Ananya Has Won

Most ghost stories are told around a campfire, tales of distant hauntings and ancient spirits that feel safely removed from our own lives. They end, and we go back to the light, leaving the darkness behind. My story is not like that. It doesn't have an ending. It lives with me, breathes with me, and sleeps in the corner of my room. It began with a girl named Ananya, but it has become something much older and more sinister.
This isn't a story I'm telling for a cheap thrill; it's a warning. It's a map of my own personal hell. And the most terrifying part is, I'm still drawing it.