Chapter 1: The Madman at the Door

When I returned to the hostel that night, there was a madman inside the building.

The dim corridor light flickered, throwing strange shadows on the cracked walls. Somewhere, a pressure cooker whistled from the mess below, and the faint smell of agarbatti drifted from the warden’s room. Just as I stepped over the threshold, a putrid stench hit my nose—stronger than the usual scent of old socks and Maggi. Worse than the smell of the blocked bathroom after exam week. I stopped short, my heart hammering. There he was: a man with festering wounds all over his body, dirty and wild-eyed, moving like he didn't even feel the pain. He lunged at a passing senior, who shrieked and ducked into his room, slamming the door with a trembling hand. For a moment, the whole corridor was filled with chaos: hostel doors banging shut, slippers slapping on the floor, and a few abuses hurled in hushed tones. In that instant, it felt as if the whole building was holding its breath.

His body was covered in festering wounds, giving off a foul stench, and he attacked anyone he saw.

The way he flung himself at anyone nearby, hands outstretched like a horror movie ghost, made my skin crawl. Blood and pus oozed from his wounds, and his shirt—once maybe white—clung to him in filthy tatters. The smell was so strong, I found myself covering my mouth with my T-shirt. Someone in the room next door yelped, "Arrey baap re!" and slammed their door shut. Even the hostel dog's barking faded, as if sensing something was off.

I silently cursed the hostel warden—getting paid for nothing, can’t even keep someone like this out.

Yaar, this warden Uncle Sharma, always busy taking chai breaks and reading the newspaper. I thought about his usual speeches about 'discipline' and 'safety' and wanted to laugh. Just the other day, he'd told us to fill out a visitor's register for security—wah re system! But when something serious actually happens, he's nowhere to be found. I imagined him snoring peacefully in his own room while the rest of us dealt with this mess.

After lights out, the warden suddenly sent a message in the WhatsApp group:

"There’s a madman in the stairwell. Everyone, do NOT open your doors."

The notification popped up with its annoying ping, even though our lights had just gone out for the night. The group was already buzzing—people forwarding memes, someone asking for notes. The group icon still showed last year’s Holi photo, everyone grinning with coloured faces. Suddenly, everyone froze. Reading that message made the air in the room go cold, as if the old ceiling fan had stopped spinning. For a second, the seriousness of the situation truly sank in—this wasn’t just some random beggar who wandered in. Even our serial bunkers were wide awake now.

Not long after, someone knocked on our hostel room door.

The knocking was sharp, desperate. I felt the vibration in my bones. All of us turned to stare at the door—no one spoke. My roommate Aman whispered, "Abey, itna late kaun aa gaya yaar?" The corridor outside had gone eerily silent, the only sound was the distant barking of street dogs and the occasional honking from the main road. I tiptoed over to the door, trying not to let the wooden planks creak under my feet.

Peering through the peephole, I saw it was that madman.

My heart jumped into my throat. Through the fish-eye view, his face looked even more monstrous—eyes wild, lips peeled back, as if he was grinning straight into my soul. His nails were caked with blood, and his shirt hung from his shoulders in shreds. I couldn't help but shiver, recalling stories Dadi used to tell us about chudails knocking at night.

But in the next moment, I was stunned. That madman was actually—

For a split second, something about the way he stood there—his height, maybe the curve of his shoulders—felt weirdly familiar. My breath caught, a strange coldness settling in my stomach. I hesitated, pressing my eye closer to the peephole, almost not wanting to see what I suspected. My hands started trembling, though I tried to hide it from the others in the room, not wanting to scare them more than they already were.