Chapter 3: The Cupboard Opens

I returned to the old home that night.

The bungalow loomed in the moonlight, its shadow stretching across the courtyard. The lane was empty, stray dogs howling in the distance. I wrapped my shawl tight, slipping through the creaky gate, every step watched by unseen eyes.

The house was old-style, every corner whispering memories. I moved in the dark, afraid of nosy neighbours.

The gate screeched as I entered. I passed the tulsi plant, wilted and forgotten, each wall heavy with secrets.

I went to the storeroom and found the cement slab covering the entrance.

It took all my strength to shift it, the stone scraping loudly in the silence. Sweat rolled down my face, but I didn’t stop.

The moment I lifted the slab, something changed.

A sudden chill sliced through the usual stuffy heat, and the scent of old incense sticks mingled with the musty air. My heart hammered as the torch in my hand flickered, its weak beam dancing over the steps.

A cold wind blew from the entrance, icy and unnatural.

It cut through my shawl, raising goosebumps on my arms. The torchlight wavered, making the shadows jump.

I felt watched, a presence just beyond the light.

The silence was absolute, broken only by my ragged breath. I hesitated, fear pulsing in my veins, but forced myself on.

At that instant, I heard a "thud."

The sound was deep and heavy, vibrating up through the floor. I froze, every nerve on edge.

It was dull and weighty.

Not the scuttle of a rat, not wind. Something solid, with intent.

It sounded like something hit the iron cupboard below.

My stomach twisted. Was something—or someone—waiting all these years? The idea was absurd, but it clung to me.

I nearly dropped my torch.

My grip tightened, knuckles white. The beam shook as I steadied myself.

I listened, holding my breath. After a few minutes, the sound didn’t return.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. I tried to convince myself it was nothing.

Maybe a rat, I thought—basements always attracted strays.

But the laughter died in my throat. This was different—deliberate, almost human.

Trying to be brave, I went down into the basement.

Each step creaked, the air colder with every descent. The smell of mould and old incense filled my nostrils. I paused, summoning my courage.

It was just like twenty years ago.

Nothing had changed—the same damp walls, old boxes. For a moment, I saw my younger self, full of hope and fear.

Empty, pitch-black. My torch only lit up the big cupboard in the corner.

The beam landed on the iron cupboard, red paint peeling, spiderwebs clinging to its edges.

The lock was still tightly fastened.

I ran my fingers over the cold metal, the weight of regret pressing down.

There was no smell of a corpse.

The air was musty, but not rotten. It was as if the years had erased all traces.

After twenty years, Kiran’s body must have turned to dust; any odour long gone.

I took some comfort in that thought, telling myself this was just another chore.

I sighed, pulled out the key, and prepared to open the cupboard.

My hands shook, sweat slicking my palms, the key scraping against metal.

"Hee hee."

A child’s giggle floated through the dark. I froze, the key halfway in the lock.

Suddenly, a laugh echoed—Kiran’s laugh, unmistakable.

I spun, torchlight darting across the walls.

"Who’s there?" I croaked, voice raw.

No answer. Only my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

I checked every shadow, torch trembling in my hand. The basement was empty. Still, the feeling of being watched lingered.

Thinking I couldn’t let anyone discover Kiran’s body, I searched every corner.

In one, I found a mummified carcass—maybe a cat, maybe a dog, shrivelled and forgotten. I shuddered, the image burning into my mind.

Back at the cupboard, I tried to calm myself.

I closed my eyes, counting to ten, willing my hands to stop shaking. Kiran’s laugh echoed in my mind.

I told myself I was just nervous, hearing things.

But deep down, I knew better. Some ghosts never leave.

Again, I tried to open the cupboard.

The key slid in with a loud click. My breath caught.

But then—

"Bang!" A loud crash.

The sound exploded through the basement. I jumped, dropping my torch. The cupboard rattled, metal groaning.

The noise came from inside. The door bulged outward, as if something inside was desperate to escape.

The pounding was furious. Dust rained down. My knees buckled; I sank to the floor.

Could something still be alive in there?

The thought chilled me. My mind raced with old horror tales—spirits trapped, unfinished business, ghosts bound by locks.

"Papa."

The voice was clear, so familiar. I froze, heart thudding.

"Papa, is that you?"

It was Kiran. Her voice was as sweet and innocent as the day she vanished. Tears sprang to my eyes, terror and longing tangled together.

"I’ve been waiting so long. I’m right here in the cupboard."

The words were plaintive, hopeful. I almost believed—almost—that she was still waiting for me.

Why did it sound so much like Kiran’s voice?

A chill swept over me, colder than the night air. I felt on the edge of a precipice.

"Hee hee, papa finally found me. I hid really well, didn’t I?"

Her childish pride tore at my heart. It was as if she was still playing, unaware of the years.

I staggered back, clutching my chest, the world spinning.

What was happening?

Kiran was long dead, wasn’t she?

"Bang bang bang."

The pounding resumed, louder, desperate. The cupboard shook, dust swirling. I covered my ears, but the sound only grew.

"Papa? Why aren’t you answering? Open the door!"

Her voice grew shrill, hope turning to panic. I pressed into the wall, guilt and fear overwhelming me.

Her voice hadn’t aged a day—still that of a seven-year-old girl.

Locked for twenty years, how could she survive? What was in that cupboard?

"Papa. Let me out, open the door."

Her plea was a dagger. I pressed my hands over my ears, but her cries only grew.

The metallic clangs and shrill screams filled the room, growing more frantic.

I had never heard anything so terrifying.

My legs shook, my body frozen. I pressed myself against the wall, praying for escape.

"Open the door. I want out."

Her words became a chant, rising like a prayer. Each repetition drove the knife deeper.

"Papa. I don’t want to play hide-and-seek anymore. I want out."

The innocence was gone, replaced by agony. I sobbed, the sound muffled by my hands.

"Open the door..."

Her voice faded to a whisper, sorrow thick in the air. I knew I’d never escape it.

The banging grew louder, as if a monster would burst out.

The room vibrated, walls shaking, dust swirling. I scrambled for the stairs, desperate to flee.

I rolled and crawled out, banging my knee, breath ragged. The world outside seemed impossibly far.

I left the key behind, too terrified to return.