Satpam: Episode 2 – The Door Should Have Stayed Closed
The sound inside the building did not stop.
It dragged slowly across the floor, uneven, like something being pulled instead of walking. Arman stood frozen at the threshold, his flashlight fixed on the empty space ahead. The beam felt too small now, too weak to reach the corners where the darkness seemed to gather.
He told himself it was an animal.
A cat. A rat. Something that had found its way inside.
But the sound was wrong.
Too heavy.
Too deliberate.
It paused.
Then came again, closer than before.
Arman took a step back, his breath tightening in his chest. The air inside the building felt thick, harder to move through. There was a smell now, faint but noticeable. Damp and sour, like something left too long in a place with no light.
“Hello?” he said again, louder this time.
His voice did not carry far. It seemed to fall flat, swallowed by the concrete walls.
No answer.
The dragging stopped.
Silence returned.
For a moment, it felt like the building was listening.
Arman swallowed and forced himself to step inside.
The beam of his flashlight swept across the floor, then up along the walls. Bare concrete. Cracks running like veins through the surface. Dust settled in the corners, undisturbed.
Nothing moved.
Nothing breathed.
Nothing that should have made that sound.
He took another step.
The door behind him shifted slightly with a low creak.
Arman turned quickly, his light snapping back toward the entrance.
The door remained open.
But it looked different now.
The darkness outside pressed closer, as if the night itself had moved in.
He turned back toward the interior.
And that was when he noticed the floor.
Marks.
Faint at first.
Then clearer as he moved the light.
Long streaks across the dust.
Not footprints.
Not paw prints.
Something had been dragged.
The lines started near the back wall.
And ended right where he stood.
Arman’s throat tightened.
He had not seen them before.
They were fresh.
The dust around them still unsettled, as if whatever made them had only just stopped moving.
A cold sensation crept up his spine.
Slow.
Deliberate.
He took a step back.
The light flickered.
Just once.
Then steadied again.
The dragging sound returned.
Behind him.
Inside the room.
Arman turned sharply.
The beam caught the far corner for a split second.
And in that moment, he thought he saw something shift.
Not clearly.
Just a shape.
Low.
Unnatural.
Gone before he could focus on it.
His breath came faster now.
“This is nothing,” he muttered.
But the words held no weight.
He moved backward toward the door, careful not to lose sight of the interior.
The dragging sound followed.
Closer.
Always just beyond the reach of the light.
His hand found the edge of the door.
He stepped out quickly and pulled it shut.
The metal slammed into place with a sharp echo.
He locked it.
Once.
Then again, just to be sure.
The silence outside felt louder than anything inside.
Arman stood there, his hand still on the door, waiting.
Nothing.
No sound.
No movement.
As if whatever had been inside had never existed.
He turned and walked back toward the post, faster now, his steps uneven against the gravel.
The trees seemed closer.
Their shadows thicker.
The path longer.
When he reached the post, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
The fluorescent light flickered again.
Then went dim.
Not off.
Just weaker.
Like it was struggling.
Arman sat down heavily in the chair, placing the flashlight on the desk.
His hands were shaking.
He looked down at them, trying to steady his breathing.
“This is just the first night,” he said quietly.
“You need the money.”
The words sounded forced.
He reached for his phone.
Still no signal.
Of course.
He leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.
The light buzzed faintly above him.
Then stopped.
Silence filled the room.
A different kind of silence.
One that felt closer.
More present.
Arman slowly lowered his gaze.
The door to the post stood directly in front of him.
Closed.
Locked.
He stared at it.
Waiting.
A soft sound came from outside.
Not from the building.
From the path.
A slow, uneven step.
Then another.
Not dragging.
Walking.
Arman did not move.
The steps stopped just outside the door.
Close enough that he could hear the faint shift of weight on the gravel.
He held his breath.
A shadow passed beneath the gap at the bottom of the door.
Too long.
Too thin.
It lingered there.
Still.
As if waiting.
Then, slowly, something touched the door from the outside.
Not a knock.
A press.
Gentle.
Testing.
Arman’s chest tightened.
His eyes locked on the handle.
And then it began to turn.
