Episode 1: She Left at 9 — But Her Footsteps Never Did

My sister, Aanya, left for her hostel at 9:00 p.m.

I remember it clearly — her yellow hoodie, her rolling suitcase scraping the stairs, and the way she turned back to wave before disappearing into the taxi’s headlights.

She was gone.

But her footsteps stayed.

That night, at exactly 9:14 p.m., I heard them — those soft, hurried steps across the upstairs corridor. Our house had wooden floors. You could hear everything. But no one was up there. Not me. Not my parents. Not her.

At first, I thought it was just… memory. Echoes. Stress.

Until it happened again.

And again.

Every night. 9:14. Without fail.

I tried recording it. Played it for Mom.

She said, “Don’t joke about your sister like that.”

I wasn’t joking.

Then things got worse.

Doors we had locked started opening on their own. Her bedroom light would flicker at the exact moment her steps reached the end of the hall. Her perfume — lavender — filled the house, stronger than ever before.

I checked her room one night.

The bedsheets had shifted.

A half-used lipstick she packed was back on the table.

A sticky note on her mirror read:

> “Don’t wait up. Love you.”

That wasn’t there before.

I asked her on call.

She said, “I never wrote that.”

She sounded scared.

So was I.

I tried to ignore it. For a few days, I just… kept the door shut. Plugged in my earphones. Told myself it would stop.

But on the sixth night, it changed.

The footsteps didn’t stop at the hallway.

They came down the stairs.

One by one.

Slow.

Heavy.

Wet.

I froze. My room’s door wasn’t locked. I could feel something outside. Breathing. Close. I held my breath as a shadow crossed under the slit of light at the bottom of the door.

I didn’t sleep that night.

Next morning, I found muddy footprints leading from the front door… into the house. But the door had been locked from the inside. No one believed me. Not even her.

So that night, I waited.

9:14 p.m.

The footsteps came.

And I opened her bedroom door.

Empty.

Except… her hoodie was back. Folded. Neat.

The rolling suitcase sat beside the bed.

With a train ticket placed on top.

Dated tomorrow.

Time: 9:00 p.m.

Return trip.

But Aanya never booked it.

And she never came home.

I still hear her walking.

But now… I think she’s not trying to come back.

I think she’s waiting for me to leave.

When Aanya leaves home for her hostel at exactly 9:00 p.m., her brother believes it’s just another goodbye. But that night, her footsteps return — soft, familiar, and right on time… every single night. As strange events begin to unfold — flickering lights, shifting objects, and muddy footprints inside locked doors — it becomes clear: Aanya’s presence never really left.

And maybe… she’s not the only one walking those halls.

A chilling tale of lingering echoes, twisted reality, and the terrifying possibility that some goodbyes are never complete.

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