The Hollow Building

The town had always felt small, but something about the building at the edge of it gave it a vast, empty weight. As Raghav stood before the decrepit structure, the peeling paint, the cracked windows, and the cold stone beneath his feet, a strange compulsion pulled him forward. It had been years since he’d thought about it, but that old block always hovered in the back of his mind, a place where memories festered and grew like mold in the dark.

Raghav had driven into town under the pretense of visiting old friends—those he still had, or maybe just to reconnect with something, anything, that would prove he hadn’t lost it all. The crumbling building had seemed to whisper his name, as though it had always been waiting for him to return.

The air inside was thick with the scent of dust and damp. He had no plan, no reason, really, to enter except a feeling that this was where he was supposed to be. The first thing he noticed was a small, worn toy car sitting at the foot of a staircase. His favorite from childhood. He hadn’t thought of it in decades. He bent down, brushing the dust off it, a faint memory of running it across the floor of his mother’s old house flickering in his mind. He held it in his palm for a long moment, a strange warmth rising in his chest, only to be quickly crushed by the heavy weight of something else—something darker.

He walked through the building, room after room, each more unsettling than the last. The hallway stretched impossibly long, and the flickering lights above seemed to taunt him with their inconsistency. In the corner of the next room, he found his old wristwatch, the one his father had given him on his sixteenth birthday. It lay on a windowsill, its once-polished surface now tarnished and scratched. He had never taken it off as a teenager—until the day his father had passed. The memory of that night came rushing back: his father’s voice, weak and muffled, as he tried to say something important, but Reyansh had been too consumed by his own confusion and anger to listen. The watch had stopped working the same day his father had died. Raghav had thrown it in a drawer, unable to look at it again.

He picked it up now, the weight of it pulling at his chest, but just as quickly, he dropped it. It hit the floor with a loud, echoing thud.

A door creaked open behind him, and he turned.

Aunt Kaveri.

Her stern face filled the doorway, her cold eyes locking onto his. She was exactly as he remembered—no, she was worse. The memory of her abuse, the cruel words, the punishment for things he never understood, all flooded back like an open wound. Raghav’s heart raced, his breath quickened, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t run, couldn’t escape.

“Do you remember what happened, back then?” she asked, her voice smooth and venomous.

Raghav tried to speak, but his throat tightened, choking on the words. He wanted to scream, to lash out, but he was paralysed. The floor beneath him began to shake, and the room swirled in an overwhelming haze. The walls seemed to close in, the air thickening with a choking, suffocating pressure.

He staggered, trying to find his footing, when suddenly, another door appeared—this one, unlike the others, seemed to glow faintly.

He stumbled toward it, hoping it would offer him some kind of escape.

The moment he stepped into the next room, a wave of sweetness washed over him—overwhelming, intoxicating. It smelled of roses, lavender, and something he couldn’t quite place. The floor beneath him was soft, plush, like walking on a bed of petals. He blinked, squinting against the bright light.

And there she was.

Saanvi.

She stood at the far end of the room, her face glowing with a warmth he hadn’t seen in years. Her arms stretched out toward him, beckoning.

“Raghav, I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, her voice soft and sweet like honey. Her smile was perfect, as though all the pain, the distance, the arguments—none of it had ever happened. It was as though all of his past mistakes were erased, like they’d never existed.

He walked toward her, his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for her touch, for her comfort. He closed the distance between them, feeling her warmth, her embrace.

But then—something changed.

Her body began to melt. Her skin darkened, her once soft face twisting into something cruel and monstrous. The sweet smell of perfume turned sharp, burning his nostrils. He pulled back, but it was too late. Her arms were no longer gentle but claws—hot, fiery talons digging into his back, raking across his skin.

Raghav screamed in agony, but his voice caught in his throat as she dug deeper, pulling him closer. He tried to break free, but her grip tightened like iron.

The pain was unbearable, and just as he thought he might pass out, everything went black.

Reyansh opened his eyes, gasping for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His vision was blurred, the edges of the room hazy. It was dark—no, too dark.

He tried to move, but something was wrong. Something was holding him in place. He couldn’t feel his legs, his arms—they were pinned, as though an invisible force was trapping him.

His heart pounded in his chest as a sense of claustrophobia set in. He struggled, but the harder he fought, the tighter the pressure became. It was as if the very air around him was thickening, constricting his lungs.

He gasped, his hands flying to his throat, clutching at the invisible barrier pressing against him. He couldn’t breathe. The panic surged like a tidal wave, choking him, suffocating him.

“No, no, no…” he whispered, but the words came out as ragged, strangled sounds.

He clawed at the sheets, at the darkness around him, but nothing would give. His throat burned, and his vision blurred as he felt the room closing in on him, the walls pressing down, the silence suffocating.

And then, through the haze, the whispers came. The voices of the people he’d wronged. Aunt Kaveri’s cold laughter, his father’s disappointed silence, Saanvi’s accusing words. They all merged, echoing in his mind, filling him with an overwhelming dread.

He felt the claws again, digging into his skin, tearing him apart from the inside. He was trapped, suspended in this nightmare with no escape.

The last thing he heard before the darkness swallowed him completely was his own voice—screaming.

But no one would hear.

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