rented a small room in an old Delhi building — nothing fancy, just cheap and close to work. The landlady mentioned that no one stayed long, but he didn’t ask why.
The first few nights were fine. But around 2:30 a.m. every night, he’d hear a faint ringing sound — like a mobile phone on vibrate, coming from the locked room next door. The door had been sealed shut with a wooden plank across it, so he assumed it was just wiring or rats.
One night, annoyed, he decided to check. He pressed his ear against the door — and the ringing stopped. Then, a voice from inside said quietly, “Hello?”
He froze, heart pounding. He backed away and went straight to bed.
The next morning, he told the landlady. She sighed, unlocked the old drawer, and showed him a rusted phone. “It was the last tenant’s,” she said. “He died in that room. I keep it turned off.”
But that night — the ringing started again.
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