Chapter 6: Under the Bed

Late at night, as I lay in bed half-asleep, the gold locket in my pocket suddenly grew hot. I instantly remembered Pandit Mishra’s words from earlier. I snapped awake and hurriedly crawled under the bed.

As I crawled under the bed, my hand brushed against an old steel trunk, the kind we keep wedding saris in. The dust made my nose itch, but I didn’t dare sneeze. The locket’s warmth was almost unbearable, searing against my skin. My hands fumbled in the dark, heart galloping wildly. The air beneath the bed was thick with dust and the faint, lingering scent of naphthalene balls—old, familiar, oddly comforting.

I had barely gotten under when, two minutes later, the door creaked open. Instantly, a bone-chilling cold swept over my body, as if I’d been thrown into an ice cellar. It was August—this shouldn’t be happening.

The sudden chill made my breath fog in the darkness. My body curled tighter, knees pressed against my chest. The monsoon humidity outside had vanished; inside, it was as if winter had crept in uninvited.

I held my breath, wanting to see who it was. In the moonlight, I saw a pair of blood-red sandals. Those red sandals with gold sequins—bhabhi wore them to every wedding, even when they pinched her toes. She used to say they were her lucky charm. The more I looked, the more familiar they seemed. I racked my brain, and suddenly remembered—they were the very sandals my bhabhi used to wear.

The sandals, with their faded golden sequins, were unmistakable. She wore them to every family function, always insisting they brought her luck. My eyes stung with tears, equal parts fear and memory.

I took a deep breath, so scared my teeth were chattering. I bit my wrist hard to stop myself from making a sound.

The pain helped ground me, kept me from screaming out loud. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying to every god I could remember, whispering, "Bhagwan, bacha lena."

My bhabhi stood motionless at the bedside. I could only see those crimson sandals, not her face, but I felt she knew I was under the bed—she was staring straight at me.

Even without seeing her eyes, I felt the intensity of her gaze. The air seemed to grow heavier, pressing against my chest. I remembered how she used to stand at my door, scolding me for not studying. But this presence was nothing like that—this was colder, sharper, more desperate.

The thought terrified me so much that my whole body began to tremble uncontrollably. I didn’t know how long she stood there. All I knew was that, as dawn approached, she finally turned and left.

Each second felt like an hour. My body ached from staying so still, sweat trickling down my neck despite the chill. When she finally moved, the sound of her anklets was so faint I wondered if I’d imagined it.

When she reached the door, she suddenly said, "Ishaan, run. Run quickly."

Her words hung in the air like incense smoke—thick, suffocating, impossible to ignore. My heart leapt into my throat. Her voice echoed in my mind, sharp and frantic.

Her voice cut through the darkness, thin and jagged, like broken glass on the gali outside.

The sound sent a jolt up my spine, raw and unnerving. In that moment, I knew with chilling certainty—she really did know I was under the bed.

She really did know I was under the bed.

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, but the room felt no warmer, no safer. I clutched the locket to my chest and waited, not daring to move, as the new day crept in on silent feet, bringing more questions than answers. But somewhere in the house, a floorboard creaked. I wasn’t sure I was alone.