Time had died inside the dark chamber.
There was only an endless, breathless stillness. Anik's new heart was still—no, it wasn't still. It trembled, shaking as if it would burst, and with every tremor, thousands of children's throats let out ripping screams. Those screams seeped into his ears, spreading into every cell of his brain.
The flayed bodies of his ancestors weren't hanging from chains—they weren't swinging. They moved. Each spine slithered like a living snake onto the floor, coiling around Anik's torn limbs, pulling, twisting, stitching them together. Blood didn't fall—it streamed, not into an invisible vessel, but directly into Anik's throat, into his new heart. Every drop sharpened his hunger, made it more unbearable. The hunger was no longer only in his stomach—it burned his bones, his skin, his eyes, his brain—everything aflame with the fire of appetite.
The wall split.
A huge, torn mouth emerged. No lips—just two black cracks from which decayed teeth and bits of tongue were spilling. The mouth hissed, but it was no hiss—it was a deep, rumbling command:
"Rise. Your first meal has come. Outside. The blood is still warm."
Anik's body rose on its own. His legs weren't legs—they were long, twisted, spiral bones and flesh. He didn't walk. He dragged himself. Every step made the bricks beneath scream, as blood veins ran underfoot.
The door opened.
Outside, it was night. In a flash of lightning, Rahat appeared.
A twenty-two-year-old boy. Torch in hand. Fear and excitement in his eyes. Pulling out his phone, he snapped a photo. Mentally captioning it: "Midnight at the cursed Rajbari – real ghosts? #HorrorNight #BengalLegends"
He didn't know—there were no ghosts here.
Only hunger.
Anik emerged.
Not from the wall—the wall was now part of him. His hands had become the bricks themselves. Fingers emerged from the cracks. His eyes—thousands of tiny black eyes—watched through every crevice. Rahat swung his torch. Light fell on Anik's face.
There was no face.
Only a deep cavity. From within it, his own throat emerged—but now carrying the collective screams of a thousand throats:
"Rahat… you've come… we were looking for you…"
Rahat tried to scream—nothing came out. His throat was sealed. It felt as if someone had plunged a hand into his lungs and squeezed. Anik's thousand eyes were upon him. Each eye bore the same hunger—endless, unfulfilled, merciless.
Rahat stepped back. His feet slipped. His hands touched the bloody floor. The blood was alive. It crawled up his arms, reaching his wrists, shoulders, neck. It seeped under his skin, into his veins. His heartbeat began to sync with Anik's—thump, thump, now Anik's rhythm.
Anik advanced.
His nails were long, black, curved. He placed a hand on Rahat's chest. No strike. Only touch.
And with that touch, everything inside Rahat began to tear apart.
His mother's laughter dissolved.
His father's voice vanished.
The touch of his lover shattered into fragments.
His dreams, his future—everything plunged into a black abyss.
Only hunger remained. His own hunger. Anik's hunger. The Rajbari's hunger.
Rahat screamed.
This time a scream emerged—but no longer human. It was inhuman, throat-rending, soul-shattering.
The mouths in the walls began to sing.
The melody was not sweet—it was a lullaby from hell. Every mouth sang in unison, tongue protruding, eyes sewn, blood dripping from nostrils. The vibrations shook Rahat's body. His skin tore. Flesh separated, merging with the wall. Bones twisted into new forms. His eyes lodged into the wall cracks—still alive, still crying.
Rahat was no more.
He was now the wall. Now part of Anik. His hunger merged with Anik's, doubled.
Outside, the storm ceased.
Dogs howled—but no longer in fear. Instead, there was a strange, demonic delight. They knew—another soul had joined. The game had intensified.
Anik—or what was now Anik and Rahat combined—returned into the wall.
With new eyes, he watched the outside road.
Someone would come.
Someone always does.
To take photos.
To seek the mystery.
To feel fear.
And each time, the hunger would grow.
Deeper.
More unbearable.
The eternal game.
It had only just begun.