Shadows Beneath the Walls
After her husband Raghav’s slow and agonizing death from cancer, Kavya Mehra thought the worst pain of her life was behind her. Seeking peace for herself and her 9-year-old daughter Diya, she moved into an old yet affordable flat in South Delhi, a building with cracked walls, yellowed ceilings, and the type of silence that made the ears ring. Her nights were filled with the echo of Raghav’s final coughs, the smell of medicine, and the haunting stillness of a bed once shared. But soon, that silence turned sinister.
Diya began whispering things like, “He comes from the cupboard,” and “He talks about missing his daughter.” Kavya dismissed it as trauma, imagination, or perhaps remnants of grief, until she noticed her undergarments were missing—then reappearing folded, perfumed, and wrong. She set up an old webcam from Raghav’s work laptop and was horrified to see a man enter her flat at 2:13 AM using a key. He moved silently, running his fingers along her sarees, sniffing Diya’s clothes, and standing inches from Kavya as she slept, whispering something inaudible.
The police shrugged. No break-in signs. The society watchman didn’t see anything. But Kavya knew that face. Beneath the mask of time, the wiry frame, and hollow eyes, she recognized Ravindra Malhotra—a man from her past she had once exposed for stalking her in college. He was older than her, aggressive, and had tried to corner her in the chemistry lab storeroom years ago. She had fought back, filed a complaint, and he was expelled. She had moved on. He never did.
For years, he searched for her. After she married Raghav and changed cities, she vanished from his reach. When he finally tracked her down after Raghav’s death, he blended into society under a fake identity, posing as a maintenance man. His obsession had grown deranged—twisted with grief over his own daughter, who had died under mysterious circumstances. Ravindra blamed Kavya, saying she “had a perfect life while his fell apart.” In a disturbing confession found in his hidden journal later, he believed that by “taking Kavya” and making Diya his daughter, he could fix everything. But to do that, he had to “cleanse the space,” which meant cursing Raghav to death. Ravindra claimed to have visited a tantrik in Himachal, performing rituals of black magic. He wanted Raghav gone, so Kavya would be vulnerable.
Strange things intensified—mirrors fogged up with handprints, diya flames flickered without wind, and Kavya began to dream of a girl screaming inside a wall. One night, Diya’s drawings changed. Gone were her bright colors—now she drew stick figures covered in red, a man with hollow eyes, and a girl trapped behind bricks, arms cut off. The breaking point came when Kavya heard the wall in Diya’s room crying. Desperate and trembling, she broke through it with a hammer—and found a horror beyond comprehension.
Inside the wall cavity was the decomposed body of a young girl—Ravindra’s daughter. Her arms and legs had been cut off, arranged in a circle around her torso like a ritual. On her forehead was smeared kumkum, and beneath her lay photos of Kavya and Diya, all taken secretly inside their home. One was from the night of Raghav’s cremation.
The police raided the crawlspace above her flat. They found dozens of Kavya’s missing clothes, dolls that belonged to Diya, and a blood-stained page: "She took everything. Now she will give me everything."
Ravindra returned one night, breaking into the apartment. He wore a mask made from the preserved skin of his daughter, chanting mantras, calling Kavya his "bride of rebirth." But before he could touch her, every diya in the house burst into flame. A glowing figure appeared in the corner of the room—it was Raghav, his spirit twisted in pain but filled with rage. He held Ravindra back, whispering a final goodbye to Kavya. She, sobbing and shaking, grabbed a can of kerosene and lit the wall on fire, trapping Ravindra and the cursed memories behind it.
Weeks later, Kavya and Diya moved in with her cousin in Jaipur. They rebuilt life, brick by careful brick. But one morning, tucked inside Diya’s new schoolbag, was a note written in red ink:
"Love never dies. You were mine. You always will be."
The shadows never really left
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