The Red Cloth That Waits…
Chapter 1: The New Beginning
January 2025!
Our company had just shifted to a newly refurbished 10-storey building in Hyderabad. The 6th and 7th floors were ours.
The 7th floor—our floor—gleamed with glass walls, shining tiles, and modern lights that hummed faintly in the silence. It felt like a dream for our digital marketing team.
But dreams can sometimes open doors to nightmares.
Because this building… this building had a past.
On the very first day, the security guards smirked as they handed over our access cards.
“Raat ko zyada der mat rukna, madam. Yeh floor theek nahi hai.”
(Don’t stay too late, madam. This floor isn’t right.)
We laughed. Because in 2025, who believes in ghosts, right?
Right?
Chapter 2: The Whispered Past
The building’s story came to us like broken pieces of a puzzle—through the trembling voices of housekeeping staff, mostly when the lights flickered during evening shifts.
Back in 1997, when the building was first constructed, it was the pride of Hyderabad’s IT hub.
But one day, everything changed.
A young labourer, working on the 7th floor, died in a freak accident. A roll of red decorative cloth got tangled in a machine. He tried to free it. The machine dragged him in.
By the time they switched it off… his body was found twisted, broken, wrapped inside that same red cloth—like it had chosen him.
Workers claimed they saw him after that.
Tall. Thin. Wrapped in red. His face hidden. Standing near the windows at night.
Sometimes whispering. Sometimes calling names. Always watching.
The company shut down the floor for years.
Until we came in 2025.
And unlocked whatever should have stayed locked.
Chapter 3: Shadows That Walk
It was a Friday night!
The city outside was glowing with headlights and neon signs, but our floor was drowned in silence. Everyone had left for the weekend.
Everyone… except me.
I stayed back for a presentation. Earphones in. Typing away.
Then I heard it.
A faint sound at first.
Stop. Drag. Stop. Drag.
Like someone dragging heavy cloth across the floor.
I pulled out my earphones.
Silence.
Then again.
Stop. Drag. Stop. Drag.
I turned.
Near the far end of the floor, a torn piece of red cloth was moving. Slowly. As if crawling towards me.
And then it rose. Into the air.
Behind it, something began to take shape. Tall. Thin. Wrapped in red.
A voice came. Cold. In Telugu first, then in Hindi:
“Enduku vachavu?… Kyun aaye ho yahan?”
(Why did you come here?)
The lights went out.
When they came back… there was nothing.
Nothing except the smell. The smell of burnt fabric lingering in the air.
Chapter 4: The Guard Who Never Returned
Two nights later, the security guard, Ramesh, left his job.
Shivering, he told us what he saw.
“Madam,” he whispered, “around 2:30 in the night, the lift stopped on the 7th floor. I checked the CCTV. A man in red cloth was standing near the elevator. His face… I couldn’t see. He was staring at the camera. Just staring.”
Then the lights went off on the screen.
When they came back, the camera showed only the empty corridor.
Ramesh quit the next morning.
Chapter 5: Footsteps That Weren’t There
One evening, my teammate Priya stayed back with me.
Around 8 PM, when the floor was almost empty, we heard it—
The sound of footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Coming from the far end of the corridor.
Thud… thud… thud…
We looked at each other.
The corridor leading to the washrooms was dimly lit. Shadows pooled in the corners like thick ink.
“Who’s there?” I called out, my voice trembling.
No answer.
Only footsteps. Slow. Dragging. Getting closer.
Thud… thud… thud…
Priya grabbed my arm.
We both turned toward the corridor.
Empty.
But the footsteps didn’t stop.
They circled us. Behind us. Then in front. Then close… too close.
The air turned cold. The lights flickered once.
And then… silence.
Priya ran out crying that night.
She never stayed late again.
Chapter 6: When the Darkness Walked
The incidents had become frequent.
People whispered about “the man in red.” Some believed. Some laughed.
I didn’t laugh anymore.
It was 3 AM on a Thursday when I stayed late, finishing a campaign report. The building was silent, the kind of silence that feels alive.
Suddenly, the lights flickered once… twice… and then died.
Pitch black.
The AC stopped. The hum of machines stopped. Even the city noise outside felt miles away.
And then…
From the far end of the corridor, something moved.
Step. Stop. Drag. Step. Stop. Drag.
My eyes adjusted slowly.
And there he was.
A tall figure. Wrapped in torn red cloth. His head slightly bent to one side, like it was broken.
He didn’t run. He didn’t scream.
He just… walked toward me.
Step. Stop. Drag.
Every few steps, he would stop. Like he was listening.
Then he moved again.
The smell hit me first—burnt cloth mixed with something metallic… like old blood.
My legs felt nailed to the floor. My throat refused to scream.
The lights flickered back.
The corridor was empty.
But I knew he was closer now.
Chapter 7: The Last Warning
The final time I stayed late, I told myself I was imagining everything.
But fear has a way of finding you.
I was packing my bag when the office fell silent—too silent.
Even the lift stopped humming.
And then I felt it.
A cold breath against my ear.
So close… so close I could feel the dampness of it.
A voice whispered, broken and deep:
“Next time… you won’t leave.”
I froze. My eyes refused to blink.
The lights went out again for a moment.
And in that brief darkness… I felt someone standing right behind me.
Watching.
Waiting.
I grabbed my bag and ran that night.
I never stayed late again.
Because I know this much—
The red cloth isn’t just a story.
It’s here. On this floor.
And one day… it will claim someone again.
