Har Dawkins was the bravest kid in town. Everyone thought so. He was the only boy aged less than or equal to thirteen to walk through The Villa, a place rumored to be so terrifying, you’d be scared of even the smallest things after it.

Generation after generation, one boy would be given the chance to walk the halls of The Villa, should he take it. This year, Har took the chance as soon as someone offered it to him.


Somewhere far away from Har Dawkins, an architect awoke, with a brilliant idea.

He jumped out of bed, and ran over to the landline, and called up a contractor.

After a fifteen minute talk, he decided to get ready, and start putting his ideas into writing….


The rules were simple. Walkers, as the boys who journey through The Villa were known, were allowed shoes, simple cotton clothing, and shorts with no pockets. The idea behind the trip was survival. No weapons, and definitely no means of contacting help.

The Villa was larger than Har had expected. The atmosphere around it changed as Har walked toward the gate made of rusted iron.

He pushed the gate, and it creaked and scratched the ground. A chill went up Har’s spine, as he shivered and walked on.

He was feeling confident, comfortable. He walked right past the dreary looking trees and the fake gravestones (or were they real?), and stepped up and knocked on the door.

The wooden frame split doen the middle, and the door fell to the ground oppposite Har.

It was pitch black inside, and his only source of light was the few days of sunlight streaming in at a distance, but even that didn’t help much.

He walked in.


The architect’s wife had awoken now, and was leaning over the architect and looking at the sheaf of papers that lay across her husband’s desk, as he scribbled furiously on one.

“But that’s horrifying!” She exclaimed indignantly, now looking at the paper upon which the architect had been scribbling on with a look of disgust.

“That’s the point, dear. That’s exactly the point.” Replied the architect, and went on with his work.


There was, according to Har, a leaky faucet somewhere, for nothing else could account for the constant drip-drip-drip sound that had accompanied him since his entry into The Villa. He was in one of the maze like hallways now, and he had left the main hall atleast half an hour ago. He wasn’t allowed a watch, so he couldn’t be sure.

He squinted, and saw a source of light to his left, and began walking towards it.

The drip-drip-drip sound seemed to be getting louder as he jogged toward the light.

The source of light turned out to be a dimly lit lamp in front of a door to a room.

He knelt, and looked through the keyhole and saw an empty room, but brightly lit.

He stood up, surprised, and blinked. He knelt, to check again, and saw that the lighting had changed to a dark red, and there was a liquid seeping from the walls.

The drip-drip-drip got louder and louder as the door swung open and the liquid began filling the hallway he was in. Within seconds, he was surrounded in a red coloured liquid. The drip-drip-drip had become the sound of a waterfall gushing now.

Har rushed for his life, and crashed within two steps into something. He looked up and saw a disfigured face, a man’s and his hand was holding Har’s with an iron grip.

Har screamed and fought and wrestled his way out of the man’s grip and ran as far as two steps before the hallway turned into strap and he fell into darkness forever….

“Har! Are you okay?”


“Har! Are you okay? You dropped your project and just kept staring at the door.”

“Are you sure you want to call this project ‘The Villa’?”

The architect’s wife shook her husband, as he looked at her.

He regained his senses, shivered slightly, and smiled dismissively.

“It’s nothing, dear. I merely remembered a story…..”

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