Chapter 3: The Test of Silence

My legs buckled in terror and I collapsed to the snowy ground, the cold burning my palms, but all I could see were her goat-like eyes, unblinking and watchful.

She smiled, asking again, "Arjun, bata kitne saal ka hai tu?"

Her lips curled in a mock kindness, but her eyes were as cold as the January river. I shook my head hard, squeezing my mouth shut so tightly my ears hurt.

She kept trying to make me speak. I clapped my hand over my mouth, refusing to let a sound escape.

Her nostrils flared, face twisting with irritation. I pressed my hand harder, determined not to speak.

When she saw I wouldn’t answer, her smile faded and she stared at me, cold as the mountain wind. I stared at the ground, focusing on the ice stuck to my shoes, not daring to look up.

I kept my eyes on my feet, heart thumping so hard it hurt. The night stretched on, shadows growing deeper.

Forcing myself up, I walked towards the well. Every step felt heavy, like I was walking through mud, but I focused on Dadaji’s task. The wind howled, and her footsteps followed me, soft and relentless.

At the well, she grabbed my shoulder. Her hand was icy, pale as a ghost’s.

I bit my lip, refusing to scream, the bucket rattling in my hand. She crouched, whispering, "Arjun, paani mat bhar. Andar aaja, mere saath baith. Toffee dungi tujhe, dar mat. Main kuch nahi karungi."

Her voice was sugary, like the vendors who try to lure children. But I knew better—I’d seen the hunger in her eyes.

My heart hammered, cold sweat sticking my shirt to my skin. I shivered, not from the cold, but the fear that squeezed me tight. My breath steamed in the air.

She nudged my shoulder, coaxing, "Dekh, mere haath mein doodh wali toffee hai. Mud ke dekh."

Her hand hovered near my face, the scent of sweet toffee mixing with the foul smell of goat. I clenched my fists, refusing to turn.

I ignored her, dropping the bucket into the well. The rope groaned, the bucket hitting the water with a distant splash. My hands shook, but I held on, remembering Dadi’s warning.

She moved closer when I didn’t answer. I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to see her. I’d glimpsed her in the well’s reflection—a twisted, broken face, blood streaming from her eyes, full of hate and horror.

The image burned into my mind. I bit my tongue, determined not to scream. The night pressed in, thick and watchful.

I focused on my task, hauling the heavy bucket up with trembling arms, breath coming in sharp, icy bursts.

I knew she was right in front of me, but I kept my eyes closed, feeling my way by memory, dragging the bucket up.

With the water ready, I walked toward the west room, her footsteps behind me. The snow crunched underfoot, air biting at my cheeks. The house loomed, its shadows deeper than ever.

The west room was pitch dark, not a speck of light. The door creaked, hinges groaning as I pushed it open.

Moonlight filled the yard, but not a sliver entered that room. It was like the darkness was alive, swallowing every bit of light. My pulse raced, bucket trembling in my hands.

I remembered the drum was by the cot—I’d have to go inside. I took a shaky breath and stepped over the threshold, her breath foul and warm on my neck.

Every step felt endless, the floorboards creaking, silence thick as the fog on the river in Poush.

Sensing my fear, she hissed behind me, "Andhera hai na, Arjun? Main light jala doon?"

Her voice slithered, tempting and cold. I gritted my teeth, refusing to answer, clutching the bucket tighter.

I kept moving, groping forward, but the room seemed to stretch endlessly, panic rising in my chest. Water splashed onto my chappals, hands slick with cold sweat.

Suddenly, my fingers found the light switch. I held my breath, praying the bulb wouldn’t fuse now. The click echoed like thunder in the stillness.

Click. The bulb flickered once, twice—then the room filled with harsh white light.

And there she was, sitting on the drum, eyes burning, glaring at me with a hunger so vicious it froze me in place—as if she wanted to swallow me whole.

My fingers slipped on the cold metal, water splashing onto my chappals. The room felt suddenly smaller, the wind outside howling, and I realised I was truly alone with her—and no prayer, no Dadi, and no Dadaji could help me now.

The door behind me slammed shut. And the woman smiled, showing rows of teeth that weren’t human.