An Incomplete Story

Riddhi was a young writer. She had dreams in her eyes and a sea of ​​stories in her mind. But this time, for the horror novel she wanted to write, she needed a completely different environment – ​​silence, desolation, and fear.

That is why she rented an old, dilapidated farmhouse about 60 kilometers away from the city. As soon as she reached there, a strange cold surrounded her. It was the month of July, yet there was a strange cold in the air there, as if some invisible shadow was hovering around her all the time.

All around the farmhouse were dense, dry trees, whose branches were entangled and forming scary shapes. The plaster of the walls had peeled off in many places, and there was a thick layer of dust on the glass of the windows. The floor inside creaked, as if someone was groaning in pain at every step.

Riddhi composed herself. She kept the things, took out the laptop, and started the story.  The night grew darker — the sky was cloudy, lightning was flashing, and an owl was hooting somewhere in the distance.

As she wrote the first paragraph, suddenly the sound of heavy footsteps was heard from the floor above — thak… thak… thak… Riddhi’s fingers stopped on the keyboard. She listened with bated breath. Then there was silence.

“There will be no one,” she told herself.

But her heart was not convinced.

The next day she went out to inspect the farmhouse. At the back, hidden in the bushes, she saw an old well. The well was covered with a rusty iron mesh, and on the wall next to it, someone had written in red —

“Your story will remain incomplete.”

Riddhi’s body shivered. It was as if a gust of wind had penetrated straight to her bones.

That night — again. As soon as she started writing, the words suddenly started forming on the laptop screen by themselves:

“I will come back…”

She got goosebumps.  She erased the words in panic and closed the laptop. But when she opened it again, the same words came back, as if someone had entered her mind and made her write them.

On the third day of the night, the electricity went off. There was complete darkness all around, only the dim light of the torch. Then she heard the sound of someone breathing behind her – cold, wet, rotten breath.

Riddhi turned around slowly –

She was standing there.

A girl.

Wet long hair, dirty white dress, torn. Her face pale, as if she had not seen sunlight for years, and eyes – absolutely black, drawing in depth.

The girl moved her lips, but the voice echoed in Riddhi's mind –

"You are writing my story… but I will decide its end…"

Riddhi did not utter a word. She froze like a stone.

The next day when someone came looking for her, the farmhouse was empty. Riddhi was nowhere to be found – only her laptop was kept on the table.  The last line flashed on the screen:

“Now I will complete Riddhi’s story.”

The villagers were in a state of panic after Riddhi’s disappearance. Someone informed the police, but when the police reached the farmhouse, there was no sign of any kind of struggle or force — only Riddhi’s laptop, her notebook, and an unfinished story were lying there.

The police also noticed that in the back of the farmhouse, written in the same blood-like red ink, was written —

“Now I will complete Riddhi’s story.”

Some villagers told that many years ago, a girl named Anaya was murdered in this farmhouse. She too used to write stories, and it is said that her story could never be completed. Anaya’s incomplete soul kept wandering in the same farmhouse, searching for the end of her incomplete story.

Now Riddhi had become a part of the same Anaya’s story.

Slowly, some more words started appearing on the walls of the farmhouse – as if someone had carved them with nails. Written on the wall were:

“Riddhi is now imprisoned here like me.”

The villagers got scared and closed the farmhouse again, locked the doors and hung iron chains so that no one else could go inside.

It is said that sometimes in the silence of the night, two voices come from inside that farmhouse –

One of Riddhi, who calls for help,

And the other of Anaya, who laughs and says –

“Now this story will never end…”