Chapter 10: Madness Unleashed

Arjun’s low growls echoed in the hallway, making everyone’s skin crawl.

The sound was inhuman—half animal, half agony. It reverberated through the walls, mixing with the faint buzzing of mosquitoes and the distant hum of the city. Even the bravest among us felt a wave of nausea at the noise.

And I saw with my own eyes as Arjun kept scratching at his skin with both hands.

His nails dug deep, leaving long, bloody gashes along his arms and neck. Bits of skin hung loose, flapping with each movement. The sight was so ghastly, I wanted to close my eyes, but couldn’t look away. For a moment, I felt like I was watching a scene straight out of a Ramsay Brothers film.

His whole body was covered in blood, his flesh torn open everywhere.

Blood pooled on the floor, mixed with pus and torn shreds of clothing. The tiles glistened, slippery and red, as if the corridor itself was bleeding. The metallic smell was so strong, I had to fight the urge to vomit. It was a scene none of us would ever forget.

But on his face was a twisted smile, as if this brought him some relief.

His lips stretched into a rictus grin, teeth bared, eyes half-closed in some strange bliss. It was the kind of smile you’d expect from someone who’d lost all sense of reality. Even in his agony, some part of him seemed almost happy.

Sneha, who was usually silent, spoke up:

"Maybe it’s itchy."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the tension in the room. Sneha was always the logical one, even now. She hugged her knees, rocking slightly as she spoke. Her dupatta had slipped off her shoulder, but she didn’t care.

We paused, then listened to Sneha’s explanation:

"Sometimes, itchiness can drive people crazier than pain. The way to stop the itch is often to use pain to drown it out."

"Like when you get bitten by a mosquito and can’t stop scratching—even when you know it’ll hurt," she said, her eyes distant. "If it’s something worse, it must be unbearable." For a moment, her calm explanation made the horror seem a little less supernatural.

"You’ve all been bitten by mosquitoes, right? If the mosquito’s poisonous, it itches like crazy."

"Remember that time last summer when everyone got bitten by those huge mosquitoes after the rains?" she added, half-smiling. "We were all scratching till we bled."

"To stop the itch, we keep scratching, sometimes even using our nails to break the skin."

Her words made sense. It was a human reaction, even if Arjun’s was a thousand times worse. Kabir nodded, absently scratching at his own arm as she spoke, before stopping suddenly in horror.

She made sense.

For a brief second, the logical explanation offered a strange comfort. Maybe this was just some extreme allergic reaction or a disease, not something supernatural. But the comfort was fleeting—the fear was too strong.

Arjun’s symptoms really did look like he was being driven mad by itchiness.

His hands never stopped moving, tearing at his own flesh. The pain didn’t seem to register—only the desperate urge to be free of whatever was tormenting him. It was both horrifying and tragic.

But the problem was, Arjun was literally peeling off his own skin.

There wasn’t a single patch of healthy flesh left on him.

Blood and pus dripped constantly, and he even smeared it on the walls.

The walls of the corridor, usually covered in scribbles and hostel notices, were now streaked with blood. Handprints, smears, and dark patches made the place look like a haunted house. The mess was unreal—something the cleaning staff would never forget.

How unbearable must the itch be to do this?

The thought made me shudder. I remembered stories of people going mad from disease, but nothing like this. Even Kabir, who always had a sarcastic comment, was silent, staring at his own hands as if checking for signs.

Honestly, I couldn’t imagine it.

Of course, this was just our guess.

We weren’t the only ones witnessing this.

The entire floor was awake, watching from behind locked doors and covered peepholes. Some people whispered prayers, others sent frantic messages to their parents. It felt like the whole hostel was trapped in a bad dream.

People from other rooms saw Arjun clawing at his flesh and felt sick too.

Someone next door retched, the sound muffled but unmistakable. Another boy was heard chanting Hanuman Chalisa under his breath, as if that would ward off whatever evil had entered the building.

They started chatting in the group:

"Uncle Sharma, are you sure this is just some ordinary infectious disease? Why does it look so horrifying to me?"

"Sharma ji, kuch toh gadbad hai," someone typed. "Yeh koi normal bimari nahi lagti." The group filled with theories, rumours, and panicked speculation.

The warden only sent a procedural reply:

"Everyone, just stay inside. Leave the rest to the college."

His message was stiff, full of officialese. It did little to reassure anyone. Someone replied with a sarcastic sticker: a cartoon of a man hiding under a table.

But then a senior from 503 spoke up:

"This is too creepy. Could there be something supernatural in our hostel building?"

"Arrey, what if this hostel is haunted?" the senior asked, tongue-in-cheek but with a nervous edge. It was enough to set off a fresh wave of panic. The power of suggestion is strong, especially late at night.

That opened a floodgate.

Many students chimed in:

"It’s possible! Maybe something really happened, and the college is just covering it up."

"Remember that story about the old warden who died in room 301?" Someone else added, "My cousin said there’s a ghost in the mess kitchen."

"This damn college, so eager to collect fees, but when something happens, they just don’t care."

A meme went around showing the college logo with the caption: "Fees collection: 100/100. Student safety: 0/100." It made everyone laugh for a second, even as fear lingered.

After all, with danger so close, who could stay calm?

People sent voice notes in shaky voices, some reciting prayers, others just venting their frustration. It felt like we were all in this together, even if we were separated by locked doors.

The warden could only threaten in an official tone:

"503, don’t spread such rumours. Believe in science."

His message was all caps, punctuated by angry emojis. "Aise afwaah mat phailao. Yeh sab bakwaas hai. College will take action if anyone creates panic."

"If you keep stirring things up, the college will punish you."

That threat did little to calm anyone. People started making fun of the warden’s official language, calling him "Sharma Uncle the Science Baba."

503 sent a bitter smile emoji:

"I’m just saying—everyone make your own guesses. I still want to keep my campus placement, don’t want to get punished."

The message made everyone pause. No one wanted to risk their future over a WhatsApp rumour. The chat fell silent for a moment, as if everyone was weighing their options.

This got a lot of sympathy:

"Senior, don’t worry. If they cancel your placement over this, we’ll all help you complain to the principal."

Someone typed, "Ek saath complain karenge!" Another added, "If they try anything, let’s make it viral on Twitter."

But 503 didn’t speak again.