A Crack on the Wall
The house loomed at the edge of the village, its tiled roof sagging slightly under the weight of time. The walls, once pristine, were now faded with patches of moss creeping up from the base. Chhaya stood at the threshold, gripping the handle of her suitcase, her dark eyes scanning the structure.
It was older than she had expected. The real estate agent had described it as "quaint," but standing before it now, she realized it was something else entirely-forgotten.
Aryan, her husband, stepped beside her, sighing in contentment. "It's perfect."
She glanced at him. "It's old."
"Old is beautiful," he countered, flashing a grin. "Besides, it's ours now."
The evening air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wood smoke from distant kitchens. Somewhere in the distance, a cow let out a lazy grunt, and the faint sound of temple bells drifted through the trees.
Chhaya swallowed her unease. She had agreed to this move-for Aryan's sake. He had always dreamed of leaving the congestion of Patna behind, of finding a peaceful life somewhere simpler. This ancestral home, tucked away in the quiet fields of West Champaran, had seemed like the perfect place.
But standing in front of it now, she felt something stir within her-a whisper of warning.
Shaking off the feeling, she stepped inside.
The wooden door groaned on its hinges as she pushed it open. The house smelled of age-dust, old wood, and something faintly metallic. Their footsteps echoed in the empty space as they entered the main hall, its high ceilings supported by wooden beams. Carved pillars lined the corridor, intricate designs of lotus flowers and deities staring back at them through layers of neglect.
Aryan placed the lantern on a wooden shelf, its weak glow barely illuminating the room. "A little cleaning, and this place will feel like home," he said.
Chhaya nodded absently, her gaze drawn to the walls. The paint had long since peeled away in places, exposing the underlying brick. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed something on the far side of the bedroom wall.
A thin, jagged crack.
She walked toward it slowly, her fingers brushing against its rough surface. It was barely the width of a fingernail, but something about it felt off.
She leaned in closer.
For a moment-just a split second-she thought she saw something move inside the crack.
She stumbled back, her breath hitching.
"Chhaya?" Aryan's voice pulled her back to reality.
She turned, forcing a smile. "Nothing... just tired."
But as they settled in for their first night in the house, Chhaya couldn't shake the feeling that the crack in the wall was more than just a flaw in the structure.
It was watching her.
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