The home on Jamunkhadi had always instilled a feeling of unease in its neighbours. Most people were deterred from approaching the building by its dilapidated exterior and neglected lawn. However, Sarmila viewed the home as a challenge and an opportunity to demonstrate her worth. The home was the ideal setting for her next horror novel. And she was a determined writer.

As soon as she stepped through the front door, the odour of mould and rot overwhelmed her. The interior was as neglected as the exterior, with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and dust coating every surface. But Sarmila didn’t let it deter her. She was determined to make the home hers, if only temporarily.

She spent the first day exploring, creating mental images of each room, and taking notes. Sarmila could not help but ponder what had prompted the previous owners to abandon the house, as it was evident that it had been vacant for some time. As the sun set, she ascended to the second floor, where she intended to spend the night. As she settled into the master bedroom, she couldn’t escape the feeling that she was not alone.

Sarmila had always been somewhat anxious, but this was different. There was a prolonged feeling that someone or something was watching her. But as it was getting late, she discounted the sensation as mere nerves and went to bed.

But sleep was difficult to come by that night. Every creak and groan of the old house seemed to be amplified, leaving Sarmila on alert. She was on the verge of falling asleep when she heard a sound that caused her blood to flow cold. It was the sound of slow, deliberate footfall ascending the stairs.

She held her breath and listened attentively as the footsteps approached. Sarmila became paralysed with fear as they stopped just outside the bedroom door. She attempted to convince herself that she was imagining things, but her guts were telling her that someone or something was standing just outside the door.

Suddenly, the door opened with a loud creak, and Sarmila was confronted by a dark figure. She couldn’t quite make out what it was. It was tall, with long limbs and legs, and its head appeared disproportionately large to its body. In the darkness, its eyes glowed, and Sarmila could feel its gaze penetrating her.

She attempted to shriek, but her throat prevented her from doing so. Sarmila could feel the figure’s draining aura as it stepped closer. She shut her eyes, expecting the worst.

Instead of attacking her, however, the figure vanished into thin air. Sarmila opened her eyes, expecting to see the creature before her, but nothing was there. She was alone once again.

The remainder of the night passed without incident, but Sarmila’s unease persisted. As soon as the sun began to rise, she packed her belongings and left the house. She had gathered all the information she needed for her novel, and she no longer wanted to remain in that spooky old house.

However, as she descended the front steps, she saw something that caused her pulse to stop. The indistinct figure from the previous night was at the base of the stairs. It stood still, its eyes fixed on her.

She attempted to run, but her feet were rigid and immobile. She appeared to be anchored to the ground by the shadow’s gaze. She shut her eyes in fear. She suddenly heard footfalls approaching her. She turned around and observed a figure standing at the end of the corridor. It was a man wearing a black suit and a headgear that concealed most of his face. She could not see his eyes but knew he was observing her.

She inquired, “Who are you?!”

The man did not respond. He simply stood there and stared at her. She began to feel apprehensive, and her heartbeat accelerated. She retreated, but the man remained still.

“What do you want?” she cried once more.

The man remained silent. He simply stood there. She felt like he was assessing her like a predator deliberating whether to attack its prey.

The man took a sudden step forward. And then one more. Then another. His form seemed to blur and distort each stride as if he were made of smoke or shadows.

Sarmila turned and ran as quickly as possible, her heart thumping in her chest. She had no idea where she was going but knew she needed to flee from that creature. As she dashed down the corridor, her feet pounded the old wooden flooring.

As she fled, she could hear the man’s footsteps approaching. She rounded a corner and noticed a door at the end of the corridor. She pushed the door open and dashed inside before shutting the door shut behind her.

Sarmila scanned the room while attempting to recover her breath. It was a tiny room with a bed and a dresser in opposite corners. On the opposite wall was a small window, but it was too high for her to reach.

Sarmila felt confined. She had no idea how she would escape the situation. She detected a subtle scratching sound from the door and knew the man was attempting to enter the room.

Her eyes scanned the room for something she could use as a weapon. There was, however, nothing. On a second look, she saw that on top of the dresser, there was an ancient, rusty lamp.

The scratching ceased abruptly. Sarmila held her breath as she awaited the man’s entrance through the door. However, there was no sound.

She waited for what seemed like hours, unable to move out of fear. She eventually gathered the fortitude to approach the door, slowly reaching and turning the doorknob. The door opened with a groan to disclose an empty hallway. No trace of the individual in the black suit could be found.

Sarmila walked down the hallway with a racing pulse. There was always the risk that the man was hiding in the shadows, ready to attack.

With each step she took, the air grew chilly, and the darkness grew closer. However, she could not stop now, as she was so near the bottom of the stairs. She reached the bottom and scanned the area, but the shadow was nowhere to be found.

She took several deep breaths to calm herself before exploring the room. The ceiling was covered in cobwebs, and the walls were made of moist stone. The only source of illumination was a small fissure in the ceiling through which a thin shaft of moonlight shined through.

As she moved further into the room, she observed a tiny wooden chest in the far corner. It was ancient and worn, with rusted hinges and a lock that looked like it had been tampered with. She approached the container and opened the lid.

There was only one item inside—a compact silver key. Sarmila picked it up and attentively examined it, but nothing was remarkable. She could not shake the feeling that the key held some type of power, despite something about it being unique.

However, as she approached the stairs, a frigid hand wrapped around her ankle. She attempted to escape, but the hold was too powerful. She gazed down and saw the shadow rising from the darkness once again.

She shrieked and attempted to flee, but the shadow restrained her. Its hold was as frigid as ice, and she could feel it spreading throughout her body. She struggled and fought but to no avail.

Sarmila suddenly remembered the key in her hand. She twisted around and thrust the key into the shadow’s chest with all her might. There was a blinding explosion of light, followed by total darkness.

She awoke to find herself lying on the stone steps. The shadow had vanished, and the chest had been shut. She got up and took one step forward before her legs gave out, and she collapsed to the ground.

Sarmila lay there for several moments, attempting to recover her breath and calm her racing heart. Once she felt stable enough, she stood up and surveyed the room. The key was nowhere to be found, and the chest remained sealed.

She glanced at the old house as she stepped out into the moonlight from the front door. She would never forget the silhouette at the bottom of the stairs or the key that had saved her life.