The Hand That Shouldn’t Move
Aarav couldn't breathe.
The hand-shaped handle was moving.
Fingers uncurling, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment.
The girl yanked him back, her grip bruising. "Don't let it touch you!"
Aarav stumbled, barely catching his balance. "What the hell is that?"
The fingers twitched.
Then, they turned toward him.
Not like a normal hand. No.
They bent backward, joints twisting unnaturally, pointing directly at Aarav.
And then… it knocked.
Three slow, deliberate knocks.
Aarav's stomach turned. Why would a door knock from its own side?
The girl was already backing away, dragging him along. "We need to—"
The door opened.
Not all at once.
It creaked a fraction of an inch. Just enough to see darkness beyond it.
And something was watching them from that darkness.
Not a person.
Not an echo.
Something worse.
Aarav felt his chest tighten, his vision swimming. It was pulling at him.
Then, the whisper came again. His name.
He shouldn't have looked.
But he did.
For a fraction of a second, he met the thing's eyes.
And the moment he did—
His mind snapped.
He wasn't in the tunnel anymore.
He was somewhere else.
---
Somewhere Else
The walls were breathing.
Aarav's body wasn't his own.
He was floating, staring down at something. A room? A prison? No—a memory.
A boy stood in front of a mirror.
A boy who looked just like him.
But the reflection was wrong.
It was staring back with a grin that Aarav knew he never made.
The reflection knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Then, it whispered: "Are you finally ready to let me in?"
---
Back in the Tunnel
Aarav gasped.
He was back.
The door was closed. The hand had vanished.
The girl was shaking him. "Aarav! What the hell happened?"
He couldn't speak.
Because when he looked down—
His hand was still raised.
Like he had been about to knock back.