Chapter 2: Red Heels and Restless Shadows

Meera and Arjun, sleeping closest to the door, both froze. Under the corridor’s flickering bulb, a long shadow stretched into the room from beneath the door. Someone was standing right outside.

The sound-activated tube light snapped off, plunging us into darkness. The suffocating, unknown dread was thick—my heart raced, palms slick with sweat. I wiped them on my shorts, trying to steady my breathing. The room’s musty smell, the talcum powder, even last week’s Parle-G crumbs seemed to press in closer, as if the walls themselves were watching.

The room rep, always quick-tempered, slammed his bed. “Kaun hai be? Raat ko mazaak kar raha hai? Pakad ke do dunga!” He leapt off, heading for the door, hand outstretched for the knob.

Arjun lunged, panic in his eyes. “Mat khol, bhaiya! Warden hoga toh? Meera andar hai, pakde gaye toh dono ki waat lag jayegi!”

The room rep glared but hesitated.

Suddenly—

Dhak dhak dhak!

A frantic knocking rattled the door. The corridor light flared on. The room rep’s face stiffened. He looked at us, then called out, “Kaun hai? Dimag kharab hai kya, raat ko dara raha hai?” I tried to sound like my father, scolding the milkman, but my voice shook.

A familiar voice replied, “Main hoon, Kunal.”

Relief swept the room. I jumped down and opened the door. The room rep snapped, “Kya hai, so nahi raha raat ko? Corridor mein ghoom raha hai?”

Kunal answered, “Bhai, bathroom jaana tha.”

“Knock kyun kiya, kya hua?” I asked.

Kunal peered into the room, eyes shifty. “Kitni ladkiyan chhupa rakhi hain? Bahut shor aa raha tha. Warden na dekh le.”

He stepped aside, revealing a pair of old-fashioned red patent leather high heels on the threshold—just like the ones in black-and-white Bollywood movies. Their red gleam under the dim bulb sent a cold shiver through me, like the air before a monsoon thunderclap.

Kunal looked at Meera, who had peeked out from the curtain. “Tumhare shoes hain? Pichle kuch din se yahi yahan padhe hain.” He nudged the shoes inside with his foot. “Warden ne dekh liye toh scene ho jayega.”

I turned to Meera. Arjun answered for her, his voice thin, “Bhool gayi hogi shayad.”

After Kunal left, the room settled uneasily. Someone muttered, “Agar tumhare nahi hain toh kal bahar fek dena, nazar lagti hai.”

I eyed the shoes. Their oily shine reminded me of Amma’s warnings: “Kuch bhi dehleez pe mat uthana, beta.” My stomach churned with unease.

Later that night, rustling woke me. Half-awake, I saw a shadow crawling on the floor, searching for something. Annoyed, I snapped, “Kya dhoondh raha hai? Kal dekh lena.”

The rustling stopped. Then, someone stood at the head of my bed.

“Shoes… shoes,” it was Kunal’s voice.

“What shoes, wo laal waale?” I mumbled, barely opening my eyes. “Wahin toh pade hain.”

“Kidhar, Rohit bhaiya, dikh nahi rahe. Dhundhne mein madad kar.” His voice cracked, pleading and scared. I reached for my phone—gone.

I forced my eyes open. Kunal stood at my bedside, but his eyes—gone, just two bloody holes, black blood trickling down. He lurched forward, mouth wide: “Shoes, mujhe nahi mil rahe.”

“Rohit bhaiya, madad kar. Mujhe wapas karne hain.”

The room’s heat felt suffocating, my tongue stuck to my palate. I tried to scream—nothing. My limbs wouldn’t move, frozen by invisible hands.

Kunal came closer, grabbing my hand. Behind him, something wet slithered from the shadows, clinging to his back. It raised its head—eyes rolled white, mouth twisted in a half-smile. A woman in a red saree, hair in a bun, like the chudail from Dadi’s stories, feet turned backwards, voice like broken bangles. Kunal sobbed, “Maine tere liye jaan di.”

The woman croaked, “Mil gaya.”

I screamed. White light exploded in my eyes. Someone yelled, “Hato, mujhe karne do!”

Thappad! Thappad!

I felt two hard slaps, then someone muttered about hot water. I woke with a start, locking eyes with the room rep, his hand raised. Yusuf bhaiya hid a Milton flask behind his back. “Pagal ho gaya hai kya, Rohit?” Arjun’s face was pale with anger.

The room rep stared at me: “Tu abhi Meera ko galaa daba raha tha.”

“Nahi…” My words died as I saw the chaos—Meera crying, clothes torn, red marks on her neck. The curtain was ripped down. Arjun glared, “Pagal ho gaya hai kya?”

I sat down, guilt and dread choking me. As Meera left, I saw her wearing those old red high heels. Their click-clack echoed down the corridor, each step like a curse.

Outside, the sound of red high heels faded into the night—but the questions pounded inside me, louder than ever.