The clock blinked 12:01 AM.

Outside, the city of Mumbai was alive — horns honking in the distance, a faint echo of a train rumbling past a faraway station, and the occasional bark of a stray dog. Neon signs flickered across the skyline, painting the windows of Shivneri Apartments with their restless glow.

But inside Flat 1504, it was unusually quiet.

Ayaan lay sprawled on his bed, phone in hand, endlessly scrolling through reels he barely registered. The ceiling fan rotated with a lazy groan. His parents were asleep in the other room, the door slightly ajar. He could hear the soft hum of their snores, a comforting background noise that always lulled him to sleep.

But not tonight.

Tonight, there was something in the air. A heaviness. A silence beneath the noise.

He locked his phone and tossed it aside, rubbing his eyes. Just as he turned over to face the window—

Whee—ooo. Whee—ooo. Whee—ooo.

A whistle.

He sat up instantly. It wasn’t from the TV or some passing car.

It was… clear. Intentional. Like someone standing just outside the building, repeating the same tune over and over.

Whee—ooo. Whee—ooo. Whee—ooo.

His brows furrowed. Curiosity nudged him out of bed.

He walked to the window and looked down at the street below. The parking lot glowed orange under the tall lampposts. The security guard was sitting at the booth, sipping from a thermos. Everything looked normal.

No one was there.

Still, the whistle continued — and grew louder.

This time, it sounded closer. Not from the street.

From inside the building.

He turned his head, confused.

Whee—ooo. Whee—ooo. Whee—ooo.

Now it came from the hallway just outside his front door.

His heart rate spiked.

Maybe someone was playing a prank. Maybe one of the neighbors.

But who whistles in the hallway at midnight?

He walked out of his room. The corridor was dark. Only a sliver of moonlight came in through the window near the main door. Everything else was still.

And then he noticed something strange.

The light in the living room flickered — once, twice — and then died.

The hallway bulb followed. Then the kitchen.

Suddenly, the entire apartment went dark.

A soft click came from behind. His phone had turned off too. Battery dead — even though it was fully charged an hour ago.

Now the flat was completely silent.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A knock.

Soft. Measured. From the main door.

Ayaan froze.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three times. A pause. Then again.

His legs trembled slightly as he moved closer. He didn’t say anything — just leaned forward to look through the peephole.

Nothing.

No one stood outside.

But the knocking continued.

And then… a voice. Faint. Whispering.

“Ayaaaan…”

He jumped back, slamming into the shoe rack.

“Papa?” he shouted. “Maa?”

He rushed to their bedroom. The door was closed.

He twisted the handle — locked.

That was odd. His parents never locked their door.

He knocked frantically. “Papa! Open the door! Someone’s at the door!”

No answer.

“Papa, please!”

Silence.

And then the whisper came again — louder this time.

“Ayaaaan… open the door… it’s time to sleep…”

He turned back toward the main door, blood pounding in his ears. The handle was turning — slowly, steadily — like someone on the other side was testing the lock.

His scream caught in his throat.

He backed into the wall, breathing fast.

Then—

BZZZTT. The lights snapped back on.

The fan began to spin. The AC beeped. His phone lit up on the bed with 72% battery.

Silence.

The door stood still. Locked. Unopened.

The knocking was gone. So was the voice.

He sprinted back into his room and slammed the door shut. He didn’t sleep at all that night.

---

Morning — 8:00 AM

The smell of toast and cardamom chai filled the kitchen.

Ayaan sat at the dining table, staring blankly at his untouched plate of poha. His father was reading the newspaper, while his mother packed lunch.

“You were yelling last night,” his father said casually, not looking up. “Bad dream?”

Ayaan looked at him, confused.

“You didn’t hear it?” he asked. “The whistle? The knocking? The lights going out?”

His mother turned from the counter. “What are you talking about?”

“The power went out around midnight,” he said. “And someone was knocking on the door. They were saying my name. You didn’t hear anything?”

His father finally looked at him. “No power cut last night. The inverter didn't even beep.”

“I tried to wake you both up,” Ayaan said, now frustrated. “Your door was locked.”

His parents exchanged glances.

“We never lock the door,” his mother said.

“But it was locked!”

His father folded the paper and shook his head. “It was a dream. You were probably half asleep. Don’t let the horror movies mess with your brain.”

Ayaan opened his mouth to protest — but stopped.

Maybe they were right. Maybe it was a hallucination.

Still, something about it felt… real.

---

On the Way to School

As he walked toward the building gate, he noticed something taped to the security board.

A white paper. A photograph. A name.

MISSING: RAGHAV MISHRA — Age 14 — Last Seen June 1st, 11:58 PM — Shivneri Apartments, 15th Floor.

Ayaan stared at the poster.

Raghav lived two doors down. The shy boy with big glasses and a permanent pair of headphones. Ayaan had seen him just yesterday, bobbing his head to music as he stepped into the lift.

Always whistling.

That tune.

Whee—ooo. Whee—ooo. Whee—ooo.

Goosebumps climbed up his arms.

He looked up at the 15th floor windows, counting the balconies.

His own room’s window reflected the morning light — except… it didn’t.

His window was black. As if the glass was missing. As if someone inside was watching.

His breath caught.

For a second, he thought he saw a silhouette — a shadow — move past the curtains.

But when he looked again, the window was empty.

The city thrived on light. From neon signs to endless traffic signals, Mumbai's skyline glimmered like a field of stars turned upside down. But on the night of June 2nd, at exactly 12:03 AM, one building — Shivneri Heights — went dark.

Total blackout.

Not just the lights. Everything.

Air conditioners stopped humming, elevators froze mid-floors, and even the glow of emergency exit signs dimmed into nothingness. As if someone had reached into the power grid and pulled the plug — just for that building.

Inside Flat 1102, Mrs. Ritu Sinha dropped her teacup. It shattered on the floor, the porcelain echoing unnaturally in the silence. Her television flickered once before going black, and the mechanical clock on the wall froze with a faint tick. She reached for her phone, but the screen stayed dead, unresponsive — like it had never been charged.

From the floor above, muffled footsteps echoed. Slow. Uneven. Thump… drag… thump… drag…

Ritu leaned toward the door, hand trembling on the knob. She had heard that sound before — decades ago, in the village she had once run from.

She stepped back.

From the building's lobby, the night guard Ramesh sat frozen in his chair. All security cameras had gone dark. His walkie-talkie buzzed, but only faint static came through. He tapped it nervously. "Sir, are you there? 1104? 902? Can anyone hear me?"

No response.

The hair on his arms rose. The air was too still. Too heavy.

Suddenly, Ding!

The elevator doors slid open.

But the power was out.

Ramesh stood up, sweating now, and walked toward the elevator. Its inner lights flickered faintly, as if powered by something other than electricity. There was no one inside.

But the floor panel glowed a dull red.

It displayed: B7

There was no Basement 7 in Shivneri Heights.

Ramesh reached to press the “Close” button, when the panel blinked… and changed.

Now it read: 12:03 — WELCOME BACK

And then the doors slammed shut.

---

In flat 1504, Ayaan was still awake.

His fingers had frozen on his phone screen when the power died. He stared into the darkness, ears straining to pick up any sound.

And then he heard it again.

The whistle.

“Wheee–oo… Wheee–oo…”

This time, it was inside the building. Close. Very close.

Ayaan stood up, heart pounding, and carefully opened his bedroom door. The hallway was barely visible, lit only by the distant glow of a candle someone had lit on the stairwell landing.

He could hear something from the kitchen — soft, metallic clinking.

Like cutlery being arranged… by someone invisible.

He crept toward it. Step by step.

The air was freezing now, though the summer heat had been stifling just moments ago.

He turned the corner.

The kitchen was empty.

But all the knives had been removed from the drawer and placed, one by one, in a neat row on the dining table. Each knife’s blade faced him. Gleaming. Waiting.

Suddenly, the balcony door banged open behind him.

He spun around, heart nearly choking him.

Nothing.

Just the wind.

But the wind carried a whisper.

“Ayaan…”

His name.

---

On the 7th floor, Karan and Meera, a young couple, were still trying to understand what had happened.

“There’s no light in any flat?” Meera whispered.

“No signal. Even emergency lights are dead,” Karan replied. “This is not a normal outage.”

Suddenly, the baby monitor they had plugged in — despite no power — turned on.

Their daughter’s crib was visible on the tiny screen. She was sleeping peacefully. But in the far-left corner of the room… there was movement.

A shape.

Tall, thin, shifting slightly in the darkness.

But when they rushed into the baby’s room, there was nothing.

Just cold.

So much cold, Meera’s breath fogged up.

They clutched their child tightly and returned to the living room. The screen now displayed “We’re already here.”

Meera screamed.

Karan unplugged it, but it stayed on.

---

Outside, on the street, everything remained normal. Buses ran. Streetlights glowed. People walked home from night shifts. No one noticed anything unusual.

Except for one thing.

If you looked up at Shivneri Heights… it had disappeared.

From the outside, the entire high-rise was just a black void. No light. No outline. As if it had been erased from the skyline.

Only one person noticed — Kabir Khan, a freelance photojournalist returning from an assignment.

He looked up, blinked, and raised his camera.

Through the lens, he could see the building perfectly.

Except… it wasn’t how it looked earlier in the day.

Now it was decaying. The walls cracked and bleeding rust. Windows shattered. Vines growing up the sides. A red symbol painted across the topmost flat.

A spiral.

And below it, in dripping letters: “WHEN THE CITY SLEEPS, IT REMEMBERS.”

Kabir took the photo.

But when he checked the camera screen, it was blank.

Static.

Then his phone rang.

No caller ID.

He picked up.

Only breathing on the other side.

Then a whisper: “You took its picture. Now it sees you too.”

The line went dead.

---

Back in Flat 1504, Ayaan sat on the floor, knees to chest. The knives still gleamed behind him. His phone buzzed to life suddenly. One new message.

Unknown number.

It simply read:

> “12:03 is just the beginning.”

Then, without warning, every light in Shivneri Heights blinked back on.

Elevators chimed.

TVs restarted.

Phones reconnected.

The world continued.

But four residents were missing.

And no one would remember they ever existed.

In a quiet corner office of Sahani Security Services, night technician Raghav Joshi sat slumped at his desk, eyes bleary from hours of staring at surveillance feeds. His job was routine—cycle through the night cams of corporate offices, apartment buildings, and shopping malls. Nothing ever happened, except the occasional drunk or stray dog.

That night, around 3:27 AM, something caught his eye.

On Camera 4, monitoring Sapphire Mall's South Entrance, a man in black stood motionless just outside the door. Raghav blinked. He hadn’t seen anyone approach. No motion alerts had gone off. The figure had simply… appeared.

Zooming in, Raghav leaned closer.

The man wore a long dark coat, soaked as if he had walked through a storm, though the weather was dry. His face, however, was blurry. Not like a bad resolution — like something wasn't letting the camera focus on it.

And yet, he stared straight into the lens.

Unblinking.

Still.

A ripple of unease ran through Raghav. He switched to Camera 5, the interior feed.

The man was inside.

But he hadn't moved. The timestamp hadn’t jumped. There was no frame break. One second he was outside… and the next, inside.

Raghav rewound the footage.

Still the same.

Outside.

Then… inside.

No in-between.

---

Meanwhile, in Block D of Shivneri Heights, Ayaan sat at his study table, pretending to read a textbook. But his mind kept replaying the events from the night before.

The knives.

The whisper.

The whistle.

He hadn't told his parents. Who would believe him? That the power outage was targeted? That the building vanished from the skyline?

He reached for his phone, intending to message Kritika, a girl from school who lived two floors below. But the screen lit up before he touched it.

One notification.

Unknown Folder: “DO NOT WATCH”

His thumb hovered over it.

He tapped.

It was a short video clip — grainy, timestamped exactly 3:33 AM, with the filename: “CCTV_1504”

Ayaan’s heart pounded.

That was his flat number.

He opened the file.

The footage showed his hallway from the angle of the main door’s security cam.

At first, nothing.

Then… the lights flickered.

A man in a black coat appeared — right at his door.

Staring into the camera.

He didn’t knock.

He didn’t move.

He simply… stood there.

For seven minutes.

Then, he slowly tilted his head, as if hearing something from inside.

He smiled.

But the face was wrong.

Too wide. Too stretched. Like skin pulled over a skull not meant to smile.

Then, just as suddenly, the screen went black.

The clip ended.

Ayaan dropped his phone. Cold sweat coated his palms. He ran to the door, yanked it open, and peered into the hallway.

Empty.

Dead quiet.

He slammed the door shut.

---

Back at the security company, Raghav tried reporting the footage, but every time he uploaded it, the file vanished. His email froze. His USB corrupted.

He called his supervisor.

“Sir, there’s something wrong with the mall cameras. I think someone’s tampering with the feeds.”

The supervisor laughed. “Again with your ghost stories, Raghav? Last month it was the girl in the parking lot. Focus on your shift. Don’t waste company data.”

Raghav sighed, then glanced back at the feed.

Now, the man in black was on Camera 9 — an office building near Shivneri Heights.

Raghav switched to Camera 10.

The man was closer.

No movement.

Just… appeared.

And then… something new.

The man raised his hand.

Not to wave. Not to point.

He pressed his palm against the camera lens.

And the screen cracked.

A spiderweb of static bloomed across the monitor. The other cameras started glitching one by one, flickering images of hallways, doors, mirrors — all showing him.

Over and over.

Always looking into the camera.

Always closer.

Raghav yanked the main power switch.

The monitors went dark.

But on his reflection in the black screen… the man stood behind him.

He spun around.

Nothing.

He ran.

---

The next morning, news spread.

The night technician from Sahani Security was found unconscious in the parking lot, muttering something about “he sees through the glass.” His hair had turned streaks of white.

Doctors assumed it was stress-induced psychosis.

But he refused to speak further.

Just one sentence over and over:

“He’s inside the cameras now.”

---

At 4:12 AM, Ayaan’s father reviewed footage from their doorbell cam — one of those new smart cameras with cloud storage. Nothing seemed unusual.

Until the footage from 3:33 AM.

The man stood right there.

Still.

No breathing. No blinking.

He looked at the lens as if he knew someone was watching.

Then he slowly turned his head… and looked straight at Ayaan’s father.

Not the camera.

Him.

Like he could see through the screen.

The file deleted itself the moment playback ended.

The system rebooted.

A message blinked on the home screen:

> “EYES ARE DOORS.”

---

That day, a city-wide glitch hit several buildings using smart surveillance systems. Every affected location reported the same issue:

A man in a coat. Appearing and vanishing. Standing still. Looking directly into the lens.

Some cameras melted.

Some exploded.

And in one apartment complex, a night guard disappeared, but footage showed him being pulled into the screen — face twisted in terror as the static consumed him.

But the police claimed it was an accident.

Electrical failure.

Coincidence.

**

But Ayaan knew better.

So did others.

And somewhere in the city, hidden in server rooms and mirrored hallways, the man in black moved through the wires, watching.

Waiting.

Because now… he was part of the system.

And everyone with a camera…

...had already let him in.