Nikitha sat at her
desk, flipping through the morning mail absentmindedly. Bills, advertisements,
an invitation to some literary event—nothing unusual. But then, a plain white
envelope with no return address caught her attention. Her name was scrawled in
uneven handwriting across the front. No stamp, no postmark. Someone had slipped
this directly into her mailbox.
Frowning, she tore it
open and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The message inside was typed,
short, and chilling:
I killed someone. And
I need you to know.
Her pulse quickened.
She scanned the page for more details, but there was nothing—no name, no
location, no explanation. Just that one ominous sentence.
Nikitha’s mind raced.
A prank? Or something real? If it was genuine, why confess to her? She had
solved her fair share of mysteries, but she was no cop.
She turned the
envelope over, looking for any clue, any hint of identity. A faint trace of
perfume lingered—subtle, familiar, yet unplaceable. Instinct kicked in. Someone
wanted her to dig deeper. And she intended to.
Nikitha traced the
letter’s origins, checking her building’s CCTV footage first. The grainy
footage showed a hooded figure slipping the envelope into her mailbox around 3
AM. Their movements were cautious, deliberate. Not a random act.
She called Inspector
Rohan Mehta, a sharp but skeptical officer she had worked with before. He
sighed after hearing the details. “Could be a hoax, Nikitha. But if it isn’t,
this person might actually be desperate to unburden themselves. Or they might
be playing a dangerous game.”
“I need to find out
which,” she said. “Can you run forensics on the paper?”
“I’ll see what I can
do.”
As she hung up, her
fingers traced the edge of the letter. Something about it gnawed at her. If
this was a genuine confession, was the sender guilty—or was there something far
more sinister at play?
The next morning,
another letter arrived.
This time, it
contained more than just a confession.
It contained a name.
And a challenge: "Find
the body before they do."
Nikitha’s breath hitched.
Someone wasn’t just confessing—they were warning her. And she had no idea who
‘they’ were.
One thing was
certain—this wasn’t just another case. This time, she was already part of the
story.
Nikitha wasted no
time. The name in the letter was Aditya Khanna—a businessman whose
recent disappearance had gone unnoticed by the media. She searched for any news
articles but found nothing. Whoever sent this letter knew something the world
didn’t.
She called Rohan
again. “Do you have anything on an Aditya Khanna?”
Rohan exhaled
sharply. “He was reported missing two days ago by his wife. But there’s no case
yet—no ransom, no signs of foul play.”
Nikitha’s stomach
churned. If Aditya was missing, and this letter was real, then she might be
running out of time.
She rechecked the
envelope and the paper. There was a depression near the bottom, as if someone
had written something on a previous sheet. She lightly shaded over it with a
pencil. Slowly, words began to emerge:
‘Hotel Riviera – Room
405 – Midnight.’
A meeting place? A
trap?
Nikitha didn’t
believe in coincidences. If someone wanted her to find the body, this was the
first step.
That night, she
arrived at the Hotel Riviera. The neon sign flickered ominously, casting long
shadows over the deserted sidewalk. She walked in, her senses on high alert.
The receptionist barely glanced at her as she made her way to the fourth floor.
Room 405 was at the
end of a dimly lit hallway. She hesitated, then knocked lightly. No response.
She tried the handle. It turned easily.
Inside, the air was
thick with the scent of stale perfume. The room was empty—except for a single
object on the bed.
A third letter.
She picked it up and
unfolded it.
“Too late.”
Nikitha’s heart
pounded. Whoever was playing this game was always one step ahead. And now, she
wasn’t just looking for a missing man—she was chasing a ghost, a murderer, or
both.
The silence in the
room was deafening. Nikitha’s mind reeled. If she was too late, where was the
body? And more importantly, who had sent these letters?
Her phone buzzed. A
text message from an unknown number: "I warned you."
Her pulse quickened.
She replied instantly: “Who are you?”
Three dots appeared.
Then: "Get out. Now."
Before she could
react, the hotel door creaked open. Nikitha spun around, her heart hammering. A
figure stood in the doorway, their face obscured by shadows.
"I told you to
leave," the voice said softly. A woman’s voice. Chillingly familiar.
Nikitha took a step
forward. “Who are you?”
The woman stepped
into the dim light, revealing her face.
Nikitha gasped.
It was her own
reflection.
Or rather—someone who
looked exactly like her.
“You don’t remember,
do you?” the lookalike whispered, tilting her head slightly. “You should.”
Nikitha’s breath came
in short, sharp bursts. A trick? A trap? Was she losing her mind?
The woman smirked.
“You got my letters. And now you’ve found me.”
“What the hell is
this?” Nikitha demanded.
“I killed someone,”
the woman said. “And I needed you to know.”
The room spun.
Nikitha’s hands trembled. “Who did you kill?”
The woman’s eyes
gleamed. “Aditya Khanna.”
Nikitha shook her
head. “No. No, I—”
And then, a flood of
memories slammed into her.
Blood on her hands.
The weight of a lifeless body. A voice in her head, whispering “Make him
disappear.” A frantic drive through the city. A shovel. Dark, damp earth
swallowing secrets whole.
She staggered back,
gripping the wall for support.
Her lookalike smiled.
“You see now? You weren’t supposed to remember. But some part of you did. So I
helped.”
Nikitha’s knees
nearly buckled. “This… this isn’t real.”
“Isn’t it?” The woman
stepped closer, her eyes filled with eerie amusement. “You sent those letters,
Nikitha. You just didn’t know it.”
The weight of it all
crashed onto her, suffocating. If this was true—if she had truly killed Aditya
Khanna—then who was she?
What had she become?
A loud knock on the
door snapped her out of her thoughts. “Nikitha? Open up! It’s Rohan!”
She turned back—but
the woman was gone. Only the letter remained.
The final words now burned
into her memory: “I killed someone. And I needed you to know.”
Her own confession.
And there was no
running from it now.
Rohan burst into the room, gun drawn. “What the hell is going on?”
Nikitha swallowed hard. “I need you to check something for me.” She handed
him the letter. “Find out whose fingerprints are on this.”
Rohan studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Are you okay?”
She hesitated before replying. “I will be.”
As Rohan left, Nikitha exhaled slowly. Whoever had orchestrated this wanted
her rattled—but she wasn’t about to let them win. The truth was close.
A new text buzzed on her phone. "Not quite. You’re still
playing my game."
Nikitha’s fingers clenched around the device. A final message appeared:
"You're not the hunter, Nikitha. You're the prey."
A chill ran through her. Somewhere in the distance, a shadow moved. The game
was far from over. But she wasn’t backing down. Not now. Not ever.
Nikitha stared at her reflection in the mirror, the room closing in around
her. The image of the other woman—herself, yet not—flickered like a dying flame
before vanishing altogether. A cold sweat clung to her skin. The room was
empty, save for her and the crumpled letter in her trembling hands.
The air in Room 405 grew heavy, suffocating, as if something unseen coiled
around her, watching, waiting. Her breath was shallow. Had she really written
those letters? Had she really killed Aditya Khanna? The memories that had
crashed into her moments ago now felt disjointed, like fragments of a nightmare
slipping through her fingers.
Then, a whisper. Low, rasping. Not from the door where Rohan had knocked.
Not from her phone. From inside the room.
"Remember."
Nikitha whirled around. The shadows seemed thicker, pulsing with something
alive. The bed, the walls, the single lamp—everything felt distorted, shifting
in and out of focus.
The whisper came again. "I made you remember."
This time, the voice didn’t just speak—it echoed within her skull, threading
into her thoughts like an unwelcome intruder. Her head throbbed. She pressed
her palms against her temples, willing herself to stay grounded. But the floor
beneath her seemed to ripple, as though she were standing on the surface of
water.
And then she was no longer in Room 405.
Nikitha blinked. The walls had changed. The sickly yellow light was gone,
replaced by the dim glow of street lamps filtering through a broken window. The
scent of damp earth and something metallic filled her nostrils. She knew this
place.
The construction site.
The place where Aditya Khanna had disappeared.
Her feet crunched against loose gravel as she stepped forward. The site was
unfinished, skeletal steel beams jutting into the night sky. Her fingers
trailed along a cold metal railing, the sensation both familiar and foreign.
And then she saw it.
A shallow grave.
Freshly dug. The soil still unsettled.
Nikitha gasped as her body moved on its own. She crouched, heart hammering,
hands reaching for the mound of dirt. As her fingers brushed against it, a jolt
of icy pain shot through her spine. And suddenly, she wasn’t alone.
A presence loomed behind her.
The whisper turned into a chuckle, dark and knowing.
"You buried him here," the voice said. "And you thought you
could forget."
Nikitha spun around, but the figure wasn’t solid. It was a shifting, writhing
silhouette, its form flickering like candlelight. It had no face, yet its
presence was suffocatingly familiar. She felt it in her bones.
She had met this thing before.
"What... what are you?" she choked out.
The figure tilted its head. "I am you. The part you chose to silence.
The part that remembers." It reached out, fingers stretching impossibly
long. "And I will not be forgotten again."
Nikitha tried to back away, but the ground beneath her gave way. She tumbled
into the grave, her body hitting something soft—something cold. She screamed as
fingers, real fingers, curled around her wrist from below.
A lifeless, decayed hand.
Aditya Khanna's hand.
Nikitha bolted upright with a gasp. She was back in Room 405, sprawled on
the floor. Rohan was shaking her, his voice distant but urgent.
"Nikitha! Can you hear me? What the hell happened?"
She looked around wildly. The room was as it had been moments ago. No grave.
No shadows creeping toward her. But her hands were coated in something damp.
She lifted them in horror.
Dirt.
Real, dark soil beneath her nails.
Rohan's eyes followed her gaze. "Nikitha... what did you do?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she grabbed her phone with shaking hands and
typed in the address of the construction site.
She already knew what they would find.
Aditya Khanna’s body.
And maybe, just maybe, the part of herself she had buried along with him.
As sirens wailed in the distance, she realized the truth—there was no
escaping what she had become.
Nikitha staggered to her feet, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The soil
beneath her nails, the haunting vision, the voice—it all felt too real. But
deep within her, an instinct, sharpened by years of unraveling mysteries, told
her there was more to this.
Rohan steadied her. “Nikitha, what’s going on?”
“I think... I think something’s trying to make me believe I killed Aditya
Khanna. But it’s not real.”
Rohan’s eyes narrowed. “Then let’s get to the construction site. If there’s
a body, we’ll find it.”
As they raced through the city streets, Nikitha’s mind churned. The eerie
double, the cryptic letters, the visions—they were fragments of something far
more sinister. Something not of this world.
At the construction site, the place from her vision, the ground was indeed
freshly disturbed. Rohan’s team began digging. Moments later, a shout echoed
through the night.
“We’ve got something!”
Nikitha’s heart pounded as they unearthed the body. It was Aditya Khanna.
But the cause of death wasn’t blunt force trauma or strangulation—it was a
heart attack. The autopsy would later confirm it.
Rohan turned to her. “You didn’t kill him, Nikitha. Someone wanted you to
think you did.”
Before Nikitha could respond, a chilling wind swept through the site. In the
dim light, she saw a figure standing at the edge of the shadows. The woman who
looked exactly like her. But now, her face was serene.
“I needed you to find him,” the apparition whispered. “To bring him home. My
debt is paid.”
With that, the figure dissolved into the night, leaving only the faint trace
of that same subtle, familiar perfume.
Nikitha shivered as the weight lifted from her chest. “She wasn’t me. She
was... his wife. Or his lover. Stuck between worlds until justice was done.”
Rohan shook his head in disbelief. “You and your mysteries, Nikitha.”
But Nikitha knew the truth. Sometimes, the dead needed the living to speak
for them. And this time, she had.
As dawn’s light crept over the horizon, Nikitha felt an unfamiliar peace
settle within her. The case was closed. And the haunting was over.
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Image: Freepik
