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Where He Stayed

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Where He Stayed 1

Chapter 6: Mother’s Turn

My sister and I made it out.

We didn’t look back.

We didn’t breathe easy — not yet.

We reached a friend’s place. Someone I trusted from work. They let us stay. No questions. Just comfort.

But Mom was still there.

And that house, now without us, felt more dangerous than ever.

We waited for her call.

Hours passed.

Then a day.

And then, it happened.

She called from a stranger’s number. Whispered into the phone like someone could hear her.

“He’s out,” she said. “But one of his friends is still here. Watching me.”

My heart dropped.

The same friend who used to smile like he belonged in our family. The same one who I suspected knew what happened to my brother’s missing wife. The one he trusted far too much.

“He’s not safe,” Mom said. Her voice shook. “He… tried something.”

That was all she said.

She didn’t need to explain.

I could feel her fear.

That night, she waited. Waited for him to fall asleep. She packed only what she could carry. Quietly zipped the bag.

Then she did something none of us expected.

She went to the storeroom.

Alone.

She wanted to find answers. Or maybe closure. Maybe she just needed to face the place that changed everything.

But inside… she found nothing.

Just darkness. Cold. Dust. As if the room itself had erased the past.

Only one thing caught her eye:

A corner of the room, with something written on the wall in chalk.

Faded words:

“Don’t trust the friends.”

She didn’t take a photo. She didn’t touch anything.

She left.

On the way out, the friend woke up.

He saw her.

He tried to stop her.

She picked up the nearest object — a heavy lamp — and hit him.

He dropped.

Not dead. But enough to give her time.

She grabbed her bag and ran.

Ran through the gate. Down the street.

She didn’t cry until she saw us again.

When the three of us were together, we didn’t say much.

We didn’t have to.

We just held each other.

And finally — finally — breathed.

Chapter 7: The Beginning Again

We didn’t have much.

No furniture. No kitchen setup. No decorations. Just a small space with three mattresses on the floor and a single window that let in soft light.

But it was ours.

For the first time in months — maybe even years — we felt free.

No locked doors. No watching eyes. No one shouting.

Just quiet. And each other.

We took turns making simple meals. Took long walks near the new building. Mom started smiling again. My sister started humming songs she used to love.

I started working remotely. A small job from the company I’d been with before. The manager understood. Didn’t ask questions. Just said, “You can stay wherever you want. That’ll be your place now.”

That meant everything.

One afternoon, while I was working, I got a message.

It was from a friend I hadn’t heard from in months — someone who had known my brother.

“Sorry to send this,” the message said.

“I’ve been watching him online for a while. I thought you should see this.”

Attached was a video.

A YouTube Short.

Low quality. Just my brother… dancing. In our old house. But the room looked different. Empty. Echoing.

At first, I laughed — just a soft, confused laugh.

But then, I noticed something.

In the corner of the screen — barely visible — a woman.

And next to her, a small child.

He’d remarried. He had a kid.

The dance went on. Clumsy, messy. Then it happened.

He fell.

From the first floor. Right in front of the camera.

The phone must’ve dropped. The video turned sideways.

Then, a loud crashing sound.

But it wasn’t from him hitting the ground.

It was something bigger. Heavier. Like… an earthquake.

Then silence.

Then the screen flickered.

And for a split second, I saw it.

Something fell behind him.

Not human. Not possible.

A giant leg. Just a leg — but it was the size of a house.

I couldn’t see the rest of it.

Just the foot.

And the ground around it breaking like paper.

Then — video gone.

My hands were cold. My phone slipped from my fingers.

I just stared at the blank screen.

Tears didn’t come right away. Not until I whispered something to myself:

“I didn’t lose him today.”

“I lost him the day he made a deal with whatever that thing was.”

Chapter 8: The Last Door

Days passed after I saw the video.

I didn’t show it to Mom or my sister.

I didn’t speak about it to anyone else.

But every night, I thought about it — that leg, that sound, that strange flicker in the air.

Was it real? A glitch? Some kind of curse?

Or… a memory that only I could see?

I started having dreams. Always the same place.

The storeroom.

Dark. Quiet. Cold.

I walked inside alone. There was always dust in the air, like time itself had been frozen. Then the bench would appear. And behind it, that secret door.

One night, I opened it in my dream.

This time, it wasn’t empty.

Inside, I saw my brother — the version of him I remembered. The old him. Smiling, holding a book, the way he used to sit and listen when we were kids.

But behind him stood something else.

A shadow. Endless. Quiet. It didn’t move, but it felt alive.

My brother turned around slowly.

He didn’t say help.

He didn’t say sorry.

He looked at me with those soft eyes, tilted his head… and said:

“You did a great job, Vaishu.”

That broke me.

Tears rolled down in my sleep, and when I woke up, my chest hurt.

Because in that moment — that one dream — I realized the truth.

I started crying.

Not because I was scared.