The rain was really coming down, drumming on the window like crazy. I was chilling in my small cottage in Mukteshwar, Uttarakhand, totally hooked on a detective novel. It was November 14, 2024, at almost midnight, and suddenly, there was this loud, hard knock on the front door. My heart jumped into my throat! I mean, who shows up at your door this late, especially way out here?
I just froze for a second, my hand hovering over the doorknob. My brain was screaming, "Do NOT open it!" But honestly, those crime novels I read? They make you kinda curious about weird stuff. Another knock, louder this time, and then a faint voice.
"Hello? Anyone here?"
I peeked through the peephole. There was this tall, dark figure on my porch, all hunched over in the rain. His face was hidden by a big hat. No umbrella, no bag, just standing there, dripping wet.
"Who is it?" I called out, trying to sound brave, but my voice totally shook.
"My car broke down a few kilometers back near the Nainital road," the voice said. It was deep and smooth, but it had this weird vibe to it. "I saw your light. Could I maybe use your phone to call for help?"
A phone? Seriously? Everyone has a phone these days. But then, I thought about him being stranded out here, and I felt a tiny bit bad. Still, my internal alarm bells were going off like crazy.
"I... I don't have a landline," I lied, clutching my phone in my pocket. "My cell signal is really bad out here in the hills."
There was a moment of silence. He shifted, and I could almost feel his eyes, hidden under that hat, staring at my door. "Maybe just some water then? I've been walking for hours."
It seemed like a simple request, kinda sad even. But something felt really, really off. The way he asked, how persistent he was, and the fact that it was so late. My imagination, which usually helped me picture cool stuff in my books, was now showing me all these awful things that could happen if I opened that door.
I backed away from the door, my hand still on the knob, but on the inside. "I'm sorry," I said, trying to sound more firm this time. "I can't help you. You should try the next house down the road towards Bhimtal."
He actually chuckled then. It was a low, creepy sound that made me shiver. "There is no next house, Diya. Not for miles in these parts."
I froze. How did he know my name? I hadn't told him. My blood ran cold. My small house suddenly felt tiny, and the quiet inside was deafening.
A really long, scary moment passed. Then, I heard it. A soft creak as he leaned against my door. And then, a whisper, so quiet it almost felt like my own thought:
"I just wanted to say hello."
Suddenly, a huge jolt of fear shot through me. I scrambled away from the door, my eyes darting around my living room. The rain outside got heavier, pounding against the window like my own crazy heartbeat. My fingers were numb as I fumbled for my phone and dialed the emergency number.
But as the phone rang, a new sound cut through the storm. A faint, barely-there scratching at my back window. I spun around, my breath hitched. It was pitch black outside, but I could almost feel someone out there, watching me from the dark.
The front door groaned again, a little louder. I knew, with a horrible certainty, that he wasn't going to leave. And I knew, with an even bigger fear, that the quiet on the other end of my phone was the only answer I was going to get.
My gaze darted around the small living room, landing on the old, heavy brass Shiva idol on the corner table. It was a family heirloom, surprisingly weighty. My grandmother had always said it brought protection. It wasn't much, but it was something. I crept towards the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the cold tile. There was a sturdy rolling pin near the counter, used for making rotis. It was cumbersome, but it could be a weapon. As I reached for it, the front door groaned again, a subtle shift. He was testing the handle, I realized, my breath catching in my throat.
I grabbed the rolling pin, my knuckles white. My mind raced, a blur of desperate plans. Should I try to run out the back? But he was there, at the window. Should I hide? Where? My small cottage offered few hiding spots. The only option, a terrifying one, was to confront him.
Just as I decided, a blinding flash of lightning lit up the entire room. In that split second, I saw it – not a face at the back window, but a reflection. My own face, twisted in fear, staring back from the dark glass. But behind my reflection, clear as day, was the outline of a figure inside my house. Not outside, but inside.
The front door wasn't being tried from the outside anymore. The groaning was from him, leaning against it from the inside, putting his weight on it. The scratching at the back window wasn't someone trying to get in; it was the rhythmic brush of a tree branch, swayed by the relentless storm, magnified by my panic.
My blood ran colder than ever before. The stranger hadn't been outside. He had been standing in my hallway, behind me, the entire time. The voice, the knocks, the questions about the phone – it had all been a macabre game. He already knew my name because he’d been watching me, observing me, from the moment I had first peered through the peephole.
The "Hello?" he’d whispered wasn't a question, but a chilling confirmation that he was there, with me, in my home. He wasn't looking for a phone; he was simply letting me know he had arrived. And the low chuckle, the words, "There is no next house, Diya," weren't about the remote location, but about the inescapable trap he had set.
The silence on my phone wasn't a bad signal; it was because he had already cut the line. And the final, soft whisper, "I just wanted to say hello," wasn't from the porch, but from right behind me, now barely a breath away.
I didn't turn around. I didn't need to. I could feel his presence, a cold dread seeping into my bones. The rain outside continued its violent assault, but inside, a new, terrifying silence had fallen. The kind of silence that swallows everything.
What do you think Diya's final realization means for her?
React
