once-grand façade reduced to a skeleton of decaying walls and shattered windows. But the darkness never left.

a knack for history; and their teenage son, Arjun (not to be confused with Priya's Arjun). They'd heard the rumors abou

ouse creaked and groaned, as old houses do

up, drenched in sweat, his eyes wide with fear, unable to explain what he'd seen. Neha noticed that

ing the day. Faint voices, soft and insistent,

ound old newspaper clippings hidden in the attic-stories of the Das family, Priya's tragic

of Kolkata: A Place W

n old local historian named Mr. Choudhury. Whe

t feeds on them. It's not just a curse-it's a parasite.

he laughed it off. That was unt

the house didn't answer. Instead, they found a single note

an't e

y mirror in the basement-its surface clouded with grime, yet oddly untouched by time. As sh

er mind: "You can't escap

unt-it recruited. It trapped souls, feeding off their pain and

r fingers brushed the cold glass, the house came alive. Shadows stretched

mbered Mr. Choudhury's words:

used to

, her voice piercing the da

faint but alive, trapped somewhere within the walls. Summoning every ounce o

. The house, deprived of its prey, began

, the house consumed by darkness,

to the distance, a faint w

an't e

d done the

ad es

r