It was raining heavily when Aarav's bus finally entered the narrow roads of Chitrakoot district, Uttar Pradesh, India. The old bus rattled with every pothole, and the storm outside made it almost impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. Aarav, a college student on his way to his ancestral village, shivered as lightning briefly lit the path.
The village was rumored to be abandoned at night, yet the bus conductor assured him it was still inhabited. Strange, eerie silhouettes appeared outside the windows — tall, thin shapes that seemed to vanish as quickly as they appeared. The other passengers whispered nervously, and the bus's old engine groaned as if warning them of something.
Aarav tried to focus on his notebook, pretending to read, but the sound of the rain dripping inside the bus, the occasional squeak of the brakes, and the distant howling of dogs made his heart pound. As the bus turned a sharp corner near an old banyan tree, a figure appeared — a child standing alone in the middle of the road, completely soaked, staring straight at Aarav.
The bus swerved slightly, but the figure didn't move. Its eyes… they glowed faintly red in the storm's brief lightning flashes. Aarav froze. No one else seemed to notice. The conductor muttered something under his breath — a warning in an old dialect Aarav didn't understand.
By the time the bus finally reached the village outskirts, the rain had turned into a heavy downpour. The village appeared dead — every house shuttered, the streets empty, yet a faint, unnatural glow flickered from the old temple at the center. Aarav felt a chill crawling down his spine. Something in this village was… awake, waiting.
As he stepped off the bus, he noticed mud prints leading towards the temple. They were too big to be human, yet somehow familiar. Aarav hesitated, gripping his umbrella tightly. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying a faint, childlike laugh that didn't belong to this world.
And in that moment, Aarav realized — this was not going to be a normal night.