Chapter 1: Voicemail from the Dead

I woke up to my phone buzzing on the nightstand.

The room was pitch black except for that soft glow from the screen - pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own.

2:14 a.m.

No name. No photo. Just those two words I hate:

Unknown Number.

I should’ve ignored it.

Turned over.

Gone back to sleep.

But there was something different about this call. Like the air shifted. Heavier. Tighter.

Like the universe held its breath.

The call ended after one ring.

Then the voicemail icon popped up.

No caller ID. No transcription. Just one audio file, waiting.

My thumb hovered over it. Something told me don’t press play.

I pressed play anyway.

The message started mid-sentence. The voice was rushed, scared, like it had been running.

“-no time, Ayaan. She’s watching. Listen to me. The tunnel... it wasn’t the end. It’s a door. And I opened it. I think I messed up. They’re here now-”

A crackle. Then static. Then again, panicked:

“Don’t trust the mirrors. Whatever you do - don’t listen to her when she says your name. I’m not dead. Not really.”

Then - silence.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe.

Because I knew that voice.

It was Aarav.

My brother.

Dead for over a year.

The night he disappeared haunts me in flashes.

Rain. Train platform.

Aarav waving from the entrance, hoodie half-zipped, yelling over the noise:

“Call you when I get there!”

That was the last time I saw him.

CCTV showed him walking onto Platform 3.

But the footage after that? Corrupted. Static and black frames.

No one saw him board.

No one saw him leave.

He just... vanished.

The police filed it under “suspected suicide.”

We didn’t even get a body.

Just a report and a lot of uncomfortable condolences.

But I never believed it.

Aarav was... curious. Obsessive, sure. A little strange sometimes - but not suicidal.

And definitely not the kind of person who’d just disappear without leaving a trace.

Except now - a year later - I had his voice on my phone.

Telling me not to trust mirrors.

I didn’t sleep after that.

I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, phone clenched in my hand. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

What tunnel?

What door?

Who’s “she”?

More importantly - how the hell did I get a voicemail from someone who’s been legally dead for over a year?

And then, at 4:03 a.m., another one arrived.

No call. No buzz.

It was just there, like it had always been.

“You need to find it, Ayaan. Beneath the floorboards. The ones by my bed. It’s still there-unless she’s already taken it. The notebook. It’ll explain things. Not everything... but enough.”

I didn’t hesitate.

Aarav’s room had been shut for months. Maa refused to touch anything. His smell still clung to the sheets - that weird mix of sandalwood and spray paint.

I moved the rug near the bed.

One of the wooden planks creaked differently under my foot.

Loose.

I slid a knife under the edge and pried it up.

Beneath the board: an old newspaper-wrapped bundle, taped shut like someone really didn’t want it found.

I unwrapped it slowly.

A black, leather-bound notebook. Edges worn, spine cracked. Etched faintly on the back cover was a strange symbol - a circle split into thirds, with jagged lines slicing through it like lightning. It pulsed oddly under the flashlight, like ink that wasn’t really ink.

I didn’t recognize it. But it made the hair on my neck stand up.

On the first page, scratched in what looked like red ink:

IF I DISAPPEAR, IT’S NOT AN ACCIDENT.

The notebook was chaos.

No dates. No structure.

Just pages filled with symbols, half-sentences, and drawings of things that looked... wrong.

Circles inside circles. Figures with no faces. Mirrors drawn over and over again, some cracked, some bleeding.

And a word - written dozens of times:

ECHO.

Overlapping with other words like:

Fracture.

Not a reflection.

Split selves.

She feeds on memory.

What the hell was this?

I flipped through more pages.

Some were just random phrases repeated, scrawled like someone wrote them in the dark, trembling.

“She’s not outside the mirror. She is the mirror.”

“If you hear your voice answer back - run.”

“Don’t let her smile. Don’t let her know your name.”

“The tunnel listens.”

“Time loops. You don’t.”

Then toward the end - five names. Five photos taped in. Some blurry, some ripped.

Each with a short note.

“Last seen: Jogeshwari West. Same day I heard the whisper.”

“Disappeared near tunnel entrance.”

“Said she saw herself wave at her from the glass.”

“Left a message - never remembered recording it.”

“CCTV shows them walking toward the tunnel. That’s it.”

I Googled every name.

All real people.

All gone. All in the past two years. All near the Andheri railway tunnel.

My phone buzzed again.

Another voicemail. But this time, no static. No fear.

Just Aarav’s voice - low, steady, like he was reading something:

“You think the mirror shows you. But that’s not how it works. It shows versions of you. Pieces. Choices you didn’t make. People you could’ve been. That’s where she hides - between the choices. She’s not alive. She’s left behind.”

“When you look too long... you remember things that didn’t happen.”

“That’s when she finds you.”

I closed the notebook.

My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

I needed answers.

And I knew exactly where to go.

The Andheri tunnel.

It was sealed off after some accident two years ago - a “structural issue,” the reports said.

I hopped a cab. Didn’t even change clothes.

At the entrance, the wind was oddly still.

There were signs posted:

DANGER - UNSTABLE STRUCTURE - DO NOT ENTER

I jumped the barrier.

Each step into that tunnel felt like walking into water. The air got heavier. Colder.

My flashlight flickered. Once. Twice.

Then held steady.

And that’s when I saw it.

In the middle of the tunnel - far ahead - a shape.

Standing upright. Too perfect. Out of place.

I got closer.

It was a mirror.

Tall. Ornate. Not dusty - clean. Like someone polished it just before I arrived.

And in front of it...

A figure. Slumped. Red hoodie.

Aarav?

I ran.

But by the time I reached the spot, the figure was gone.

No one.

Just the mirror.

And me.

I stared at my reflection.

Everything looked normal... for a second.

Then I noticed the delay.

I moved my hand. My reflection followed.

But not instantly.

It lagged.

Like it was watching me - deciding whether or not to copy.

I tilted my head. It didn’t move.

Then - slowly - it did. But in the wrong direction.

A mirror doesn’t do that.

Then it blinked.

I didn’t.

I stepped back. Fast.

But my reflection didn’t.

It just stood there. Still.

Then its mouth moved.

Not mine.

Just the one in the mirror.

“Ayaan.”

Soft. Almost sweet.

Like it was happy to see me.

I turned. No one behind me.

Turned back - the mirror was gone.

No trace of it. No reflection.

Nothing but darkness.

And then my phone buzzed again.

[Voicemail - Dated: 15 August 2023 - Sent from Aarav’s Number]

“This message is a loop. If you’re hearing it, I’ve failed. Or maybe you have. She doesn’t take lives - she erases them. Makes people forget you ever existed. She turns your loved ones into strangers. And you? Into a copy.”

“You’ll remember something that never happened. Then she will speak. Don’t answer. Don’t acknowledge her. The Moment you do, she owns a part of you.”

Click.

I stumbled out of the tunnel, drenched in sweat, breath ragged.

The city outside was too bright. Too loud. Too real.

But it all felt wrong.

Familiar streets looked... off.

Storefronts had different names. A tree that had always been on the corner was suddenly gone.

Had it always been that way?

Or had I already started forgetting?

I didn’t know how I got back home.

I remember walking. That’s it. Just… walking. Like my body knew the way, but my mind was stuck somewhere else.

Now I was standing in front of my bedroom mirror.

I hadn’t touched it. I know I hadn’t.