After Amma's confession, something shifted. Not just in Maya, but in the house itself.
The air felt thicker, heavier. The corners of every room darkened just a little too early in the evening. Shadows lingered where light should've lived. Even the flowers in the garden seemed less vibrant, petals curling inward like they, too, were hiding from something.
But… the worst of all was Arjun. He wasn't himself anymore.
He'd always been curious, sensitive, and prone to fantasy, but this was different.
He stopped playing with his crayons. He didn't ask questions.
Instead, he wandered. Quietly. Silently. At very odd hours.
Maya would find him in strange places, like the pantry where he would stare at the wall, in the base of the tree in the backyard, whispering to the bark, and once, she found him standing in front of the forbidden door in the middle of the night, hand pressed against it like he was listening for a heartbeat.
"Arjun," she had whispered sharply, shaking his shoulder. "What are you doing?"
"She wants to come out," he murmured. "She's lonely."
Maya pulled him away, heart pounding. He didn't resist, but he didn't look at her either. His eyes were glazed, distant.
"Who's lonely?"
He blinked. "No one," and he wouldn't talk about it again.
This scared Maya, and she tried to tell Amma.
"Something's wrong with him. He's sleepwalking or... dreaming with his eyes open."
But Amma only tightened her grip on the rosary and didn't mention any cure to Arjun's antics.
"She's found a crack," Amma spoke under her breath. "And now she's reaching through it."
"Amma, please. This is serious - "
"I know it's serious!" Amma snapped. "Why do you think I told you to never touch that door?"
She stood slowly, walking to the mantle. She pulled a rusted brass key from behind a row of ceramic figurines. Maya hadn't seen it before.
"I've never used this," Amma said. "But if the house has chosen your brother…"
She didn't speak more and trailed off.
Maya stared at Amma and asked, "What do you mean by 'chosen'?"
But Amma wouldn't answer. Not directly.
She walked upstairs, Maya trailing behind her, heart thudding with every step. The hallway felt colder than it should have been. The air tasted like smoke and roses.
At the end of the hallway stood the door.
It looked older than everything else in the house. Its wood was darker, worn smooth by time, and etched faintly with what looked like small symbols - barely visible, like whispers scratched into the grain.
Amma inserted the key. It didn't resist.
The lock clicked softly.
Then Amma did something strange - she didn't open the door. She stepped back. Hand trembling.
"You open it," she said quietly. "It has to be you."
"Why me?"
"Because it's already watching you. If it wanted me, it would've opened long ago."
Maya hesitated, then gripped the handle. The metal was ice cold. She turned it slowly, heart banging against her ribs.
The door opened.
A long sigh of air escaped the room - hot, dry, and sweet like overripe fruit. Or rot masked by perfume.
Inside, the room was untouched by time.
A little girl's room.
There was a small bed with a faded floral bedspread.
A wooden dollhouse.
A dresser with peeling paint.
A rocking chair.
A cracked mirror,
And on the far side, by the window, stood a child's armoire with a single ribbon tied to the handle.
Red Ribbon.
Everything was coated in a fine layer of dust, except for the floorboards, where small footprints had disturbed the film. Bare feet, Tiny, moving between the bed, the dresser, and the door.
"No," Amma whispered. "No no no - "
Maya moved into the room slowly, eyes wide, heart in her throat. She stepped over the footprints, drawn to the rocking chair, which gently creaked back and forth… though no one was in it.
The mirror caught her reflection.
Except - it didn't.
In the mirror, she was standing still. But something behind her - a girl with black hair and a pale face - was smiling, hands folded politely in front of her.
Maya spun around to check again.
But nothing.
She slammed the door shut and locked it.
"We're leaving," she told Amma. "Today."
But Amma only stared at the floor.
"You can't. Not now. The house doesn't let go once it remembers you."
That night, Maya dreamt of fire.
Not flames consuming the house, but something alive. Fire with a face.
With eyes like burnt coal and a voice that sounded like lullabies played in reverse. It whispered her name over and over until she woke up drenched in sweat.
She rushed to Arjun's room.
He was gone.