The Devil Behind the Door

John had always been different. A quiet, observant boy with sharp intelligence and a presence of mind beyond his years, he was an orphan who had spent his entire childhood in the shadows of a life he never chose. His parents, burdened by insurmountable debt, had taken the darkest path when he was just five years old. Despair led them to suicide, leaving John behind, abandoned at the orphanage’s door like an unwanted burden. But perhaps they hadn’t done him a favor by leaving him behind; his short life with them had been a nightmare. They kept him confined, rarely allowing him outside, and when they did, it was only to return home to more beatings. Sleep was a luxury he sometimes enjoyed without food, and in the lonely corridors of their neighborhood, he was shunned by everyone. The other children avoided him, and their parents warned them away, leaving John isolated and friendless.

The orphanage wasn’t much better. The other kids bullied him relentlessly, and one day, something inside him snapped. With a fury he didn’t know he possessed, he beat his tormentor so severely that it earned him a reputation, not just as a victim, but as someone to be feared. From that day forward, he harbored a simmering rage and a determination never to be helpless again.

When John was 15, a wealthy couple arrived at the orphanage, seeking to adopt. They chose John, unaware of the dark past that had shaped him, and took him into their luxurious home. The sudden change was overwhelming. The vast, opulent rooms, the endless comforts—these were things John had never imagined. Yet, as wonderful as it was, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong. He explored every corner of the house, running up and down the grand staircase, touching everything in awe, until his new parents scolded him for being too wild, for doing things they insisted he hadn’t even done.

Though he struggled with his studies, John excelled in other ways. He was a natural at parkour, leaping and bounding across rooftops with effortless grace, leaving everyone else far behind. And online, he was a legend. His gaming skills were unmatched, and his gamertag sent shivers through the lobbies. To reward him, his parents bought him the ultimate gaming PC, a machine as powerful as his abilities. He played every game that came his way, mastering them with ease, until one day, he stumbled upon a title that intrigued him: The Devil.

The game’s premise was chilling, the main character's name was also John, just like him, attempts to summon a devil into the real world. John couldn’t resist the eerie coincidence. He downloaded the game and dove in, streaming his playthrough as he completed the 15-hour journey in just three days. The game’s story consumed him. The rituals, the dark incantations, the sense of power—it all fascinated him. He began to wonder: could he do the same in real life?

His obsession grew, and he scoured the internet for answers. Ordinary search engines yielded nothing, but John was relentless. He delved into the dark web, where secrets lay hidden beneath layers of encryption. After hours of searching, he found what he was looking for: the location of the Library of Aghoris, a place whispered about in forbidden corners of the internet. The price for the address was steep—₹50,000—but John paid it without hesitation. The library was located on the outskirts of the city, shrouded in mystery.

He lied to his parents, claiming he was going camping with friends for five days, and set out on his journey. The library was more foreboding than he had imagined, a decaying structure hidden among the trees, its entrance marked by a sign that read, “Enter at your own risk.” John hesitated only for a moment before pushing the door open.

The air inside was thick with the smell of mildew and decay. His phone’s flashlight cut through the darkness, revealing rows upon rows of ancient bookshelves, each filled with volumes whose spines were cracked and faded. As he wandered deeper into the labyrinth, he saw strange, unsettling objects—an eye of a pigeon suspended in a jar, the shriveled tongue of a cat, the tail of a lizard pinned to a board, and the desiccated wings of a crow. His heart pounded, but he pressed on, driven by a dark curiosity.

Finally, after hours of searching, he found the book he sought: The Book of Summons. Its pages were brittle, and as he opened it, dust filled the air. The ritual described within was complex and terrifying, requiring the very objects he had seen scattered throughout the library. The list was gruesome: the eye of a pigeon, the tongue of a cat, the tail of a lizard, the wings of a crow, and other materials too horrifying to contemplate.

For two days, John meticulously gathered the items, arranging them in the precise sequence the ritual demanded. As evening fell on the second day, he completed the ritual sphere, its boundaries drawn with a trembling hand. He stood at its center, his breath shallow, and began to chant the mantras inscribed in the ancient script.

The air grew cold, and the ground beneath him began to tremble. The shelves rattled, and books tumbled to the floor, their pages fluttering like the wings of trapped birds. The chanting grew louder in his ears, not just his voice, but many voices, echoing from the darkness around him. The walls seemed to close in, and then—nothing.

A sudden concussion knocked him unconscious. When John awoke, the library was in disarray, the ritual sphere broken, the objects scattered. His heart raced as he stumbled outside, desperate for air. But when he stepped into the open, he was met with a sky that was no longer familiar. The sun was gone, replaced by a swirling mass of dark red clouds, and the air was thick with the scent of sulfur.

John had done it. He had summoned something into the world—something that should never have been brought here. As the first drops of blood-red rain began to fall, John realized too late the true cost of his curiosity. The world he had known was gone, and in its place was a nightmare of his own making.

And somewhere, in the distance, something was watching him, something that had crossed over from the abyss.

The game was no longer just a game. It was his reality.