The two of us—me and Pranav—stood in front of the lift.
The building was old, straight out of the 80s—dim lights, a metal gate with a handle, and that constant khat-khat sound echoing in the silence.
We locked the house door, pressed the lift button, and waited.
"Bro… when is this lift even coming?" Pranav asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Then we heard it—thak-thak, footsteps coming from behind.
We turned around.
There she was—a girl.
Teenager, with hair flowing all the way down to her hips. Her face was ghostly pale, like a dead body.
Scratch marks ran across her cheeks, a little blood dripped from her wounds, and she wore small, round glasses.
In her hand, she held a knife.
And her expression? Rage.
Pure, terrifying rage—like we just stole her phone and smashed it in front of her.
"Saish, what is that?!" Pranav whispered, frozen in fear.
Saish was terrified too, but pretended to act tough. Someone had to.
"Quick! Open the door! Let's get back inside!" Saish shouted.
But it was locked. Damn. Now what?, Pranav shouted in fear.
The ghost girl kept walking toward us.
Saish stepped forward and shouted, "Stay away from my friend, or I'll beat the hell out of you!"
Pranav stared at me like I'd completely lost it.
"Plan B, bro," Saish said.
"We will push her and run for the stairs."
"1... 2... 3... HOLY MOTHER RUNNNN!"
We pushed her. She stumbled and fell, then shrieked,
"Fools! You boys are going to diiie!"
We bolted down the staircase.
"Pranav! Call your mom, scared as hell!"
"Saish, run first! My phone is at hoooome, with fear!!"