"Dude, this apartment is possessed by a mischievous poltergeist or something," Riya declared, shoving a stray ladle back into the drawer with a clatter that echoed in the unnervingly silent kitchen.
Abhi, sprawled on the couch like a starfish wrestling with the temperamental Wi-Fi, barely looked up. "C'mon, Riya, it's an old building settling. You know, the whole 'ghosts in the walls' thing?"
Riya rolled her eyes. Abhi, bless his logical brain, wouldn't believe in a haunted microwave, let alone a haunted apartment. Their new place in Madhapur was awesome - spacious, modern, a total steal. But lately, the vibes were off. Like someone, or something, was messing with them. It started small - a missing spice jar that reappeared in the fridge (which, honestly, might have been Riya's fault), the TV volume jumping on its own (which could be a faulty remote). Now, it was the phantom ladle launcher.
Later that night, snuggled on the couch with Abhi, a strange melody drifted through the room. It was a sad, tinkly tune, like a child's music box playing a lullaby that had gone horribly wrong. Abhi hummed along absentmindedly, but Riya shivered. It felt…wrong, like a melody sung in a minor key, played on a music box that desperately needed oiling.
Suddenly, the music stopped. A beat of silence, then a soft thump from the wall next door. Riya shot Abhi a look, but he was already snoring softly. Another thump, followed by a slow scratching sound, like tiny fingernails dragging across the wall. This time, Abhi stirred.
"Huh, what was that?" he mumbled, eyes barely open.
"Dunno," Riya whispered, her voice tight. "But it's creepin' me out more than that time we accidentally wandered into a ghost pepper competition in Kerala."
Abhi chuckled, a sleepy sound. "Yeah, that tuk-tuk driver wasn't happy."
The scratching grew louder, more insistent. Abhi finally sat up, blinking away sleep. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the light bulb overhead sputtered and died, plunging the room into darkness.
Riya yelped, fumbling for her phone. The flashlight's weak beam barely pierced the gloom. In the suffocating silence, she could have sworn she saw a figure – a little kid, no bigger than five, standing in the doorway bathed in moonlight. He wore faded pajamas, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek, and his big, luminous eyes shone with an unnatural light. He looked more like a lost puppy than a terrifying apparition, but the way his translucent form shimmered like a mirage sent chills racing down Riya's spine. A mournful sigh escaped his lips, a sound that echoed the sadness of the music box tune.
Abhi gasped, his skepticism dissolving faster than a biscuit in chai. The boy's form flickered, then vanished as abruptly as it appeared. The light bulb flickered back to life, casting a harsh, sterile glow that seemed to mock the terror in the room.
They didn't need words. With a shared look that screamed "Nope!" they threw clothes into a duffel bag. Abhi, ever the pragmatist even in the face of a spectral child, muttered, "Forget the music box, we're taking the spatula launcher with us. Just in case."
By sunrise, they were hailing an auto rickshaw, leaving Flat 511 and the creepy pajama-wearing ghost child behind. Maybe Hyderabad wasn't quite ready for them, but they knew one thing for sure – they weren't staying in a place haunted by a child ghost who, apparently, had a thing for kitchen utensils.
The experience left a lingering unease that followed them even out of the apartment. The playful spirit of the city, the cacophony of honking rickshaws and chattering vendors, seemed muted now, tinged with a sense of foreboding. As they squeezed into the auto, the driver, a wizened old man with a handlebar moustache, cast them a curious glance.
"Leaving already?" the auto driver rumbled in heavily accented Hindi, his voice a low vibration that seemed to resonate in the very air around Riya. The smile he offered wasn't quite friendly, his gaze flickering past them to the now-distant apartment building. "Flats like that don't stay empty long," he said, his voice dropping to an even lower register that sent shivers dancing down Riya's spine.
"Nights like these?" she croaked, the terror in her voice barely audible.
The driver chuckled, a dry, humorless sound that sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over Riya. "Full moon nights, of course," he said, his gaze returning to them with an intensity that made Riya feel like a fly trapped in a spider's web. "The little one gets restless then, you see. Likes to play hide-and-seek. Especially with new tenants."
Abhi, ever the pragmatist, tried to lighten the mood with a scoff. "Little one? You mean the leaky pipes, right?" But even his voice lacked its usual conviction.
The driver's smile widened, revealing a glint of gold beneath a chipped front tooth. "Leaky pipes, perhaps," he said, his voice dripping with something far more sinister than amusement. "But sometimes, the games involve more than just water."
He threw the auto into gear, the engine sputtering to life with a groan. "Next stop?" he boomed, his voice oddly cheerful, a stark contrast to the chilling words he'd just uttered.
Riya and Abhi exchanged a panicked look. Full moon. Hide-and-seek. A restless spirit. The playful banter they'd used to mask their fear evaporated, replaced by a suffocating silence. In that moment, they knew they couldn't stay. Not another night.
"Anywhere but there," Riya finally managed, her voice trembling so badly she could barely recognize it.
The driver nodded, a flicker of something akin to pity crossing his face for a brief moment. It was a fleeting emotion, replaced by a knowing glint in his eye. He slammed the auto into gear and sped off, leaving Riya and Abhi in a cloud of dust and a chilling sense of dread. The playful spirit of Hyderabad, once vibrant and chaotic, was gone. In its place lurked a suffocating fear that gnawed at their insides. The ghost of Flat 511, it seemed, wasn't done playing its games, and the full moon, they realized with a sickening certainty, was only the beginning.
The auto ride became a blur. The cityscape, once a kaleidoscope of colors and bustling activity, seemed muted and sinister. Every honking rickshaw and chattering vendor sounded like a disembodied scream in their heightened state of fear.
When they finally reached their destination, a small, unassuming hotel far from the hustle and bustle of Madhapur, they practically tumbled out of the auto, throwing money at the driver without bothering to check the change. He didn't seem offended, simply pocketing the bills with a slight smile that sent another shiver down Riya's spine.
As they scurried towards the entrance of the hotel, the melody of the music box drifted faintly on the night wind, a mournful lullaby that sent tears welling up in Riya's eyes. They had left Flat 511 behind, but the chilling feeling of being watched, of being a part of a spectral game they didn't understand, clung to them like a shroud. The spirit of the little boy, restless and playful, had found them, and they knew, with a horrifying certainty, that this was just the beginning.
YOU ARE READING
Whispers Beyond The Veil
HorrorBest friends Kisha and Adaa embark on a new chapter of their lives as they move into a spacious apartment in an affluent neighborhood. Juggling their careers as doctors by day and Adaa's passion for fashion design, along with Kisha's sideline as a s...
