Greyford was the kind of city that looked normal if you only saw it in daylight.
In the morning, the streets were busy enough to feel alive—vendors shouting, college students laughing, auto-rickshaws weaving through traffic like they had no fear of consequences. The city moved fast and spoke louder than it listened.
But at night, Greyford changed.
The lights grew dimmer, not because the electricity failed, but because the shadows seemed to swallow them. The wind became colder, sharper, like it carried secrets instead of dust. And the silence—Greyford's silence—was never empty.
It always sounded like something was waiting.
Ayanokoji had been living here for three months.
Three months in a new hostel.
Three months in a new college.
Three months surrounded by new faces that smiled too easily, talked too much, and trusted too quickly.
He did none of those things.
Trust was a luxury.
And Ayanokoji had never been rich enough to afford it.
That night, he sat near the window with a notebook open on the desk, a small lamp glowing at his side. His pen moved quickly, filling the page with neat handwriting and short bullet points. He studied late because it gave him control. The world felt less dangerous when it could be reduced to lines and logic.
On the other bed, his roommate Kabir was already asleep.
Kabir slept with his back turned, breathing steady, one arm stretched out as if he was guarding his space even in his dreams. Ayanokoji had noticed that about him—Kabir always acted casual, but he never truly relaxed. Not even in sleep.
The clock on the wall showed 1:17 AM.
Ayanokoji stopped writing.
For a moment, he didn't move. He didn't even blink. He simply listened.
There were footsteps in the corridor.
Not loud. Not rushed.
Just slow, deliberate taps against the floor.
Tap…
Tap…
Tap…
Most hostel noises were familiar—doors creaking, laughter from some late-night group, water running in the bathroom. This was different.
This sounded like someone walking with purpose.
And then the footsteps stopped.
Right outside the room.
Ayanokoji's fingers tightened around his pen. His eyes stayed on the notebook, but his mind was fully alert. He had learned long ago that danger rarely announced itself with a scream.
Sometimes, it arrived quietly.
Like a knock you didn't hear.
But the door didn't open.
No knock. No handle movement.
Only silence.
Ayanokoji slowly turned his head toward the window.
Outside, the hostel courtyard looked half-dead under the streetlights. The light spilled in soft circles, leaving everything beyond them in thick darkness. A few trees stood still, their leaves barely moving. Even the air seemed heavy.
Then something shifted near the gate.
A shape stepped into the pale glow of the streetlight.
Ayanokoji's breath paused.
At first glance, it looked like a man. Tall. Lean. Wrapped in a long black coat. The hood was slightly raised, hiding most of the head.
But then the figure lifted its face.
And Ayanokoji understood why Greyford's rumors existed.
The face wasn't a face.
It was a mask.
A skull-white skeleton mask, sharp around the cheekbones and hollow at the eyes. It looked clean, too clean, as if it had never touched dirt. The mouth was carved into a grin that didn't feel like a joke.
Ayanokoji blinked once—slowly, carefully—like he could force his brain to deny what it had seen.
But the figure remained.
In the man's right hand was something else.
A chain.
Not a small one. Not decorative.
A heavy, rusted iron chain that dragged slightly on the ground as he moved.
The sound wasn't loud, but in Greyford's night, even a whisper could feel like thunder.
Chink… chink…
Ayanokoji leaned closer to the window, not opening it further—just watching from behind the glass. His body stayed calm, but his senses sharpened like a blade.
He had heard the stories before.
People in the canteen spoke about it like it was entertainment.
"Skeleton Man walks near the cemetery."
"If he looks at you, you won't sleep for days."
"Whoever sees him… something bad happens."
Most of it sounded like cheap horror fiction. The kind students told each other for attention, for drama, for something to fear that wasn't exams.
Ayanokoji had dismissed it all.
Until now.
The Skeleton Man stood near the gate as if he belonged there.
Still. Silent. Motionless.
Like a statue carved from darkness.
Ayanokoji's eyes narrowed. His mind started working.
If this was a prank, it was extremely committed.
If it was a threat, it was strangely theatrical.
Then the Skeleton Man moved again.
One slow step forward into the light.
The skull mask became clearer. The hollow eyes appeared empty, but somehow they felt like they were watching. The black coat hung loosely, swallowing the figure's body in fabric and shadow.
The chain shifted.
Chink.
Ayanokoji's heart beat once—harder than it should have.
Then the Skeleton Man tilted his head.
A small motion.
Not natural.
As if he was listening for something most humans couldn't hear.
And then… he looked up.
Directly toward the hostel building.
Toward Ayanokoji's window.
Ayanokoji didn't step back.
He didn't hide.
He didn't move at all.
He had survived long enough in life by following one rule:
Never react in fear. Fear gives people power.
But the truth was simple.
He felt it.
He felt the weight of that gaze, even through glass, even across distance. It wasn't a normal look.
It was a claim.
For two full seconds, they stared at each other.
Ayanokoji's lamp hummed faintly. The music in his earphones continued playing, but he couldn't hear a single note.
Only his pulse.
Only the quiet pressure inside his chest.
Then the Skeleton Man raised his left hand.
Slowly.
Ayanokoji watched every movement, every inch of the arm lifting.
The gloved fingers made a small gesture.
Not a wave.
Not a threat.
A command.
A simple motion of the fingers curling inward, pointing toward the ground.
Come down.
Ayanokoji's throat went dry.
He stared harder, searching for another explanation. A friend playing a sick joke. A stranger with a weird fetish. A city lunatic looking for attention.
But none of those explanations answered one obvious question:
Why him?
Why this window?
Why this time?
The Skeleton Man's chain scraped lightly against the ground as he shifted his grip.
Then he turned away.
No rush. No hesitation.
He walked out of the streetlight and into the darkness beyond the gate, leaving behind only the faint sound of iron moving against stone.
Chink… chink…
And then silence.
Ayanokoji remained at the window for a moment, waiting for his brain to catch up with reality.
Kabir still slept, completely unaware.
Ayanokoji didn't wake him.
Not yet.
Panic never helped. It only created noise. And noise attracted problems.
He grabbed his jacket from the chair, slipped it on, and placed his notebook aside. His movements were controlled, precise. The kind of calm that came from a person who had learned to fear his own mistakes more than other people.
He quietly opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
The hallway lights were dim, flickering slightly at the far end. The air smelled damp, like wet concrete. Everything was still.
Too still.
He walked toward the stairs.
Each step echoed lightly.
Down the first floor.
Then the second.
Then the ground level.
When he reached the main entrance, he noticed something that didn't make sense.
The guard's chair was empty.
Ayanokoji stopped.
The guard was always there. Even when he dozed off, he stayed near the gate, a newspaper on his lap, one foot stretched out.
But tonight, the chair sat alone.
The gate itself was half open.
Not wide enough to look like it had been forced.
Just slightly open… as if it had been left that way on purpose.
Ayanokoji's jaw tightened.
He placed one hand on the metal bars and pushed.
The gate creaked softly and opened.
Outside, the night air hit his face like cold water.
The street was almost empty. A stray dog barked somewhere far away. A scooter passed in the distance, its sound fading quickly into nothing.
Ayanokoji looked left.
Nothing.
He looked right.
Nothing.
The Skeleton Man was gone.
Then Ayanokoji saw it.
A single piece of white paper lying on the ground a few feet away from the gate.
It looked too clean to be trash. Too carefully placed to be accidental.
Ayanokoji walked toward it, slow and cautious, like approaching a trap.
He bent down and picked it up.
The paper was thick, almost like old stationery. On it, someone had written in black ink. The handwriting was neat, but the strokes were heavy—pressed down hard, as if the writer had anger in their hand.
Ayanokoji read the first word.
His name.
AYANOKOJI
His stomach tightened.
He flipped the paper over.
There was only one line on the back:
"You have seen me before."
Ayanokoji didn't blink.
For a second, his mind flickered—like an old video glitching. A broken memory tried to surface.
A corridor.
A scream.
A smell like metal and smoke.
But the image snapped away before it could fully form.
He shoved the paper into his pocket and scanned the street again.
The streetlights still glowed.
The wind still moved.
But the night didn't feel empty anymore.
It felt occupied.
Ayanokoji stepped back slightly, his eyes focusing on the darkness beyond the streetlight circle.
And for one brief second, he saw it.
A pale skull mask—half visible behind a tree.
Watching.
Then it disappeared again.
Ayanokoji's heart hammered once in his chest.
And right then, his phone vibrated.
He pulled it out.
A message from an unknown number.
He read it.
"Tomorrow. 2:00 AM. Old Cemetery."
"Alone."
Ayanokoji stared at the screen.
The Old Cemetery was the oldest place in Greyford. A place people avoided even during daytime. Students joked about it, but nobody went there when the sun went down. It wasn't just superstition.
It was instinct.
Ayanokoji locked his phone.
His fingers stayed firm, but inside his mind a war had already started.
One part of him screamed to ignore it, to go back inside, to pretend none of this had happened.
The other part—the part that never let mysteries go—had already made a decision.
He turned toward the hostel gate, taking one slow step back inside.
Before leaving the street completely, he looked once more into the darkness and spoke quietly, almost like a promise.
"If you're real… I'll find you."
From somewhere far beyond the light, a faint metallic sound answered him.
Chink…
Then silence again.
And the night swallowed everything.