The body was rushed to the infirmary.
A hush fell over the entire campus. Students were ushered back into their classrooms, but no one could focus. Whispers traveled faster than sound, like invisible vines curling through every corridor.
Inspector Ratan stood outside the nurse's office, jaw clenched.
The girl who had fallen—or been pushed—from the rooftop was Ritika Dey, a Class 9 student.
She was alive.
Barely.
Multiple fractures. A concussion. Internal bleeding. She was unconscious… but breathing.
The school nurse approached, her voice low and trembling.
"Someone pushed her," she whispered. "There are bruises on her wrists. Defensive wounds."
Ratan's face darkened.
"That's not an accident. That's attempted murder."
---
Meanwhile, in Class 7-A, Aarav Bachi—tall, charming, and known to be Ritika's boyfriend—had stormed out of his classroom the moment he saw the commotion.
He pushed past the crowd, eyes wide with horror.
When he saw her broken body lying on the stretcher, his legs gave way.
"Ritika!" he screamed, collapsing beside her. "No! Wake up! Please!"
His friends tried to hold him back, comfort him, but Aarav fought like a wild animal—his sobs echoing through the corridors, filled with helpless pain.
---
Elsewhere, the junior students of 7-A sat nervously at their desks. Their new substitute teacher stood silently by the board, her face calm, her smile unreadable.
She hadn't introduced herself.
She simply handed out sheets of paper.
The questions on them grew darker with each line:
What is your name… really?
Who do you trust the least?
Would you rather die for someone… or let them die for you?
The children squirmed. Some stared at her arm.
A tattoo peeked from beneath her sleeve.
A black rose.
---
Downstairs, Sanchayita sat in the interrogation room, hands folded in her lap.
"You knew Ritika?" Ratan asked gently.
"She was… quiet," Sanchayita replied. "Always alone. She drew strange things. Once she showed me this doll she made—out of matchsticks and string. She said… it whispered to her."
Ratan's eyebrows lifted.
"What kind of whispers?"
"She said it told her secrets. About other people. Scary things." She hesitated. "I didn't believe her."
Ratan leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.
"The Psycho Doll… has a puppet?"
---
In the surveillance room, a technician called Ratan.
"Sir, I've restored partial footage from the east hallway."
Ratan watched the grainy, flickering clip.
A figure—child-sized—moved down the corridor. Wearing a cracked porcelain mask.
Moments before Ritika fell.
---
At the same time, the Masked Detective knelt near the outer wall of the school's junior wing.
She had found chalk symbols scrawled beside the garden gate.
Messy. Childlike. And yet terrifyingly familiar.
A blend of Sanskrit letters, geometric shapes, and something far older… occult.
Then she heard it.
Children.
Singing.
Faint. Off-tune. Creepy.
> "One for sorrow, two for flame…
Three shall follow, none shall name…
Four is silence, five is shame…
When the doll begins the game."
The Detective froze.
Something terrible was coming.
---
To Be Continued…