Chapter 1: The Midnight Whistle

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.

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