I wanted to turn, to see what stalked us. But when I tried, a violent gust of wind tore past my side, so strong it rattled my bones. My hands and legs shook like a dry leaf against a storm.
I shut my eyes tight.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. But my body betrayed me—frozen, refusing every command. Even my throat locked up, as though something invisible had clutched it. My mind whispered, If you don't shit your pants now, your body must have shut that system down too.
The thought almost made me laugh—but laughter died when silence pressed down harder than death.
When at last I could move again, I forced myself to breathe. My eyes darted around.
The bike lay ahead, tilted on its side, handle bent, the seat smeared with mud. But my father—
Gone.
Cold sweat dripped down my temple. Had the gust taken him? Was he lying broken in some ditch? Or worse… had she taken him?
I stumbled to the bike, trembling, and tried the kick-start. The lever clanged back against my foot. My heart raced faster with each attempt. The night seemed to watch me—every rustle of grass, every shift of wind whispering, She's here. She's waiting.
My chest ached. My brain screamed to run, to get help. But who would help? It was past 11 p.m. No soul would walk these roads. And if she dragged my father away—then the only trail was the direction of that cursed wind.
So I chose.
I would follow her.
The narrow path cut through fields of tall grass, two feet wide, uneven, breathing with shadows. The stalks whispered like gossiping villagers. I kicked the bike alive, each rev of the engine sounding too loud, like I was announcing myself to the night.
I tied my dying phone to the handle, its fading light spilling across the road. Trees lined the path, identical, endless, their crooked arms closing over me like ribs of a giant skeleton. I couldn't tell if I was moving forward—or trapped in a loop.
Then I saw it.
Something white, floating above the trees.
A long cloth—no, a figure—swaying, suspended fifty, sixty feet above.
I braked hard. My legs quivered. Against every instinct, I walked toward it. One step. Another.
Then—
A hand tapped my shoulder.
My heart stopped. My knees almost gave in. I wanted to scream but managed only a wheeze. I started muttering Gayatri mantra under my breath like a child clinging to mother's sari.
When I turned—
It was my father.
Smiling. Calm.
"Glad you're safe," he said. "Come. Let's go home."
My chest heaved. My mouth was dry. I swallowed a thick lump of saliva before asking the only question that mattered.
"Are you really… my father?"
He chuckled. "You look funny when you ask such things."
Before I could answer, a loud bang split the night. A scream followed, guttural and raw, tearing through the silence like rusted metal.
The white cloth above whipped violently, twisting into shapes no body should twist.
"Don't look," my father said, gripping my wrist. "Ride."
Somehow, the bike started in a single kick. Miraculously, the headlight sputtered back to life—flickering, but enough.
And then I saw it.
The road ahead was a nightmare painted in flesh.
A woman, her skin bruised blue, her hair a wild black river, her nails hooked like daggers. Her face—half-beautiful, half-beast—snarled with rage.
She wasn't alone. Shadows writhed around her, clawed things with teeth that were too many, too sharp. She tore through them with brutality beyond human. Nails ripped open throats. Her mouth bit into one's skull, snapping bone like dry coconut. Blood sprayed across the road, painting her body until she looked like a goddess sculpted from gore.
Her scream was fury, her dance was slaughter.
I couldn't tell if she was saving us or claiming the right to kill us later.
At moments she looked divine—like Maa Kali herself had descended. At others, she looked like a demon from the lowest pit.
"Don't worry," my father said softly behind me. "She's not here for you."
The words comforted me less than they should have.
By some miracle, we passed. My father told me to stop at a small temple along the way. A Kali temple. He bowed, whispered a prayer, his face grave.
I didn't care—I only wanted to survive.
When we finally reached home, it was past midnight.
My mother waited at the doorstep, scolding instantly:
"Why so late? And why was he riding the bike? Are you useless now?"
I almost laughed at the absurdity. My father, who had been calm through horror, now looked genuinely annoyed.
"You always worry too much," he muttered.
I said, half-joking, half-broken, "Yes, Maa. You're overreacting. We just saw a ghost and almost died."
The bag she had taken from me slipped from her hand. It thudded against the ground, my laptop inside. My scream wasn't from ghosts but from imagining broken circuits.
"Maa! Careful!" I groaned, grabbing it. "If anyone here is possessed, it's you!"
She and my father exchanged a look. A silent one. Like they were hiding something.
Later, as I washed my face in the bathroom, I heard whispers from outside. My mother's urgent voice. My father's short replies.
When I came out, I caught one sentence.
"…we were saved."
I asked, voice steady despite my dread.
"Who saved us? Was it Kali?"
Both of them froze.
Their faces told me everything.
Something had saved us. Something real.
But they hadn't expected me to know.
That night, as we sat down to eat, I tried to laugh it off. "It's all hallucinations, right? Must be stress. Or like being drugged. That's why I never saw anything in twenty years, right?"
But deep down, I knew the truth.
Whatever walked with anklets in the dark…
wasn't done with me yet.