Moksh's Office, PCID – Early Morning
Moksh leaned over the holographic table, its surface alive with layered case files, photographs, and diagrams. The Malhotra house was projected in 3D, walls semi-transparent, allowing the team to "walk" inside without being there.
Chakraborty adjusted his spectacles, tracing a finger over a cluster of photographs. "Look here," he said, voice low, almost reverential. "The first officer. Flesh removed from his back. Spine fully exposed. Clean cuts, surgical precision. Whoever did this… wanted to make a statement."
Moksh nodded, eyes scanning the images. "The second officer—the ribs. Look at the angle. Whoever manipulated the body wanted the ribcage to 'expand,' almost… grotesquely symbolic."
He leaned back, exhaling slowly. "This isn't just murder. It's ritualistic. Methodical. Psychological. And the perpetrator knows what they're doing—leaving messages for those who will come after."
Chakraborty hummed softly. "82 out of 82 cases solved. And yet… this one has teeth. I like it. Challenges the mind and the nerves."
Aarav and Meera stood behind, watching quietly. Aarav whispered, "Even the crime scene photos make my stomach turn. And Moksh looks… calm. Almost like he's savoring the hunt."
Meera's eyes scanned the holographic projections. "Patterns overlap. The timeline of deaths, the anomalies reported, the delivery man's testimony… everything points to one thing. Whoever—or whatever—controls the Malhotra house, it is conscious of investigators, aware of observation."
Parallel Case Review
Moksh pulled up the third case—the delivery man. He pointed to the timestamps. "He delivered the pizza three weeks ago. But reports say he was dead two weeks and four days ago. Which means…" His voice trailed, sharp with realization.
Chakraborty completed the thought. "He isn't dead. Or… he is being manipulated. Something inhabits him, or is controlling perception. The anomaly here is psychological as much as physical."
Moksh's fingers hovered over a set of photographs: the delivery man crouched in terror, the baby girl in the garden, shadows cast at impossible angles. "Notice the interactions," he said. "Every photograph shows the delivery man responding to stimuli that no one outside perceives. A parallel crime scene unfolding in layers."
Aarav shifted uneasily. "So… the house itself is the anomaly?"
"Partly," Meera said. "But also, the perpetrator—or the force—is using the house as a psychological tool. It's rewriting perception, isolating, confusing. The reports of voices, lights, phantom phone calls… all deliberate."
Chakraborty's Perspective
Chakraborty rubbed his jaw. "I've seen anomalies before. But this is more… intimate. The killer or entity wants fear, disorientation, and observation. The methodical mutilation—the spine, the back, the ribs—it's like a message in code, for those who know how to read it."
He looked at Moksh. "Are you sure you want me on this? I've solved cases without leaving the chair… but this, this requires being present, close."
Moksh smiled faintly. "I do. And I need your mind here, your experience. Let's see who can find the first real lead."
The Strategy
Moksh and Chakraborty divided the work:
Chakraborty: Analyze historical crime patterns, check local reports, cross-reference hospital and police records, and trace past Malhotra property anomalies.
Moksh: Interview witnesses, examine the delivery man's statements, correlate the physical evidence with anomaly reports, and identify potential ritualistic symbolism.
Aarav and Meera coordinated logistics, keeping political oversight in mind. Rao and Kavitha's scrutiny loomed like a storm cloud over every decision. Any misstep in protocol, any false move, and Moksh could be challenged for ignoring IPC procedure—even as he solved the case.
A Small Spark of Playfulness
As Moksh and Chakraborty bent over reports, arguing subtly over the first lead, Aarav whispered, "Do you notice their… childish rivalry?"
Meera suppressed a grin. "Even with corpses and anomalies, they're like kids racing for first place."
Chakraborty shot Moksh a quick look. "Don't get used to winning, Bose."
Moksh smirked. "I wouldn't dream of it, sir."
Yet beneath the playfulness, both men's eyes were sharp, focused on the shadow behind every lead, the psychological trap in every photograph, and the unseen force orchestrating terror inside the Malhotra house.
Moksh's Office – Late Afternoon
The sunlight filtering through the blinds cast sharp lines across the polished table. Moksh sat behind his chair, fingers steepled, eyes fixed on the young man sitting across from him.
Amit Verma, delivery boy, barely out of his twenties, fidgeted. Sweat gleamed on his forehead despite the cool air of the office.
Moksh's voice was calm but carried the weight of command.
"Tell me everything, Amit. Step by step. No exaggerations, no omissions. How did you get to the Malhotra house? What did you see? What did you feel?"
Amit swallowed hard. His hands trembled slightly. "Sir… it started normal. I was delivering the order—pizza, for a client, the Malhotras. Nothing unusual outside… but as soon as I stepped in…" His voice faltered.
Moksh leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Yes?"
Amit's Account
The house greeted him with silence. Too much silence. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, and the air felt thick, almost… watchful. Every floorboard groaned beneath his feet as if the house were breathing.
Isolation: The front door slammed behind him. Windows refused to budge. He tried calling outside, but the mobile had no signal. Even the landline seemed distorted; the ringing was faint, almost like it was underwater.
Paranormal Disturbances:
Amit's gaze flicked to the walls. Whispers—indecipherable, low, twisting his sense of direction. Light flickered, not from the bulb, but from shadows moving independently. Sometimes he thought he saw figures in the corner of his eyes—vanishing the moment he focused.
Encounter with Priya Kapoor:
Upstairs, he saw her—his girlfriend, a journalist he trusted. But then she was gone. The staircase seemed longer, warped. He felt as if the house itself was folding space, bending perception.
Panic:
Amit tried every door and window. Nothing gave. He screamed, pounding on the walls, but the sound seemed swallowed. A man outside cursed and shouted; yet his voice sounded distant, distorted, almost unreal. Amit could not reach him.
The Realization:
It wasn't until police lights flashed that he realized something horrifying: the house had manipulated him, but the real murder had already happened. Sana Kapoor had been killed there weeks ago. The house's anomaly had trapped his senses, overlaying phantom events to keep him in fear.
Back in Moksh's Office
Moksh listened without interruption. Aarav and Meera sat at the side, silent, letting the narrative unfold. M. Chakraborty, director of the West Asian Paranormal Crime Investigation Division, flipped through the photographs Amit had brought—blurred images of the house, timestamps that made no sense, shadows where no human could stand.
Chakraborty's voice was low but precise.
"The house isn't attacking physically—it's manipulating perception. This explains why Amit survived, why he could not contact anyone. It traps cognition, folds time, and distorts causality. The murder occurred independently—human, deliberate. But the anomaly masks it, amplifying terror."
Moksh tapped his chin. "So the delivery boy is a witness, manipulated by the house. He saw events that weren't real, perceived shadows that didn't exist, but the truth—Sana's murder—is entirely human."
Meera nodded. "We'll need to reconstruct the crime scenes, match timelines, and map the anomaly's influence. Only then can we separate perception from reality."
Aarav's gaze shifted to Amit. "And he experienced it firsthand. His account is critical. But it's only one perspective—we need data from multiple sources."
Moksh stood, calm but commanding. "Prepare the parallel crime scene maps, all photos, all reports. We go to the Malhotra house tonight. I want firsthand observation of the anomaly. Amit, you'll guide us."
Amit's face paled. "Sir… I—I don't know if I want to go back there."
Moksh's voice softened slightly, but carried the weight of authority.
"I understand your fear. But tonight, the truth will be untangled. And we cannot leave lies and shadows ruling the house."
Chakraborty added, almost gently, "Fear is natural. But courage is observing fear without letting it dictate action. We'll go together. Every step."
Amit nodded, trembling, but understanding. The team gathered files, photographs, and ledgers—the tools to map the house's anomaly. Outside, the sun dipped below Delhi's skyline, casting long shadows across the city. The Malhotra house awaited them.