"Today, I'm going to talk about fire safety," I announced proudly, stepping into the kitchen and scanning the rows of simmering pots, flickering candles, and oil lamps lining the shelves.
"We already know all that," chorused the maids, barely looking up from their tasks. The clinking of metal spoons and chopping sounds continued undisturbed.
"Let us cook, Minitai. Move aside." Shaku, the fifty-year-old head cook, gently nudged me out of her path, her hands coated with flour. "Don't be a hindrance, child."
"But this house is a fire hazard! I'm going to buy fire extinguishers and install them in each room," I insisted, crossing my arms.
Shaku shot me an exasperated look, but Ramya, the youngest kitchen maid, raised her eyebrows in curiosity. "Fire extinguishers?" she echoed, as if testing out the foreign words. "What on earth are those?"
"They're metal cylinders filled with carbon dioxide," I explained, "which smothers flames by starving them of oxygen."
"Car... bon...?" Ramya's eyes widened as she whispered the unfamiliar term, as though it were a magic incantation. "What language is that?"
I sighed, feeling the clash between my modern knowledge and the household's old-world habits. "It's science. And it saves lives. Never leave candles and lamps unattended," I added, gesturing to the many open flames around the room.
A snicker escaped Shaku. "Isn't it you who forgot to put out a lamp last year? Nearly set fire to the curtains, didn't you?" She smirked, shaking her head. "Listen to your own advice before lecturing us, Minitai."
I stammered, caught off guard by her memory. "Of course... I mean, because of my experience—"
"Ramya, the dough for chapatis won't knead itself," Shaku cut me off briskly. "If we don't have lunch on the table soon, your aunt will have our heads." The maids all resumed their work, ignoring me completely.
Resigned, I slipped out of the kitchen, my fire-safety ambitions officially squashed. As I walked through the quiet corridor, the scent of something old and damp hung in the air, a faint reminder of the house's age. This was a place built with tradition—fire safety drills and extinguishers felt like blasphemy here, almost as though they'd anger the spirits the walls themselves seemed to contain.
Passing the old well, I paused. This had been the kitchen once, before my father's renovations moved it to the next courtyard. The well was open and unused, with shadows clinging to the damp stones as though secrets lay hidden in its depths. Stepping closer, I peered down into the darkness. An earthy, rusty odor drifted up from the depths, turning my stomach.
"Eww," I muttered, taking a step back.
Just as I moved away, a faint, echoing whisper drifted up from the well. "Help me."
My heart stopped. I froze, every nerve on edge, as the words lingered in the air. They sounded so close, so real. I glanced around, but no one else was there.
I took another step back, the cold touch of dread creeping over my skin. Without a second thought, I turned and bolted, sprinting down the corridor, my footsteps echoing against the stone. "What was that? Is this old mansion haunted?" My thoughts raced with questions and fears.
WTF, this place is haunted. I want to go home, now.
Without realizing it, I found myself by the dark, foreboding lake near the back of the property. The water lay still and silent, but there was something sinister in its stillness. An old family legend stirred in my mind—a story my aunt had once told me in hushed tones about the lake's original owner, who had met a tragic end here.
"You can't swim in that lake anymore," Aunt's voice startled me, breaking me from my thoughts. She stood a few feet behind me, her expression a mix of worry and reproach.
I swallowed, feeling foolish. "I know, Aunt."
Her gaze softened, and she took my arm gently. "Come, let's go back inside. This lake isn't for you." She led me back toward the house, her presence somehow reassuring.
That night, my room felt stifling. The heat pressed down, thick and unrelenting, and the absence of a fan or air-conditioning made it nearly impossible to sleep. Mosquitoes buzzed around my ears, while distant lights from the courtyard cast faint, flickering shadows on the walls. I lay there, staring at the darkness, every creak and whisper in the night sharpening my awareness.
Suddenly, a gruff, angry voice shattered the silence. "Hey. I know who you are."
A face appeared outside my window, and I froze in terror. A man with blood-red eyes, his skin marked with strange, dark symbols, glared at me. His expression was one of pure malice, and fear rooted me to the spot, paralyzing me.
"You've come from the future to stop me. Go back!" His voice echoed in my ears, filling the room with a sense of overwhelming dread. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he vanished, dissolving into thin air.
The room felt lighter again, and I gasped, finally able to move. On instinct, I jumped out of bed, slammed the window shut, bolted the door, and sprinted down the dark corridor. Aunt's quarters were at the far end, across the courtyard. Trembling, I hesitated at her door, fear still prickling my skin.
After a long pause, I knocked.
The door opened, and Aunt's face appeared, her expression shifting to one of surprise. "Saudamini," she murmured, her voice both calm and concerned.
"Can I... can I sleep with you?" I managed, barely able to speak.
Without hesitation, Aunt opened the door wider. "Come in, dear."
The bed was large and felt strangely familiar, like my own, and Aunt placed a small oil lamp on the bedside table, its soft glow casting a comforting warmth over the room. She didn't ask questions, simply handed me a blanket and lay beside me, her presence a quiet reassurance.
"Extinguish the lamp and sleep, little one," she said softly, as though this were a routine occurrence. A small part of me wondered if this was familiar to her—if she'd comforted others in this room before.
The next morning, I felt heavy and drained, my body achy and exhausted. The air felt thick and oppressive, as though the house itself had absorbed the fear from the night before.
"It's happening again," Shaku muttered as she entered with a bowl of cool salt water and a small towel. She glanced at Aunt, who sat beside me, her brow furrowed in concern.
"Should we call her?" Aunt asked, wringing out the towel and gently dabbing it over my forehead.
Shaku gave a curt nod, leaving the room with a look of grim determination. Aunt stayed by my side, her touch gentle. In that moment, I felt grateful for her, any doubts I'd had about her role in this house vanishing. She was my anchor, my safety here.
"Saudamini, are you awake?" Aunt's voice was soft.
"Mm-hmm," I replied faintly, my eyes heavy.
"Did you dream anything?" she asked, her hand resting on my head in a motherly gesture.
A fog of confusion filled me. "A dream?" I whispered. Had it all been a dream?
Aunt sighed, her expression unreadable, as though she knew more than she would say. "Rest now," she said, brushing my hair back.
In the afternoon, I was awakened by soft chanting. An old woman stood by my bed, her skin weathered and her hair tied in a loose bun. Aunt and Shaku were beside her, their faces tense.
"Shh," Aunt murmured, pressing a finger to her lips as the woman continued chanting. Her voice was low, her words ancient, carrying a weight that made the air feel thick. I realized then that this was connected to the apparition I had seen, as though it had stirred something dark and dangerous.
The old woman stopped chanting and gazed at me with piercing eyes. Her forehead was painted with turmeric and a red bindi, her gaze sharp and unblinking.
"The evil has touched her again," she said in a low, almost reverent tone. "I will do what I can to protect you," she continued, smearing white ash on my forehead.
A wave of dizziness hit me, and darkness closed in as I slipped out of consciousness. Aunt covered me with blankets, and when I woke, I could hear her and Shaku murmuring on the courtyard bench.
"Please save her," Aunt's voice trembled, a rare break in her usual calm.
The old woman's voice was grave. "It is fate."
"Just like before," Shaku muttered angrily. "You said the same when it happened to the mistress, years ago."
The woman's eyes glinted, unfazed by the accusation. "On Makar Sankranti, my Guru will arrive. Then, we will send the spirit to its afterlife."
A shiver ran through me at her words. The thought of the upcoming festival filled me with dread, as though