Chapter 5: 2:14 AM

They say nothing good happens after midnight. But no one warns you about 2:14 AM — a time that slips past unnoticed, like a whisper between thoughts.

Unless it’s calling you.

And lately, someone — or something — was calling people at exactly 2:14 AM.

Every. Single. Night.

---

It started with a college student named Kabir Malhotra, who lived alone in a rented studio near the old flyover in South Mumbai. A final-year architecture student, Kabir often stayed up late working on his thesis. The buzzing of his laptop and the scratching of his mechanical pencil were usually the only sounds in the room.

Until the phone rang.

2:14 AM.

Kabir checked the screen: Unknown Number.

He almost declined the call, but something about the silence around him felt… heavier than usual. He answered.

> Static. Then — breathing. Slow, shallow.

> Then came the tapping.

Tap… tap-tap… tap.

He waited. “Hello?”

No response.

He hung up, irritated.

The next night, it happened again. Same time.

This time, after the tapping, a child’s voice whispered:

> “Don’t look behind you.”

Kabir's heart dropped.

He froze.

Then — click. The line disconnected.

And in the reflection of his laptop screen, for just a second, someone else was standing behind him.

---

Kabir wasn’t alone.

Across the city, reports of mysterious 2:14 AM calls began to surface on forums and chat threads. Most dismissed them as prank calls or coincidence.

Until people began vanishing.

The girl from Andheri who answered the call and walked out onto the street — never returned.

The security guard who picked up the landline, then locked himself in the basement. His body was found days later — eyes scratched out, but no sign of a struggle.

And the journalist who tried to trace the call — his notes were found scattered on the floor, with a single phrase written over and over:

> “It watches through the ring.”

---

Ayaan, now knee-deep in his investigation of the city's growing strangeness, found a disturbing pattern.

The victims of the 2:14 calls had one thing in common:

They all lived near places that didn’t appear on Google Maps anymore.

Vacant lots. Abandoned towers. Empty metro lines.

Places the city had forgotten.

And now — it seemed — those places were remembering them.

One night, Ayaan decided to stay awake and wait for the call.

He turned off all background apps. Charged his phone. Lit a candle next to his desk, because something told him darkness made it worse.

At 2:14 AM — nothing happened.

No call.

He almost sighed in relief.

Then his laptop turned on by itself.

The screen flickered. Then black.

Then — a video auto-played.

It was a grainy recording of a bedroom.

Not his, but similar.

Someone sat in bed, staring into the camera — face pale, eyes hollow. Mouth slightly open.

It was him.

But he hadn’t recorded it.

He reached for the power button. The keyboard hissed — hot to touch.

The video Ayaan stared at raised a finger and pointed…

Behind him.

He turned.

Nothing.

When he looked back, the video had changed. The background now showed a clock.

2:13… 2:14…

The screen cracked.

His phone rang.

Private Number.

He answered.

> Breathing. Then whispering.

> “Did you watch it?”

> “Now… it watches you.”

Then came the tapping.

> Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

He recognized it now.

It was Morse code.

He scribbled quickly.

O-P-E-N T-H-E D-O-O-R

A knock echoed from his front door.

Three taps.

Just like the phone.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

His blood ran cold.

He didn’t move.

The candle flickered violently, then extinguished.

His phone buzzed again.

A message appeared on the screen.

> “Ignoring us won’t help. The door is already open.”

Ayaan sprinted to the kitchen, grabbed the emergency flashlight, and returned to the front door.

It stood wide open.

But the corridor was empty.

He slammed it shut, locked it, then checked every window, every room.

All secure.

But when he returned to his phone, a new video had downloaded itself.

It was a recording of him.

Standing in front of the door.

Only — he had never recorded it.

In the video, after he shut the door, something crawled in behind him.

Long arms. Hollow eyes. A mouth full of teeth.

And now it was somewhere inside.

He dropped the phone.

---

Elsewhere in the city, a woman named Savita Rao, mother of two, answered a 2:14 AM call thinking it was her son calling from abroad.

She heard tapping.

Then her son’s voice.

> “Ma… let me in. I’m home.”

Her eyes filled with tears. He wasn’t supposed to arrive until next week.

She opened the door eagerly.

And screamed.

The thing that stood there had her son’s voice, his height, his clothes — but its eyes were mirrors.

And it smiled like it had never worn skin before.

When neighbors found her the next morning, she was still screaming.

But her mouth was sewn shut.

---

In one final desperate attempt to understand, Ayaan contacted a retired paranormal researcher, Professor Arvind Mathur, who now lived in exile, working from a remote cottage outside the city.

They spoke over a secure call.

Mathur didn’t even wait for Ayaan’s questions.

> “You answered the 2:14 call, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

> “You’ve been marked. Every night from now, it’ll get closer.”

“Why 2:14?” Ayaan asked.

> “It’s the time between REM cycles. Between dream and reality. A sliver of existence where consciousness is vulnerable. They wait there.”

> “Who?”

> “Not who — what. Echoes. Copies. Shadows born from signals. The city’s forgotten spirits now live in the wires, the glass, the static. Every time you pick up, you let them see. And once they see… they want in.”

“What do I do?”

> “Don’t answer again. Don’t speak to it. Don’t let it through the door. And whatever you do… never ask who’s calling.”

The line went dead.

It was 2:13 AM.

Ayaan’s phone lit up again.

Incoming call: UNKNOWN.

He turned it over. Let it ring.

But then, on the black screen — written in condensation from inside the glass — three words formed:

> “We are already here.”

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***