Evenings in the apartment campus had a rhythm of their own slow, predictable, almost meditative.
By 6 PM, the sharp glare of the day had melted into a warm, orange hue that painted the buildings gold. The Gulmohar trees lining the boundary wall shimmered in silhouette, their fiery red flowers glowing faintly like embers.
Shivansh stood by the balcony, wet hair slicked back from a quick bath, sipping cold Limca straight from the bottle. Below, the campus had come alive with low chatter and familiar faces comforting like background music.
From the opposite tower, Imran Qureshi emerged in his usual white kurta-pajama, holding a newspaper and walking stick, accompanied by his nine-year-old granddaughter, Shahida. She wore two ponytails and a bright pink T-shirt, dragging a sketchbook in one hand.
"Dadu, look! I drew your rifle again," she chirped, holding up a messy crayon sketch.
Imran chuckled, though his eyes didn't smile. "Good. Just don't point it at anyone this time."
They walked in slow circles near the fountain, Imran occasionally stopping to stretch his back, watching the sunset with an old soldier's wariness.
Back upstairs, the Sharma home buzzed with life. Ankita was rolling out rotis in the kitchen while shouting at the boys over the clatter of utensils.
"Dinner will be late if you two don't start laying the table now!"
"We're on it!" Shivansh called back, still lying flat on the sofa.
Vedant was attempting to balance the TV remote on his foot. "Who even eats before 8 in this heat?"
On screen, the evening news had returned.
A serious-looking anchor spoke rapidly in Hindi: "We have now confirmed reports from parts of Punjab and western UP. Patients display aggressive behavior, disorientation, and appear resistant to sedation"
Shivansh raised a brow. "Yo, even Punjab's on the list now?"
Ankita stepped in from the kitchen. "What list?"
He shrugged. "Random news. People falling sick and acting mad. Probably heatstroke."
"Or viral marketing for a new Netflix show," Vedant added.
But Ankita didn't laugh. She reached for the remote and turned the volume down. "Don't invite bad energy during dinner."
Downstairs in the guardroom, Manoj Narang, the society watchman, sat half-dozing in front of a pedestal fan, shirt damp and unbuttoned at the chest. His old transistor radio was crackling with static. Occasionally, a voice broke through:
"…stay calm. The government urges citizens to remain indoors after dark… avoid unnecessary travel… safety advisories will be issued shortly…"
Manoj turned the dial. "Every damn day something new," he muttered.
He rubbed his temples and poured himself another cup of chai. Out of habit, he glanced at the gate camera feed empty. The road beyond shimmered in dying light. No cars. No rickshaws. Not even the usual delivery guy from Swiggy.
That was odd.
Back upstairs, plates clinked and the Sharma family sat down for dinner. The power flickered once, briefly.
"Don't jinx the inverter," Ankita said quickly.
But the power held.
"Papa's probably enjoying bonfires and Maggie up in the hills right now," Vedant said, stuffing rice into his mouth. "Lucky."
Shivansh smiled. "Hope he doesn't try to climb anything this time."
The clock ticked past 8:45 PM. The world outside dimmed further. Crickets chirped faintly. A dog barked once, then fell silent.
Inside homes, coolers hummed, children argued over cartoons, and WhatsApp pings filled the air like digital insects.
But something unspoken was shifting in the atmosphere a silence too still, a calm too deep. It pressed on the ears like the pause before a thunderclap.
In the empty alley beside Tower C, a streetlight blinked once, then went dark.
A low gust of wind passed through the complex, rustling dry leaves and door-hanging bells.
Manoj stirred again, suddenly uneasy. The usual Delhi night sounds distant horns, barking dogs, some idiot revving his bike had all vanished. He stepped out of the guardroom; wiping sweat off his neck with his gamcha.
That's when he saw it.
A figure. Just outside the society gate.
At first, Manoj thought it was a drunk Delhi had plenty. But there was something... wrong. The man was swaying oddly, barefoot, clothes clinging wet to his skin even though the breeze was dry.
"Bhaiya?" Manoj called out, reaching for his flashlight.
The figure didn't respond.
He stepped closer, gripping the metal bars of the gate. "Sun rahe ho? Sab thik hai?"
The flashlight beam caught the stranger's face.
Blood.
All over. Streaked down the chin. Dripping from torn lips. One arm hung unnaturally, like it was dislocated. The man was... twitching. Jerky, erratic.
Then he suddenly snapped his head up, eyes glazed white, and took a step toward the gate.
A deep, guttural sound escaped his throat not pain. Not fear.
Just... hunger.
Manoj took a step back, heartbeat pounding in his ears.
The gate was still locked. But he could feel it that something terrible was out there. Right at the edge of their peaceful little world.
And it had noticed them. And the man looked up.
Straight at him.
Manoj stepped back from the gate instinctively; the flashlight still fixed on the figure outside. His mouth felt suddenly dry.
"What the hell…?"
The stranger didn't blink. He just stood there, staring through the iron bars like an animal sizing up prey. His shirt was drenched in blood most of it not his own, it seemed and his body twitched in unnatural spasms. His lips were torn, skin blotched and pale, but worst were the eyes. No pupils. Just cloudy, milky white.
"Hey! You alright, brother?" Manoj called, voice cracking a little. "Did you meet with an accident? Can you hear me?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he lunged forward and slammed his body into the gate, fingers clawing through the bars. His jaw snapped open and shut as if chewing invisible food. A guttural growl rumbled from his throat deep, hungry, and hollow.
Manoj jumped back.
"Shit! What's wrong with you?" he yelled, his voice now louder, sharp with panic.
He looked around. The lane outside the apartment was deserted. No passersby. No traffic. Just this man this thing pressing against the gate like it wanted in.
Manoj reached for his walkie, but it fizzled with static.
"Bloody useless piece of junk."
He hesitated. Then despite every instinct screaming not to he slid the small pedestrian gate open, just slightly, and stepped one foot outside.
"Listen, if you're injured, I'll call someone just stay calm, okay?"
That's when the man sprang.
With inhuman speed, he grabbed Manoj's arm and sank his teeth deep into the flesh just above the wrist.
"AAARGHHH!" Manoj screamed in pain, trying to pull back.
They fell together, the stranger landing on top of him, biting again missing his neck by inches. Manoj thrashed wildly, kicking him off, and grabbed a nearby brick lying near the gate wall.
He swung once. Twice. The second hit cracked against the man's temple with a horrifying thud.
The attacker staggered back, arms flailing and then his head collided with the metal light pole. He crumpled instantly. Unmoving.
Manoj panted on the ground, blood pulsing from his arm. His whole body trembled. The bite mark burned like acid.
He stared at the stranger's limp body. Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
That was no drunk. No addict. That was something else entirely.
Staggering upright, he slammed the gate shut and bolted it.
Inside the booth, he grabbed his mobile and dialed 112.
Busy.
Tried again. Nothing.
"Pick up. Come on, pick up!"
But the line didn't ring.
He looked down at his wound. The skin around it was already swelling, purple at the edges. Throbbing. Pulsing.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog began howling.
Manoj slumped into the chair, dizzy. Sweat pouring. His vision started to blur.
Outside the gate, the man on the ground twitched once.
Then twice.
And ever so slowly… began to rise again. The man outside the gate began to rise stiff, jerky, like a puppet pulled by unseen strings.
And Manoj didn't see him.
He was too busy fighting the sudden wave of nausea. Sweat poured from his face as he slumped against the wall of the guardroom, eyes fluttering. His heartbeat was thunderous, uneven. He tried to reach for the landline again, but his fingers wouldn't close properly around the receiver.
His eyes were turning yellow. His gums, bleeding.
The bite mark on his forearm had swollen to the size of a cricket ball.
He didn't know it yet but he was already dying.
And changing.
Just a few floors above, everything still felt normal.
Shivansh let out a loud groan and rolled over on the couch, clutching the remote. Vedant was lying upside down across the other end, legs over the armrest, fingers tapping a rhythm against the phone screen.
"I was watching that!" Shivansh snapped, yanking the remote back.
"And I was playing music, bro!" Vedant shot back, kicking at his brother's shin.
Their mother, Ankita, popped her head in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her dupatta.
"Bas karo dono! It's almost midnight and you're still fighting like monkeys."
She glanced at the pressure cooker on the stove and turned the flame low. The faint aroma of jeera rice and bhindi still lingered in the air. On the balcony, drying clothes fluttered gently in the warm summer breeze.
Shivansh's phone buzzed. Another news alert.
"Breaking: Unconfirmed reports of violence near East Delhi clinics. Police urge calm."
He swiped it away.
Probably another political clash. Delhi never slept quietly.
"Mom, do we have any Coke left?" he shouted toward the kitchen.
"Fridge mein dekh lo!" she called back, her voice already distant.
The apartment felt lived-in. Safe. Familiar. Ceiling fan humming. TV flickering. Somewhere outside, a koel let out a late song. The city was wrapped in a summer haze.
And yet… something felt wrong.
The power dipped. Just for a moment. The tube light in the hallway flickered.
Shivansh noticed it "You see that?" he asked Vedant.
"Hmm? Nah, just voltage fluctuation."
But the second flicker lasted longer. This time, the light didn't just flicker it buzzed. Low, unnerving, like a whisper before a scream.
On the ground floor, behind the locked booth door, Manoj collapsed.
Not from exhaustion. His limbs began to jerk. His eyes rolled back. Veins stood out on his neck like roots trying to escape his skin.
And outside the gate, the man he had knocked out? Gone.
Only faint, sticky footprints remained. Leading toward the back boundary wall. Back upstairs, Ankita stood near the window, drying her hands. She looked out toward the apartment complex's inner lane.
It was… oddly quiet. No guard walking rounds. No headlights. No one. She squinted. In the far end, the main gate booth was dark. Not even the dim bulb above the guard's desk was glowing.
"Manoj?" she murmured, under her breath. "Where's that fool gone now?"
She didn't notice the shadow move behind the booth glass. Inside, Shivansh yawned again. "I'm going to crash."
Vedant grumbled and grabbed the remote. "Fine, more screen time for me!"
As Shivansh passed the window, he paused. Something caught his eye. The streetlamp near the main gate had gone out. And beneath it, something was crawling. Not walking. Crawling.
He blinked, leaned in. But by the time he focused, the thing was gone.
"Bro… forget it," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head.
And walked to his room. The dead had not entered the apartment yet.
But the night had.