Shadows of Eastblock

Eastblock was more than just a neighborhood. To most people in the city, it was the place you didn’t go after sunset. The buildings stood like broken teeth in the skyline—old, scarred, and full of secrets. The government stopped funding its upkeep a decade ago, and now only the forgotten lived there. Or those who had nowhere else to go.

Among them was Tariq, a 22-year-old graffiti artist with a troubled past. He wasn’t afraid of Eastblock—not because he was brave, but because he had grown up on streets where fear was a luxury. He moved into apartment 3B of Block 9 after being evicted from his last place.

On his first night, as he painted over the moldy walls of his new apartment with neon spray paint, he noticed a strange symbol etched into the concrete behind the peeling wallpaper. It looked like a crude eye with a crooked mouth beneath it. He tried to paint over it, but no matter how many layers he added, the symbol always seemed to show through.

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The First Sign

That night, he had a dream.

In it, he was walking down the corridor of Block 9, but the lights flickered wildly, and every door he passed had a crying child behind it. The cries weren’t normal—they were desperate, guttural, full of something more than sadness. When he reached the last door, it swung open slowly on its own.

Inside was a room drenched in red light. On the floor sat a woman in a long, tattered veil. Her face was hidden, but she was whispering his name, over and over.

“Tariq… Tariq… come home…”

He woke up in a cold sweat.

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Whispers in the Walls

The next day, Tariq asked his neighbor—a quiet old man named Mr. Lobo—if someone used to live in 3B before him.

Mr. Lobo stared at him for a long time before saying, “That apartment’s been empty for years. The last guy never moved out, though. He just… disappeared.”

Tariq laughed it off. “Ghost stories, huh?”

Mr. Lobo didn’t laugh.

That night, Tariq heard whispering through the walls. Not the regular kind—not people talking next door, but the kind that seems to come from inside the walls themselves.

“Don’t ignore her. She never forgets.”

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The Hood's Forgotten Ritual

Curious and disturbed, Tariq visited Miss Mina, an old herbalist who ran a store beneath Eastblock. She was said to be a witch by some, a healer by others. She told him the building was cursed.

“Years ago,” she explained, “this place was a sanctuary for runaway kids and battered women. A woman named Sister Hanifa ran a shelter from apartment 3B. One night, someone called the police on her, accusing her of practicing dark rituals. The cops raided the place but found nothing—except that the children were gone. Every single one.”

“What happened to them?” Tariq asked.

“No one knows. But ever since then, people say Hanifa’s spirit remained—watching, waiting.”

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The Door that Shouldn't Open

A week later, strange things started happening. Lights flickering even when the power was off. Wet footprints on his floor though no one had entered. A child's laugh echoing through the stairwell.

Then the door to his apartment opened on its own at exactly 3:33 AM. This happened for three nights in a row.

On the fourth night, Tariq decided to wait with a bat in hand. When the door creaked open, he stood ready—but there was no one there.

Only the corridor stretching into darkness.

Until… he saw them.

Children. Dozens of them. Standing still, eyes black, mouths stitched shut.

And behind them stood Hanifa, her face finally visible—her mouth open unnaturally wide, whispering his name again and again.

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Descent into Madness

Tariq stopped eating. Stopped sleeping. He painted the symbol again and again on his walls, unable to stop. His hands moved on their own. He didn’t remember when he stopped being alone.

His friends stopped visiting. One tried and never came out.

Mr. Lobo disappeared. Mina’s store was burned down two days later.

And the whispers grew louder.

“Bring them home… bring them all home…”

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The Final Recording

Tariq set up a camera. He wanted to prove he wasn’t insane.

What the camera recorded that night was never shown on the news, but it passed from phone to phone in Eastblock like wildfire.

In the video, Tariq stands in front of the mirror, crying. Behind him, the shadows begin to move. The children step out from the walls. Hanifa appears. Her hand reaches toward his chest—and then…

The lights explode.

When the camera flickers back on, Tariq is gone. Only the paint remains—now spelling out a message:

“Welcome home, Tariq.”

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Aftermath

The city demolished Block 9 the following month after reports of disappearances surged.

But the nightmares didn’t end.

New buildings rise, but the shadows linger.

Sometimes, even in broad daylight, people say they hear a knock behind their walls… and a whisper…

“Come home…”