The Lingering Fear
Days turned into weeks, yet Amit couldn’t shake off the eerie feeling of being watched. Every night, the whispers returned, growing bolder, more insistent. He followed his grandmother’s advice—never acknowledging them, never responding.
But the village had changed toward him. The elders avoided him. Children whispered behind his back. Even Riya and Deepak hesitated to meet his eyes.
"Amit," Riya said one evening, lowering her voice, "people think… the tree marked you. That you’re cursed."
Amit scoffed. "You don’t believe that, do you?"
Riya hesitated. "I don’t want to, but…" she trailed off, eyes darting to something behind him.
Amit turned sharply. The narrow alley was empty.
But he swore—just for a second—he saw a shadow move.
The Ritual
His grandmother sensed his growing fear.
"You cannot live like this," she said one night, rubbing turmeric on his forehead. "There’s a way to break its hold, but it is dangerous."
Amit leaned forward. "Tell me."
Ramlal Kaka was summoned. He arrived after dark, carrying a bundle wrapped in red cloth. He unwrapped it to reveal a small, rusted iron trident.
"You must go back to the tree," he said gravely. "Bury this at its roots before sunrise. Do not speak. Do not listen. Whatever happens—do not look back."
Amit swallowed hard. "And if I fail?"
His grandmother’s silence was answer enough.
The Return to the Banyan
At midnight, Amit approached the tree once more, the trident clutched tightly in his hand.
The night was unnaturally still. Even the crickets had gone silent.
As he neared the tree, his body tensed. He could feel it. A presence. Watching. Waiting.
His fingers dug into the earth, trying to bury the trident. The soil was cold, damp—as if freshly disturbed.
Then, a whisper.
"Amit… you came back."
His breathing hitched, but he didn’t stop digging.
The whispers turned into voices. Then into cries. Wailing. Pleading.
"Help us."
"They left us here."
"We suffer."
Amit shut his eyes. Don’t listen. Don’t acknowledge.
Something cold brushed against his shoulder.
He clenched his jaw. Ignore it.
The cries turned into screams. The ground beneath him trembled. The air thickened, pressing against his chest.
Then—silence.
Amit exhaled shakily. Had he done it?
Then, just as he turned to leave—
A hand shot out of the soil.
Pale. Thin. Clutching his wrist.
And then—he looked up.
A face. Twisted in agony. Eyes hollow. Lips moving soundlessly.
Amit wanted to scream, but no sound came.
The whispers roared inside his head.
Then everything went black.
The Awakening
Amit woke up in his grandmother’s house, his body drenched in sweat. His grandmother sat beside him, her face lined with worry.
"You almost didn’t come back," she whispered, pressing a talisman into his hand.
Ramlal Kaka stood in the doorway. "The tree won’t call you anymore."
Amit swallowed. He should have felt relieved.
But something was wrong.
The whispers were gone.
But the voice in his head?
It had stayed.
And it was laughing.
