets and soft creaks of movement would keep Shweta up, but every time she glanced over, Priya would be sitting upright in her bed, staring at nothing.
"Priya, you okay?" Shweta had asked once, but Priya had only blinked, as if she didn’t quite understand the question, then muttered something unintelligible before turning her back.
The room, already cold at night, seemed to drop several degrees after midnight. Shweta started to dread the nights. Her blankets, once a comforting shield from the world, now felt useless against the gnawing chill that seeped into her bones.
But it wasn’t just the cold or Priya’s behavior. Something was wrong with the room itself.
The third bed—the one that was supposed to be empty—seemed to shift subtly each day. Shweta had caught herself staring at it multiple times, feeling as though it wasn’t truly unoccupied. She could have sworn that she saw a faint outline, like the impression of a body lying on it, out of the corner of her eye. But when she blinked or looked directly, the bed was perfectly made, untouched. The tension in the air was becoming unbearable, but Shweta brushed it off, telling herself she was just tired, overworked, and maybe her imagination was running wild.
Then came that night—the night when everything changed.
Shweta had been tossing and turning, struggling to sleep despite the endless cycle of thoughts racing through her head. It was past 3 AM, the time when the world feels the most vulnerable, when even the faintest noise can send a shiver down your spine.
That was when she heard it. A faint shuffling sound, like someone flipping pages.
She turned her head slowly. Priya wasn’t in bed.
Instead, she was sitting at her desk.
Shweta blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness. The small study lamp was off, but Priya was illuminated by the pale moonlight filtering in through the window. Her long hair, usually tied back neatly, was loose and wild, spilling over her shoulders like a black waterfall. Her back was to Shweta, her shoulders rigid. An open book lay in front of her, but something was wrong with how it was positioned.
The book was upside down.
"Priya?" Shweta whispered, her voice shaky, almost afraid to speak too loudly.
No answer.
"Priya… what are you doing?"
Priya’s hand moved slightly, flipping another page, her eyes focused intently on the inverted text. Shweta felt a knot of fear tighten in her stomach.
"Priya?"
This time, her voice was louder, more insistent. The stillness in the room was unbearable, suffocating her. The cold air clung to her skin, making her shiver as she sat up.
She called Priya’s name again—louder. "Priya!"
Suddenly, Priya’s head snapped up, her movements jerky, unnatural. Slowly, she turned, her hair sliding across her face as she looked over her shoulder. And then, Shweta saw her.
Her eyes.
They were wide, bloodshot, and terrifyingly empty, as if something had hollowed out her soul and left only a shell behind. The pupils were blown, red veins spidering across the whites, making them seem more like raw wounds than eyes.
For a moment, Priya’s lips trembled, and then they parted.
"SLEEP."
The word hissed out, low and raspy, like a warning carried on the wind. The sound of it sent a jolt of pure terror through Shweta. It wasn’t just a word—it was a command, filled with malice. Priya’s voice, or whatever had taken control of her, was not human.
Shweta’s breath came out in ragged gasps. Her body froze as her mind raced with fear and confusion. What was happening? What was wrong with Priya?
"Priya…? Please, you're scaring me," Shweta stammered, her voice trembling.
Priya didn’t respond. Her eyes remained fixed on Shweta, unblinking, as though she could see something far beyond the room, beyond Shweta, into something darker, more sinister. The room’s cold seemed to intensify, wrapping around Shweta like icy hands gripping her chest.
"SLEEP," Priya whispered again, her voice like nails dragging across glass.
Shweta felt panic rise, her heart thudding wildly in her chest. She tried to move, but her body was paralyzed, locked in place by an unseen force. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to stretch and twist, creeping closer, pressing in on her, suffocating her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of Priya’s haunting stare. But even with her eyes closed, she could still feel Priya’s presence, could still hear the rasping breath, the sickly, repetitive whisper.
"SLEEP."
Finally, her limbs responded. Shweta threw herself under the covers, pulling them over her head, as if they could shield her from the nightmare unfolding just feet away. Her mind raced with a single thought—survive until morning. Somehow, she had to make it until the light returned.
But in the stillness of the room, the whisper persisted, growing louder, more insistent, reverberating in her ears.
"SLEEP."
Shweta lay there, trembling, trapped between terror and disbelief. The hours dragged by, but she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare peek out from under the blanket. The only thing she could hear was the sound of her own breathing, punctuated by Priya’s chilling whispers that echoed in her mind like a curse.
When morning finally arrived, Shweta peeked out, her heart pounding. The sun had risen, casting pale light through the window.
Priya was gone.
The desk was empty, the chair pushed neatly in place. The book she had been reading was back on the shelf, properly aligned. It was as if nothing had happened.
But Shweta knew better.
Whatever Priya had become, whatever she had seen that night, it was only the beginning.
Chapter 3: "The Warden’s Secret"
Shweta bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, her heart pounding. The morning sun filtered weakly through the window, casting pale, sickly light over the room. Her mind replayed the events of the previous night in rapid, fractured flashes—Priya’s wide, bloodshot eyes, the eerie whispers, the icy terror that had gripped her soul.
She needed to leave. Now.
Without waiting for Priya to wake up—if she was even asleep—Shweta grabbed her bag and rushed out of the room. Every step she took down the corridor felt heavier, her legs stiff with fear and exhaustion. The walls of the hostel seemed to close in around her, the once-familiar corridors now foreign and sinister.
By the time she reached the warden’s office, Shweta was out of breath. Her skin crawled, her mind racing with one desperate plea: I need to get out of that room.
The door to the office creaked as she pushed it open. The warden, an older woman with sharp features and a no-nonsense air, looked up from her desk, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.
“Shweta, isn’t it? What brings you here this early?”
Shweta stumbled over her words, her voice shaky. “I—I need to change my room. Please.”
The warden frowned, setting her pen down. “Why? What’s the issue?”
Shweta hesitated, unsure how to explain without sounding insane. How could she articulate what had happened the night before? The whispers, the cold, Priya’s terrifying transformation. Would the warden even believe her?
“I… it’s my roommate, Priya,” Shweta stammered. “She’s acting really strange. I don’t think I can stay in that room anymore.”
At the mention of Priya’s name, the warden’s face suddenly paled. Her expression shifted from concern to something else—something far darker, like a shadow passing over her eyes.
“Priya?” The warden’s voice dropped, her tone tight. “What are you talking about, Shweta?”
Shweta’s stomach twisted. The way the warden said Priya’s name made her even more uneasy. “My roommate. Priya. She’s been acting really weird lately. Last night, she—” Shweta’s words faltered, her voice trembling. “Something’s wrong with her. I woke up in the middle of the night, and she was… sitting at the desk, staring at me, her eyes… her eyes were—”
The warden stood abruptly, cutting her off. She crossed the room in a few quick steps, locking the door behind her. The sudden movement sent a jolt of panic through Shweta’s chest.
“What are you talking about, Shweta?” The warden’s voice was low, almost a whisper now. She leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing. “Who is Priya?”
Shweta blinked, confused. “My roommate,” she repeated. “Priya. She’s been in the room since day one. She’s—”
“There is no Priya.” The warden’s words sliced through the air like a knife.
Shweta felt her blood turn to ice. “What… what do you mean?”
The warden’s face was grim, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’ve been assigned that room alone, Shweta. No one else was ever placed there with you. There is no Priya in this hostel. No one was ever assigned to your room but you.”
Shweta’s mind reeled. “That’s not possible,” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’ve been sharing the room with her. She’s been there this whole time!”
The warden shook her head slowly, her expression serious, her voice unyielding. “You’ve been alone since you arrived. No one has ever shared that room with you.”
Shweta’s legs felt weak, and she stumbled back, her hands gripping the edge of the desk for support. Her mind scrambled to make sense of the warden’s words, but they didn’t align with the reality she knew. How could Priya not exist? She had talked to her, seen her, lived with her for days. The late-night conversations, the quiet meals, the eerie nights—how could all of that have been… nothing?
“No,” Shweta whispered, her voice barely audible. “She’s real. I’ve been talking to her. She’s there. I’ve seen her.”
The warden’s gaze hardened, her tone shifting from concern to something colder, more urgent. “Shweta, listen to me. There has been no one else in that room. Whatever you’ve been seeing, it’s not a person. It’s not real.”
Shweta’s breath hitched, her mind spiraling into a vortex of confusion and fear. How could this be happening? She remembered Priya—her voice, her presence, the haunting way she had whispered “SLEEP” the night before.
The memory sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over her.
“I… I don’t understand,” Shweta stammered, her heart racing. “How is that possible?”
The warden stepped closer, her face lined with worry but also something that resembled fear. “There are stories, Shweta. Stories about that particular room. It’s why we stopped assigning three girls to it years ago. But whatever is happening to you, you need to get out of there now. That room—it's… it’s not safe.”
Shweta’s world tilted. Her vision blurred as her mind struggled to process the enormity of what the warden was saying. Not safe. The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating her.
“What… kind of stories?” Shweta asked, her voice shaky, barely able to form the question.
The warden looked away, her expression distant, haunted. “Strange things have happened in that room. Girls who were assigned there before you—they left. Some were found in a state of shock. One disappeared altogether, and no one knows what happened to her. It’s like the room has a presence… something that’s not meant to be there.”
Shweta’s legs gave way, and she sank into the chair by the desk, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. The room around her seemed to close in, the walls pressing in with a suffocating weight.
Her thoughts raced back to Priya—the pale skin, the bloodshot eyes, the strange, whispering voice.
Could it be true?
Was Priya… not real?
“No,” Shweta murmured, her voice cracking. “She was there. I’ve seen her, talked to her. I’m not imagining it.”
The warden’s face softened, but her voice remained firm. “I don’t doubt you saw something, Shweta. But whatever it is, it’s not a living person. It’s something else.”
A cold sweat broke out across Shweta’s forehead. Her mind whirled in chaos. She could still feel Priya’s presence in the room—her footsteps, her voice. The horrifying memory of Priya’s wide, bloodshot eyes burned into her mind, the whisper echoing endlessly in her ears.
Sleep.
The warden’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Pack your things, Shweta. I’ll find you another room.”
But as Shweta stood on shaky legs, her body moving on autopilot, she knew that things had already gone too far. Whatever Priya was—whatever had taken her place—wasn’t going to let her leave so easily.
And deep down, Shweta knew the truth.
Priya, or whatever had taken her form, was still waiting for her.
Chapter 4: "The Empty Bed"
Shweta stood frozen at the door of her room, her hand trembling as it hovered over the doorknob. The corridor outside seemed to stretch endlessly in both directions, the once-familiar walls now feeling cold and suffocating. Every instinct screamed at her to turn around, leave, and never come back. But something deep inside compelled her to return—something dark, gnawing at the edges of her mind.
She had to know.
The warden’s words echoed in her ears like a death knell: "Whatever you've been seeing, it's not a person."
Swallowing hard, Shweta twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door.
The room was exactly as she had left it that morning—silent, still, and bathed in the weak afternoon light. The sight of the third bed, untouched and eerily pristine, sent a shiver down her spine. It had always been there, just another piece of furniture. But now, it felt different, like a looming presence in the corner of her vision, a dark shadow that watched her silently.
She slowly stepped inside, the weight of the room pressing down on her like invisible hands. Every creak of the floorboard beneath her feet sounded unnaturally loud, echoing in the silence. Shweta’s eyes were drawn to the third bed again—no longer just an object, but something far more ominous. The once-neutral space felt charged, like static in the air before a storm.
Why is it always rumpled?
Her heart thudded in her chest as she moved closer to the bed. The sheets were slightly crumpled, as if someone had just been lying there. The empty cupboard beside it stood ajar, its door swinging slightly on its hinges, as though someone had rummaged through it.
But no one was there.
She stood over the bed, staring at the indentation on the mattress. Her breath quickened. She had never seen anyone use it, yet it always looked this way. What if someone—something—had been using it all along, watching her while she slept?
The thought sent a chill through her bones.
Shweta took a step back, her mind racing. It was just a bed. Just an ordinary, unoccupied bed. But her gut told her otherwise. Something was wrong here. Deeply wrong.
I need to leave.
But her feet wouldn’t move. She felt paralyzed, caught in the invisible grip of the room itself. Her eyes flicked to Priya’s bed, the one she had been sharing with the girl—or whatever Priya was. The sheets were neat, the pillow perfectly fluffed. Priya was nowhere to be seen.
A wave of nausea hit her. Was she truly alone in the room? Or was Priya—or the thing pretending to be her—lurking somewhere in the shadows?
The air felt thick, heavy with something unseen.
As dusk settled outside, casting the room in murky twilight, Shweta’s nerves began to fray. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt a presence. It was faint at first—like the sensation of being watched—but then it grew stronger. A soft, almost imperceptible whisper floated through the air.
She whipped her head around, heart pounding. The sound seemed to come from the corner of the room, near the third bed.
No one’s there. It’s in your head. You’re imagining it.
But the whispers grew louder, clearer. They were words—faint, disjointed, but unmistakable. They seemed to echo, reverberating off the walls, surrounding her.
Her breath hitched. “Who’s there?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.
No answer.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Then—footsteps. Soft, almost delicate, padding across the floor.
Shweta’s blood ran cold. The sound was unmistakable. Someone—or something—was walking around the room.
Her eyes darted frantically around, but she saw nothing. The footsteps were coming closer, circling her, though no one was there. Her heart pounded in her ears, her vision blurring with panic.
“Priya?” she called out, her voice cracking. “Is that you?”
Silence.
She could feel it now—a presence, heavy and oppressive, filling the room with a suffocating weight. It was as if the air itself had grown thick, pushing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
The whispers returned, closer this time, crawling along the edges of her mind. And then, suddenly, they stopped.
A low, guttural breath filled the room.
Shweta froze, her entire body rigid with terror.
Someone is here.
The breath came again, louder this time, rasping and strained. It sounded wrong, inhuman, like the exhale of something that hadn’t breathed in years. Shweta’s eyes darted to the third bed, her pulse racing in her throat.
The bed. The third bed.
The sheets were moving—just a slight shift, barely noticeable, but enough to make her stomach churn with fear. She watched in horror as the indentation on the bed deepened, as if invisible hands were pressing down on it.
Someone is lying there.
Shweta stumbled backward, her mind reeling. The breath grew louder, rasping, filling the room with its eerie presence. She could feel it now—the thing in the bed, staring at her with eyes she couldn’t see.
The whispers returned, louder now, wrapping around her like a cold embrace. They were clearer, more distinct, and with them came a single word, repeated over and over, a command that chilled her to the core.
“Sleep…”
Shweta’s legs buckled. She fell against her bed, clutching the edge for support, her entire body trembling. The whispers pressed in on her, a cacophony of voices, all chanting the same word, again and again.
“Sleep…”
The room seemed to pulse with malevolence, a dark, swirling energy that filled every corner. The third bed creaked under the weight of whatever was lying there, and the cupboard door swung open with a groan, revealing… nothing.
But Shweta knew—something was there. Something had been there all along.
And it wasn’t Priya.
The last remnants of her courage shattered. She scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. She needed to leave—now. She bolted for the door, her hands fumbling with the lock, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Behind her, the whispers grew louder, more insistent.
“Sleep…”
With a final twist, the door swung open, and Shweta fled into the corridor, the cold, oppressive presence of the room trailing after her like a shadow.
She didn’t stop running until she was outside, gasping for air, her mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion. The whispers still echoed in her ears, faint but persistent, like a ghostly reminder of what she had just escaped.
But as Shweta stood trembling in the cold night air, one terrifying thought refused to leave her mind.
Had she escaped at all?
Chapter 5: "The Midnight Whispers"
The night settled over the hostel like a suffocating blanket, thick and impenetrable. Shweta lay wide awake in her bed, her heart thudding loudly in the quiet room. The clock on the wall ticked away each second, but the normalcy of its rhythmic sound did little to drown out the growing unease gnawing at her nerves.
It’s just a room, she tried telling herself. It’s just a building. A campus like any other.
But deep down, she knew that was a lie.
The whispers had started again.
They had begun softly, just as they always did—barely a murmur in the back of her mind, like the faintest breeze rustling through leaves. But as the hours ticked by, they grew louder, more insistent. They weren’t in her head anymore; they were in the room.
And tonight, they were different. They weren’t distant or vague, but close—too close.
Shweta clutched her blanket tighter, her eyes flickering nervously around the darkened room. Every shadow seemed alive, shifting and curling at the edges of her vision. The third bed loomed in the corner like a silent sentinel, untouched yet ominous. She hadn’t dared to go near it since the incident with Priya, and tonight, it seemed to radiate a cold, malevolent energy.
The whispers grew sharper, slicing through the air like knives. The words were still unintelligible, but the tone was unmistakable—demanding, urgent.
They want something.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sound, but it only made things worse. The moment her eyelids closed, the whispers became a cacophony, swirling around her head, echoing through the room.
She sat up, her breath ragged. “Stop,” she whispered to no one, her voice trembling. “Please… stop…”
But they didn’t. Instead, they grew louder—agitated, angry. The walls seemed to pulse with the sound, as though the very building were alive, feeding off the fear that now coursed through her veins.
And then, she heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps.
They were soft, almost gentle at first, but grew steadily louder, more deliberate. Her heart raced as they echoed through the hallways outside her room. Someone was walking out there. Someone was coming.
Priya?
Shweta’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to see whatever was out there.
But the footsteps stopped—right outside her door.
For a moment, there was only silence. The whispers had gone eerily quiet, as if waiting.
Shweta held her breath, her pulse thudding painfully in her ears. And then, slowly, the door handle began to turn.
No…
The door creaked open, just an inch, but enough to let in the cold draft from the corridor. Shweta’s heart nearly stopped. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She just stared at the dark crack in the doorway, waiting for whatever was on the other side to reveal itself.
Nothing happened.
The silence stretched, taut and unbearable. Shweta’s fingers dug into the mattress, her knuckles white.
Then, the whispers returned. Louder. Closer.
“Come… come…”
The voice wasn’t coming from the door. It was coming from inside the room.
Shweta’s eyes snapped to the third bed.
The sheets were moving—writhing, as if something underneath them was stirring.
Panic surged through her, and without thinking, she threw the blanket off herself and bolted out of bed. She needed to get out. She couldn’t stay here any longer. But just as she reached the door, the whispers shifted, becoming low and guttural, almost like laughter.
The door slammed shut in her face.
Shweta stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall. She gasped, her mind racing. She was trapped. The room was alive with the sound of the voices now, swirling around her like a vortex.
And then she noticed it—the faint glow coming from the hallway.
At first, she thought it was just the overhead lights, flickering as they sometimes did. But no, this was different. The light was faint, pulsing, and… wrong.
With trembling hands, she pulled the door open again, just enough to peek through the crack.
The hallway beyond was bathed in a dim, unnatural glow, as though some unseen force was lighting it from within. But that wasn’t what made her heart freeze in her chest.
Symbols. Eerie, twisted symbols were etched into the walls, glowing faintly, like some ancient script carved in blood. They stretched from the far end of the hallway all the way down to her door, as if something had left a trail.
Her breath hitched. The symbols were moving—shifting slightly, as though alive, as though they were crawling across the walls.
The whispers intensified. They filled her ears, her mind, her very soul. She couldn’t escape them.
Her feet moved before her mind could register what she was doing. She stepped out into the hallway, drawn to the symbols despite the terror tightening her chest. The air was thick, oppressive, making it hard to breathe. The symbols seemed to pulse in rhythm with her heartbeat, leading her down the corridor.
They want me to follow.
Shweta’s legs shook with every step she took, but she couldn’t stop. It was as if something unseen was pulling her forward, toward the unknown. The symbols twisted and writhed, growing brighter the closer she got to the end of the hall.
And then they stopped—just outside her room.
The glow flickered once, twice, before fading into nothingness. The whispers fell silent, leaving her standing alone in the cold, dark hallway.
But when she turned to look back at her door, her heart stopped.
The symbols—those eerie, crawling symbols—had formed a circle around her room. They glowed faintly now, as if marking it, claiming it.
She stumbled back, her pulse racing in her throat. The whispers returned, louder than ever, deafening in their intensity.
“It’s the room…” they seemed to say. “It’s always been the room…”
Shweta’s mind reeled. The room wasn’t just haunted—it was cursed. It had been from the moment she stepped inside.
And now, whatever was inside it had marked her.
The symbols glowed brighter, casting long, sinister shadows across the walls.
Her room had become a prison—a trap from which there was no escape.
And as she stood there, paralyzed with fear, she realized the horrifying truth.
The thing pretending to be Priya never left.
It was still inside, waiting for her to return.
Waiting for her to sleep.
Shweta stumbled back toward the stairwell, her mind racing. She needed to get away, but the whispers followed her, growing louder with every step she took, chasing her down the stairs, echoing in the empty corridors.
There is no escape…
The building itself seemed to pulse with malevolence, alive with the dark energy that had consumed it.
Chapter 6: "The Haunting of Room 203"
Shweta sat in the campus café, her hands trembling as she wrapped them around a cup of tea that had long gone cold. She stared at the table, her mind spinning in circles, trying to make sense of the nightmare she was living. The whispers, the symbols, the cold presence in her room—it wasn’t just her imagination. She knew it now.
But the question remained—why?
Across from her, Reena, a senior she had met during an orientation event, shifted uncomfortably in her seat. There was a nervous energy about her, a hesitation that hadn’t been there when they first started talking. Reena's eyes darted around the café, as if afraid someone might overhear their conversation.
"Reena, please," Shweta begged, her voice barely a whisper. "I need to know. You said you lived in Room 203 before... you have to tell me what happened."
Reena’s face paled, her lips pressing into a tight line. "Shweta, I’m telling you this for your own good... just leave. Get out of that room. Out of that building. And don’t look back."
Shweta’s heart raced. "I can’t just leave without knowing what’s going on. What happened in Room 203?"
Reena sighed, glancing around once more before leaning in closer. “You’ve heard the name Priya, haven’t you?” she asked quietly.
Shweta stiffened. Priya. That name had haunted her since her arrival. The roommate who wasn’t real. The figure that had shared her room—or whatever it was that pretended to be her.
“I—yes,” Shweta stammered, her fingers clutching the edge of the table. “She… she was in my room. But the warden said no one by that name was ever assigned. What does that mean?”
Reena exhaled, her eyes dark with a mixture of fear and regret. "Priya was real. She was very real. But she’s not… anymore."
Shweta felt her blood run cold. Her mouth went dry. “What do you mean?”
Reena took a sip of her own tea, her fingers trembling just enough for Shweta to notice. "Priya lived in that room. Room 203. It was years ago, back when I was a first-year. She was popular—smart, beautiful, always laughing. You would never have guessed that anything was wrong with her. But something happened."
Shweta leaned in, hanging on every word. “What happened?”
“They found her… dead,” Reena said, her voice barely above a whisper. "One morning, her roommate woke up and found her lying in bed, cold as ice. No one knew what had happened. There were no signs of foul play, no obvious cause of death. She was just... gone. The doctors called it sudden cardiac arrest, but..."
Reena's voice trailed off, her eyes clouding with memories too painful to recount. "The people who knew her didn’t believe it. They said Priya had been acting strange in the days leading up to her death. She had started staying up late, sleeping during the day, barely speaking to anyone. Just like you described."
Shweta’s heart raced as Reena’s words sank in. Priya had been acting exactly like her supposed “roommate.”
“After Priya died,” Reena continued, “the rumors started. People said they could hear footsteps at night coming from Room 203, even when it was empty. Sometimes, students would claim to hear someone crying in the middle of the night. But the worst was the third bed.”
Shweta’s pulse quickened. "The third bed?"
Reena nodded, her expression grim. "Priya’s bed. It always looked like someone had been sleeping in it. No matter how many times the cleaners came and tidied up, the sheets would always be rumpled the next morning. Like she never left."
Shweta felt a wave of nausea wash over her. Her mind raced back to the countless nights she had seen the third bed—how it had always looked used, despite being empty. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why didn’t the warden say anything?”
“They don’t want to scare new students,” Reena said bitterly. “The warden knew, but no one wants to acknowledge it. Too many students have left because of that room. They just keep it quiet now.”
Shweta sat back in her chair, the weight of Reena’s words pressing down on her like a boulder. The whispers, the eerie occurrences, Priya’s strange behavior—everything made sense now. But it wasn’t comforting. If anything, it was worse. Priya hadn’t just died—she was still there.
“But why is this happening to me?” Shweta asked, her voice barely steady. “Why now? Why me?”
Reena looked at her with sad, tired eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe the room—whatever’s in that room—it feeds on fear, on loneliness. You’ve been staying there alone since day one, haven’t you?”
Shweta nodded slowly. "Yes."
"And the third bed," Reena whispered, leaning closer. "That’s where it all started. That bed belonged to Priya."
A cold shiver ran down Shweta’s spine. She remembered all the times she had glanced at the bed, always feeling like something was wrong, like she wasn’t really alone. Now she knew why.
“What am I supposed to do?” Shweta asked, her voice cracking. “How do I stop it?”
Reena shook her head slowly, her face pale. “I don’t think you can stop it. I’ve seen other girls try. They either leave or…” she trailed off, her silence more damning than words.
Shweta’s heart hammered in her chest, fear crawling through her veins like poison. She needed to get out of that room—out of that building—but she felt trapped, cornered by a presence that had claimed her space as its own. The third bed wasn’t just an empty space—it was a connection, a gateway to something far darker than she could have imagined.
And the worst part?
She could feel it watching her. Waiting.
Waiting for her to return.
As Shweta got up to leave, Reena grabbed her arm, her grip tight with urgency. “Don’t go back alone,” she warned, her eyes wide. “Whatever you do… don’t be alone.”
Shweta nodded numbly, but deep down, she knew the truth. It was too late. The haunting of Room 203 had already begun.
As she walked back toward the hostel, the cold evening air did little to calm her nerves. The campus around her felt strangely quiet, the shadows deeper, the paths eerily deserted.
And the moment she stepped into the building, the whispers returned.
They were waiting for her.
And this time, they weren’t going to let her go.
Chapter 7: "The Red Eyes"
Shweta jolted awake, gasping for air, her heart pounding so violently it felt like it might break free from her chest. The room was pitch dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Cold sweat dripped down her neck as she tried to steady her breath.
Just a nightmare, she told herself. Just another nightmare.
But this one had been different—so vivid, so real. She could still feel the suffocating weight of dread pressing down on her chest. In the dream, Priya had been standing at the foot of her bed, her hair hanging down in tangled strands, her skin pale as death. But it was her eyes that had terrified Shweta the most—two glowing, fiery red orbs that seemed to burn with an intensity that seared into her soul. The image of those eyes lingered, etched into her mind like a brand.
Shweta sat up, rubbing her temples, trying to shake off the lingering fear. The dorm room was quiet, too quiet, as if the world outside had simply ceased to exist. But as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, a creeping sensation crawled up her spine. The air felt heavy, like it was thickening around her.
She froze.
Something was wrong.
Her gaze drifted toward the foot of her bed, and that’s when she saw it.
Standing there, barely illuminated by the weak moonlight, was Priya.
Shweta’s breath caught in her throat. Priya’s figure was motionless, her long, dark hair spilling over her face like a veil. But it was her eyes—those red eyes—that glowed in the darkness, just like in the nightmare.
Shweta’s mind screamed for her to move, to run, to scream—but she couldn’t. She was paralyzed, trapped in the gaze of those unnatural, burning eyes. Priya’s presence filled the room with an overpowering sense of dread, as if the very air around them had turned toxic.
For what felt like an eternity, neither of them moved.
Then, without warning, Priya’s lips parted, and a low, raspy whisper slithered from her throat, “You... need... to... sleep.”
The words echoed in Shweta’s mind, distorting, twisting into something even more sinister. Her head spun as she clutched the bedsheets, her knuckles turning white. She wanted to scream, to tell Priya to go away, but her voice wouldn’t come. The room was closing in on her, the walls pressing tighter, suffocating her with an invisible force.
She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that when she opened them, Priya would be gone—that this was just another nightmare.
But when she opened her eyes, Priya was still there.
Only now, she was closer.
Standing just inches from the bed, her face hidden beneath the shadow of her hair, her eyes glowing brighter, more menacing.
“Sleep...” Priya whispered again, her voice louder now, vibrating through the air like a physical force.
Shweta’s heart pounded in her ears as she scrambled back, trying to push herself against the headboard, as far from Priya as possible. Her fingers fumbled for her phone on the nightstand, her only lifeline in the consuming darkness.
But the moment her hand closed around the phone, the whispers began.
Soft, unintelligible murmurs filled the room, surrounding her, echoing from the walls. They weren’t coming from Priya anymore—they were everywhere. Whispering, taunting, pulling her deeper into madness.
She squeezed the phone, her fingers trembling as she glanced at the screen. It flickered, then died. No signal. No light. Nothing.
The room felt like a cage now, suffocating her. Shweta clamped her hands over her ears, trying to block out the voices, but they only grew louder, more persistent. Her body trembled as panic clawed at her throat, the fear gnawing at her mind like a relentless predator.
And Priya—Priya was still there, standing unnaturally still, her glowing red eyes fixed on Shweta, unblinking, unrelenting.
“Go away!” Shweta finally screamed, her voice breaking. “Please, just go away!”
But Priya didn’t move. Her lips curled into a grotesque smile, and in that moment, Shweta knew—this was no dream. This was real.
Desperation surged through her, and without thinking, Shweta threw herself out of bed, bolting for the door. Her feet pounded against the floor as she yanked the door open and ran into the hallway. The whispers followed her, swirling around her head, relentless in their pursuit.
The dimly lit corridor stretched endlessly before her, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead like dying stars. Shweta’s footsteps echoed through the hall as she ran, her breath ragged and shallow. Every shadow seemed to stretch toward her, every creak of the building filled her with a primal terror.
But as she ran, something horrifying dawned on her—no matter how far she ran, she could feel those red eyes following her, always just behind her, watching.
She skidded to a stop near the stairwell, gasping for air, her chest burning with exhaustion. She glanced behind her, expecting to see Priya, expecting those red eyes to appear at any moment. But the hallway was empty.
For a moment, silence fell over the building. No whispers. No footsteps. Just the eerie, hollow quiet of the hostel.
Had she outrun it?
Shweta’s hands shook as she leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath. She stared down the empty hall, her pulse still racing, every nerve in her body screaming for her to keep running. But the shadows stayed still, and for the first time in what felt like hours, she allowed herself to believe it was over.
But then, just as she turned toward the stairs, she saw them.
The symbols.
Etched into the wall at the end of the corridor, glowing faintly under the flickering light—symbols just like the ones she had seen before. The jagged, cryptic lines that seemed to pulse with some dark energy, twisting and shifting before her eyes. They led back to her room.
Back to Priya.
A chill crawled up Shweta’s spine as she realized with a sinking dread—this wasn’t over. It was never over.
The red eyes, the whispers, the symbols—they weren’t just haunting her. They were calling her. Pulling her back. Back to the room. Back to where it all began.
And no matter how far she ran, she knew one terrible, undeniable truth.
Priya—or whatever Priya had become—wasn’t going to let her go.
With her heart pounding in her ears, Shweta turned toward the stairwell, her body trembling as she descended the steps, her mind racing. There was only one thought left in her head as she fled the building, desperate for escape.
She had to get out.
But as she ran, she knew—deep down—there was no escape.
The red eyes would always find her.
And this nightmare wasn’t over yet.
Chapter 8: "The Vanishing Presence"
Shweta’s fingers trembled as she reached for the doorknob, desperate to escape. The cold metal sent a jolt through her palm as she twisted it, but the door wouldn’t budge. Panic flared inside her. Not now, please not now. She yanked harder, her breath growing shallow with each failed attempt.
A soft creak echoed behind her.
Shweta froze, the hair on the back of her neck prickling. Slowly, her eyes darted toward the third bed, the one that had always felt wrong, the one that had remained eerily untouched during her time in the room—until now.
It wasn’t empty anymore.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. The blanket, which had been neatly folded earlier, was now disturbed, as though someone had just shifted beneath it. The pillow had a distinct indentation, as if a head was resting on it.
But no one was there.
She blinked, her mind spinning with disbelief. This isn’t real. It can’t be real. But it was. The bed, once vacant, now looked lived in, the subtle rise and fall of the blanket mimicking shallow breaths.
She backed away, her pulse thundering in her ears. The door behind her felt like a lifeline, but it remained locked, trapping her inside this nightmare.
From the corner of her eye, something moved.
The lamp on her desk rattled softly, then slid an inch to the left, as if an invisible hand had nudged it. The books stacked beside it trembled, one by one falling to the floor with a dull thud.
Shweta’s body stiffened as the whispering started again, a low murmur that seemed to seep from the very walls. It was indistinct at first, but as the voices overlapped, they grew louder, more urgent.
Her eyes flicked back to the third bed.
It was no longer still. The blanket shifted, pulling tighter, as if someone was slowly sitting up beneath it.
And then, just for a second, the blanket dropped. A pair of feet, pale and cold, dangled from the edge of the bed.
Shweta’s breath caught in her throat. She shut her eyes tight, willing it all to go away, willing this horror to unravel itself as nothing more than her overactive imagination.
But the air around her was thick with something unnatural, something that had been there all along, feeding off her fear, growing stronger with every passing second.
The soft sound of footsteps scraped against the floor behind her.
Shweta didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to see what she knew was there.
Priya—or whatever entity had been wearing Priya’s skin—was back.
She could feel the presence loom closer, a coldness that wrapped around her like icy fingers. The footsteps stopped just inches away. The silence that followed was suffocating, as if the very air had been sucked out of the room.
Then, slowly, painfully, she turned her head just enough to glance over her shoulder.
There she was.
Priya—or the thing pretending to be her—stood still, her face obscured by the dark mass of her hair. But it wasn’t just her appearance that terrified Shweta—it was the way Priya’s body flickered, as though struggling to remain in this world. One second she was there, and the next she was... gone, only to reappear a step closer.
Shweta’s breath came in short, panicked bursts.
“I... I need to leave,” she whispered, more to herself than to Priya. Her voice trembled as if speaking out loud would shatter whatever thin layer of sanity remained.
Priya didn’t answer. Instead, she took another step forward—flickering in and out of existence like a broken transmission, her form ghostly, almost transparent.
Shweta scrambled backward, her fingers frantically clawing at the door handle, twisting and yanking with desperation.
And then, in the corner of the room, something else shifted.
The mirror on the wall, the one Shweta had avoided looking at for days, vibrated slightly, as though reacting to the tension in the room. Shweta’s gaze was drawn to it against her will. The glass shimmered, the reflection distorted. In the faint light, she saw something that made her stomach lurch.
Her reflection wasn’t alone.
Behind her stood Priya—but not the Priya she remembered. This one had hollow eyes, skin stretched taut over her skull, her mouth twisted into a grotesque smile. But worst of all were the eyes—those same red eyes that had haunted her nightmares.
A guttural whisper filled the room, cutting through the silence like a blade.
“Shweta...”
Her name came from everywhere and nowhere at once. Shweta spun around, but Priya—no, the presence—had vanished. The room was empty.
The third bed, which moments ago had looked so undeniably occupied, was once again pristine. The objects on her desk stood still, as if nothing had ever disturbed them. But the air... it felt wrong, charged with something unseen, something waiting.
Shweta’s legs buckled beneath her. She leaned against the door, trying to make sense of the madness unfolding around her. Nothing felt real anymore. The boundary between reality and whatever haunted this room had blurred, leaving her stranded in a nightmarish limbo.
She needed to get out. Now.
But even as she turned the handle again, this time finding it unlocked, the whispers didn’t stop. They were louder now, insistent, crawling into her head and rooting themselves deep inside her mind.
You can’t leave...
The room seemed to shift around her as if mocking her desperation to escape. The walls, once familiar, now felt like they were closing in. The floor beneath her feet trembled, the air thickened, and the whispering became a roar—a cacophony of voices overlapping in a twisted symphony of terror.
Just as she reached for the door, a low creak sounded from behind her.
Shweta froze.
The third bed.
Slowly, painfully slowly, she turned her head.
The bed was no longer empty.
A figure lay under the covers now, as clear as day. The blanket rose and fell with soft, steady breaths, as if someone was peacefully asleep. But Shweta knew better.
Priya’s face—no, that thing’s face—peeked out from beneath the covers, her lips curling into a twisted, malicious smile, her red eyes gleaming with malevolent delight.
Shweta staggered backward, her body trembling with fear so profound she could barely stand. The walls felt like they were closing in again, the whispers growing louder, filling the room with an unbearable pressure.
And then, Priya—or the thing that was Priya—spoke again, her voice barely a whisper.
“You’ll never leave...”
The room spun around Shweta as her vision blurred, the overwhelming fear dragging her deeper into the abyss. As the world around her darkened, her last thought was one of pure, unadulterated horror.
The presence wasn’t just in the room. It was in her mind.
And there was no escaping it.
Chapter 9: "The Final Awakening"
Shweta’s breaths came in shallow gasps as she sat on her bed, clutching the sheets with white-knuckled hands. The air in the room felt thick, oppressive, as though the very walls were watching her—waiting. The presence lingered, stronger than ever, but something had shifted. It wasn’t just fear anymore; it was desperation.
She couldn’t live like this—not in the constant grip of terror, not with the whispers and the moving shadows haunting her every second. She needed answers. She needed to confront whatever had taken over Room 203.
And she needed to confront Priya.
Her eyes darted to the corner of the room, where the third bed sat—pristine, untouched, and yet so very wrong. She swallowed hard, her throat dry as sandpaper. The figure she had seen moments ago was gone, but the air still crackled with something unnatural, something she couldn’t escape.
There’s no running from this.
Gathering the last threads of her courage, Shweta stood up, her legs trembling beneath her. The whispers had faded for the moment, but the silence was worse—heavy, suffocating. It pressed against her like a vice, wrapping around her mind, making it hard to think, to breathe.
She approached the bed slowly, each step feeling like she was walking toward her doom. The temperature dropped with every inch closer, a biting chill that seeped into her bones. She stopped at the foot of the bed, staring down at the perfectly smooth blanket.
Her heart raced. Do it. Say her name.
“Priya,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness. “I know you’re here.”
The silence deepened, almost as if the room itself was holding its breath.
“I know what you want,” Shweta said, her voice stronger now, though her hands shook. “You’ve been haunting this room for years... but why? What do you want from me?”
The air grew colder, and the faintest sound of rustling came from beneath the blanket. Shweta’s breath caught in her throat as the fabric shifted ever so slightly, as though something was stirring beneath it.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, but she refused to back down. I have to face this. I can’t run anymore.
“What happened to you, Priya?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why are you still here?”
The blanket moved again, this time more noticeably. Shweta stepped back, her heart hammering in her chest, but she didn’t run. She couldn’t.
And then, slowly, agonizingly slowly, the blanket peeled back on its own.
Shweta’s breath hitched. The bed was empty—no body, no figure, just the cold, rumpled sheets. But she wasn’t alone. She could feel it.
A soft whisper filled the room, so faint that she almost didn’t catch it.
“Help me...”
Shweta’s eyes widened, her skin crawling as the whisper echoed in the stillness.
“Help me...”
The voice was faint, fragile, like a lost child calling out from the depths of a nightmare. It wasn’t the malicious hiss she had expected. It was... pleading.
Shweta’s heart twisted. For the first time since this ordeal began, she felt a pang of something other than fear—sympathy.
“What happened to you, Priya?” she whispered, her voice shaking. “How do I help you?”
The room seemed to tremble in response, the shadows shifting and swirling as if the walls themselves were alive. And then, with a sickening jolt, Shweta was thrown backward, her body hitting the ground hard. The lights flickered wildly, plunging the room into strobe-like flashes of light and dark.
In the corner, near the third bed, a figure materialized.
Shweta gasped, scrambling to her feet. It was Priya—or rather, the ghostly apparition of Priya. Her hair hung limp and wet, her skin a deathly pale, but it was her eyes that sent a fresh wave of terror through Shweta. They were hollow, empty pits of darkness, void of life, yet filled with an unbearable sorrow.
“Please...” Priya whispered, her voice cracking with despair. “End this...”
Shweta’s heart raced. End this? How?
“What happened to you?” Shweta demanded, her voice stronger now. “Why are you still here?”
Priya’s form flickered, her mouth opening and closing as if struggling to speak. The air in the room thickened, and then suddenly, the images began to flood Shweta’s mind—disjointed, broken flashes of Priya’s final days.
She saw Priya in this very room, sitting at the desk, her face pale and gaunt. She wasn’t alone. There was a man—a shadowy figure—standing over her, his voice low and threatening. There was a struggle, muffled cries for help, and then the suffocating silence that followed.
Shweta’s stomach twisted as the horrifying truth settled in. Priya hadn’t died naturally. She had been murdered.
“No...” Shweta breathed, horrified. “He killed you.”
Priya’s hollow eyes bore into hers, and for the briefest moment, they flickered with a faint glimmer of life.
“I can’t leave...” Priya whispered, her voice breaking. “He trapped me here...”
The words hit Shweta like a punch to the gut. Trapped. Priya’s spirit had been bound to this room, to the place of her death, cursed to relive her final moments over and over again.
“But why me?” Shweta asked, her voice rising in panic. “Why did you come to me?”
Priya’s form flickered again, growing fainter. The shadows around her began to stir, as if something darker, something more malevolent was closing in. The room trembled, the very walls seeming to close in around them.
“You’re the first to listen,” Priya whispered, her voice barely audible. “The others... they ran. They didn’t care. But you... you stayed.”
Shweta’s mind reeled. The whispers, the footsteps, the presence in the room—it had all been Priya’s desperate attempt to reach out, to break free from her prison of loneliness and torment.
“What do I have to do?” Shweta asked, her voice shaking. “How do I help you?”
Priya’s hollow eyes filled with sorrow, and she reached out a ghostly hand. The air around them grew colder, the darkness thicker.
“Find him,” Priya whispered, her voice fragile. “He’s still here... in the shadows... He’s kept me trapped. Break the curse... and I can finally rest.”
The lights flickered violently, and Priya’s form began to dissolve into the swirling shadows.
Shweta’s heart raced. “How do I find him?”
But it was too late. Priya’s presence vanished, leaving Shweta alone in the suffocating silence of Room 203.
The whispers had stopped. The room was still.
But the terror wasn’t over.
The darkness that had claimed Priya was still there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its next victim.
And Shweta knew—if she didn’t break the curse, she would be next.
With a trembling breath, Shweta steeled herself. She wasn’t going to run. Not anymore.
It was time to face the true darkness that haunted Room 203.
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