THE KNOCKING INSIDE WALL 17

The room smelled of wet plaster, cigarette smoke, and something rotten hidden beneath old paint.

Room 17 of the abandoned hostel had no windows. Only one yellow bulb hung from the ceiling, trembling every few seconds as though it too was afraid of the dark corners.

Aarav sat alone on the rusted iron bed, knees pressed tightly against his chest.

The caretaker had warned him.

“Don’t stay in that room after midnight.”

But Aarav had laughed. Fear, according to him, was merely a disease of weak minds. He was a crime blogger, obsessed with haunted places, unsolved disappearances, and stories people whispered only after sunset. Room 17 was famous online. Students who once stayed there claimed they heard knocking sounds from inside the walls.

Three students disappeared here twelve years ago.

No bodies were ever found.

No investigation succeeded.

Tonight, Aarav planned to livestream the truth.

The digital clock on his phone blinked: 11:57 PM.

His viewers flooded the comments.

“Bro this place is cursed.”
“Turn the camera toward the corner!”
“Did something move behind you?”

Aarav smirked.

“Relax,” he whispered into the camera. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Then—

Knock.

Aarav froze.

The sound came from inside the wall behind the bed.

Not outside.

Inside.

Three slow knocks.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The viewers exploded with comments.

“WHAT WAS THAT?”
“RUN!”
“Someone’s inside the wall!”

Aarav forced a laugh.

“Probably pipes.”

But there were no pipes in the abandoned hostel.

Another knock came.

Closer this time.

The bulb flickered violently.

Aarav stood up and pressed his ear against the cracked wall.

Silence.

Then—

A whisper.

Very faint.

“Help me…”

His heartbeat stumbled.

He stepped back immediately.

“No,” he muttered. “No, somebody’s playing a prank.”

He scanned the room with his flashlight.

One bed.

One broken cupboard.

One locked bathroom door.

Nothing else.

Yet the air suddenly felt heavier.

As if someone else had entered the room without opening the door.

Aarav tried distracting himself by reading old hostel records he had stolen from the caretaker’s office earlier that evening. Three missing students:

Raghav. Mehul. Sana.

All vanished from Room 17.

No signs of struggle.

No escape route.

No bodies.

Only one strange detail repeated in every witness statement:

They kept complaining about knocking sounds in the walls.

A cold shiver slid down Aarav’s spine.

The knocking returned.

Faster now.

Desperate.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.

Aarav aimed the flashlight directly at the wall.

The sound stopped instantly.

Then came scratching.

Something dragging slowly beneath the plaster.

Like fingernails.

His livestream suddenly glitched.

The comments froze.

The screen distorted into static.

And from the phone speaker emerged a voice.

Not electronic.

Human.

Breathing heavily.

“Aarav…”

His blood turned cold.

Nobody here knew his name.

The voice whispered again.

“She’s behind you.”

Aarav spun around.

Nothing.

But the bathroom door—

once locked—

was now slightly open.

Darkness leaked from inside like black water.

His chest tightened.

He clearly remembered checking that door earlier. It had been jammed shut.

The bulb above him buzzed violently.

Aarav grabbed the iron rod lying beneath the bed and approached the bathroom.

Every step sounded wrong.

Too loud.

Too hollow.

As if the room beneath the floor was empty.

He pushed the bathroom door open.

The smell hit him first.

Rot.

Wet soil.

Blood.

The bathroom was tiny. Barely enough space to stand. Mold covered the walls. The mirror above the sink was cracked into hundreds of tiny reflections.

And written across the mirror—

with something dark and fresh—

were the words:

DON’T LISTEN TO THE WALLS.

Aarav stumbled backward.

Suddenly—

BANG!

The main room door slammed shut on its own.

The bulb died.

Darkness swallowed everything.

Aarav screamed and switched on his flashlight.

The beam trembled wildly in his shaking hand.

Then he heard breathing.

Not his own.

Someone was standing in the room.

The flashlight slowly moved across the darkness…

…and stopped.

A woman stood near the bed.

Thin.

Motionless.

Hair hanging over her face.

Her hostel uniform soaked black.

Aarav couldn’t breathe.

“S-Sana…?”

The figure tilted her head unnaturally.

Bones cracked inside her neck.

Then she pointed toward the wall.

The knocking resumed immediately.

Louder than ever.

Violent.

The plaster began to crack.

Dust rained onto the floor.

Something inside was trying to come out.

Aarav backed against the bathroom sink, nearly collapsing.

“What do you want from me?” he cried.

The woman finally spoke.

Her voice sounded like multiple whispers trapped together.

“We never left.”

The wall burst open.

A human hand pushed through the plaster.

Then another.

Then a face.

Skin melted.

Eyes stitched shut.

Aarav screamed uncontrollably.

Three bodies crawled halfway out from inside the wall, twitching like broken insects.

Raghav.

Mehul.

Sana.

Or whatever remained of them.

Their mouths opened together.

“He put us here.”

Aarav’s breathing stopped.

“Who?”

All three heads slowly turned toward him.

“No…” Aarav whispered.

“That’s impossible…”

Fragments of memory flashed violently inside his mind.

A hammer.

Screaming.

Blood splattering on hostel tiles.

Hands dragging bodies.

Wet cement.

His knees gave out.

“No… no… I wasn’t here twelve years ago…”

But he was.

Not Aarav.

Another name.

Another face.

The memories returned completely now.

He had been the hostel warden’s son.

Seventeen years old.

Obsessed with Sana.

Rejected by her.

One night rage consumed him.

He murdered all three students inside Room 17.

Then sealed their bodies inside the wall with fresh plaster.

Days later, overcome by guilt and insanity, he jumped from the hostel terrace.

Dead.

Forgotten.

Reborn years later with no memory of his past life.

Until tonight.

The corpses crawled closer.

Aarav sobbed hysterically.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

The stitched mouths widened into impossible smiles.

The bulb suddenly lit again.

Only the room was empty.

No ghosts.

No broken wall.

No bathroom message.

Nothing.

Aarav sat alone on the bed, shaking violently.

His livestream had ended.

Battery dead.

Morning sunlight slowly crept beneath the door.

For a moment, he thought it was over.

Then—

Knock.

From inside the wall.

Very soft.

Very patient.

And this time…

it came from all four walls together.