It started on an unremarkable Thursday night. Amit sat in his worn-out armchair, reading the day’s newspaper, the faint ticking of the clock echoing in the dimly lit living room. His house, an old colonial structure passed down through generations, creaked under the weight of years. Every groan of the wooden floors had long been familiar, comforting even. His wife had passed away several years ago, and since then, his life revolved around his daughter, Neha. She was everything to him, the only light left in his now solitary world.
Neha, now in her late teens, was upstairs in her room, finishing her homework, or so Amit believed. He was about to close the paper and head to bed when he heard it: a faint cry, barely audible, coming from the basement.
“Papa… Help me…”
Amit’s heart skipped a beat. The voice was unmistakably Neha’s. It had that familiar tremble, the same one she used when she scraped her knee or had nightmares as a child. He rushed to the foot of the basement stairs, the darkness below yawning like an abyss. A cold draft blew up from the depths, chilling him to the bone.
“Neha?” he called out, his voice betraying a slight tremor. “Neha, are you down there?”
No response. Only the soft groan of the house settling and the hum of the refrigerator. Amit hesitated for a moment, his hand resting on the light switch. But then he remembered — Neha was upstairs. He had just seen her a little while ago. She hadn’t gone down to the basement. She never went down there.
He let out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head. “Must be hearing things,” he muttered to himself.
But as he turned to go back to the living room, he heard it again, louder this time.
“Papa! Help me, please!”
Amit’s heart thudded violently in his chest. He couldn’t deny it now. It was Neha’s voice. But how could she be in the basement when he had seen her upstairs just moments ago? Panic surged through him as he raced up the stairs, two at a time, his legs trembling beneath him. He burst into Neha’s room, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
There she was, sitting at her desk, earbuds in, oblivious to his frantic entrance.
“Neha!” Amit called, his voice hoarse. She turned, startled, pulling out one earbud.
“Papa? What’s wrong?” she asked, her face scrunched up in confusion.
“I… I thought…” Amit trailed off, staring at her. She looked perfectly fine. Her warm brown eyes met his, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders, just as it always had. There wasn’t a hint of distress on her face.
“I thought I heard you… calling for help… from the basement,” Amit said, feeling absurd as the words left his mouth.
Neha blinked, then laughed softly. “Papa, I’ve been here the whole time. You must be hearing things.”
Amit nodded slowly, trying to shake off the creeping unease. “Yeah… I guess so. Sorry to bother you.”
Neha smiled and put her earbuds back in, returning to her homework as if nothing had happened. Amit walked back downstairs, but the tight knot in his stomach didn’t unravel. The voice had been so real. So desperate. He glanced at the basement door again, but this time, he didn’t go near it.
The next few days passed uneventfully, and Amit convinced himself it had all been in his head. Stress, maybe. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately. But then, on Saturday night, the voice returned.
“Papa… Please, help me…”
This time, it was louder, more frantic, the words dripping with raw desperation. Amit’s heart pounded against his ribs as he stood frozen in the kitchen, staring at the basement door. The voice was unmistakable. It was Neha. But… it couldn’t be.
Summoning all his courage, Amit grabbed a flashlight and opened the basement door. The steps creaked under his weight as he descended, the beam of the flashlight cutting through the suffocating darkness. The air was damp and heavy, smelling of earth and something else… something metallic. The further he went down, the louder the voice became.
“Papa! Hurry, please!”
Amit’s hands trembled as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He swept the flashlight across the room. The basement was cluttered with old furniture, dusty boxes, and forgotten relics from his family’s past. Nothing seemed out of place. But the voice… it was so close now.
“Papa… I’m here… down here…”
Amit spun around, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. And then, he saw it.
A small door, half-hidden behind an old wooden wardrobe. A door he didn’t even know existed. His heart raced as he approached it, every instinct screaming for him to turn back, to leave. But he couldn’t. Not when Neha — or what he thought was Neha — was behind that door.
With trembling hands, he pulled the wardrobe aside and opened the door. The hinges groaned in protest, revealing a narrow stone staircase that descended even deeper into the earth. The air that wafted up was thick, choking, laced with an overwhelming sense of dread.
Amit descended slowly, his flashlight flickering as if it, too, wanted to abandon him. The voice grew louder, more frantic, more real with each step.
“Papa! Please, help me!”
At the bottom of the stairs, the beam of his flashlight landed on a small, iron door, rusted with age. It was locked with a heavy padlock, but through the small barred window, Amit saw her.
Neha.
She was curled up in a corner, her clothes tattered and her face pale, gaunt, as though she had been there for years. She looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Papa! It’s me! Please, get me out of here!”
Amit stumbled backward, his mind racing. This couldn’t be real. Neha was upstairs. She had to be. But the girl in the cell… she looked exactly like his daughter. Her voice, her face, her eyes — everything was the same.
Except… it wasn’t.
“Papa… she’s not me… she’s not me…” the girl sobbed, clutching the bars. “She locked me in here years ago. The thing upstairs… it’s not human. It’s something else. Please, Papa, you have to believe me!”
Amit’s head spun, a whirlwind of confusion, disbelief, and terror. The girl in the cell was real. But how could she be? He had lived with Neha for years. He had watched her grow, celebrated birthdays, helped her with homework… he knew his daughter. Or did he?
Just then, a sound behind him made his blood run cold. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, descending the stairs.
He turned, his flashlight trembling in his hand.
There, standing at the top of the stairs, was Neha. But her eyes… they were different. Cold. Empty. Alien. A twisted smile spread across her lips, her head tilting at an unnatural angle.
“I told you, Papa,” she said, her voice sickeningly sweet, yet laced with malice. “I’m fine.”
Amit’s heart stopped. The thing standing before him wasn’t his daughter. It never had been. The real Neha was behind that iron door, and this… this creature had been living with him, feeding on his memories, his love, his trust, for years.
“You should have stayed away,” the creature hissed, stepping closer. “But now… you know the truth. And I can’t let you leave.”
Amit’s mind raced. He had to do something, anything, to save his real daughter. With a surge of adrenaline, he lunged for the iron door, fumbling with the lock as the creature descended the stairs, its movements jerky, unnatural, like a puppet on strings.
The padlock finally gave way, and Amit flung open the door. Neha stumbled out, collapsing into his arms, weak but alive. He pulled her up, and together they ran, their hearts pounding in unison, the creature’s inhuman screech echoing behind them.
They barely made it out of the basement, slamming the door shut behind them. Amit locked it, his hands shaking uncontrollably. The creature banged against the door, howling in rage, but the lock held.
For now.
Amit and Neha sat in the living room, breathing heavily, trying to process the horror they had just escaped.
The creature was still down there. But how long until it found another way out?
And what would they do when it did?
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