Rohila Bai paused, the weight of the moment too much to bear. "And then... then the Saheb and his lady saw my father. They came to the window, smiling, beckoning him to go away. But my father, desperate, began banging on the glass. He tried to break it, but the glass... the glass wasn't normal. It was like something else, something beyond this world. And as he hammered on it, the couple, still smiling, moved closer, and then... and then the window opened."
The room was silent, save for the soft wind that howled outside. Rohila Bai's voice dropped to a hush.
"And in that moment, the lights went out. Darkness. Pure darkness."
Mahima gasped softly, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders, while Vijay shifted uneasily on his bed. Rohila Bai's hands trembled as she clasped them together. "When the lights returned, my father saw them standing there—right before him. The Saheb and his lady." She stopped, her breath hitching. "Their heads were gone."
Mahima gasped, gripping the edge of her blanket tightly, her knuckles white. Vijay stared at Rohila Bai, his small hands clutching his knees.
"Their bodies stood motionless," Rohila Bai continued, her voice barely audible. "Blood seeped from their necks onto the floorboards, pooling like ink. And the headless body of the Saheb... it lifted a hand, pointing at my father, beckoning him to come inside."
Rohila Bai paused, wiping a tear from her eye. Her voice grew heavier with each word. "My father turned to run, but the forest had changed. The path he had taken moments ago was gone, replaced by towering trees that seemed to close in on him. The shadows grew thicker, darker, as if alive. And the laughter—oh, the laughter!" She clutched her chest, as though the memory itself was suffocating her.
"It echoed through the forest, distant and distorted, as though a hundred voices were mocking him. But there was no one there."
The children stared at her, too frightened to move. Rohila Bai's hands trembled as she held her shawl tightly. "My father ran, stumbling over roots and rocks, the shadows curling around his legs like claws. He didn't dare look back. But then, suddenly, he stopped."
Her voice faltered, her gaze distant as though she could see it happening before her. "There, standing in his path, was a figure. At first, he couldn't make out who—or what—it was. The golden light from the forest behind him barely illuminated the figure's face."
Mahima held her breath, while Vijay pulled the blanket over his head, peeking out just enough to see Rohila Bai.
"It was the Saheb," Rohila Bai whispered.
The children exchanged terrified glances, the fear in the room almost palpable.
"The Saheb stood there, calm, his clothes immaculate as though nothing had happened. He smiled—a soft, gentle smile that sent chills down my father's spine. 'Come,' the Saheb said, his voice smooth and inviting. 'We must find the Madam.'"
But my father..." Rohila Bai paused, swallowing hard. "My father knew something was wrong. The Saheb's voice was familiar, but it was hollow, as if spoken by someone imitating him. And his smile—it didn't quite reach his eyes. No, his eyes... they were dark. Empty. Soulless.
Mahima clutched the edge of her bed, her nails digging into the wood. Vijay hugged his pillow tightly, his small body trembling.
My father hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to turn and run. But the Saheb stepped closer, his hand outstretched. 'Come with me,' he said again, his tone soft, pleading. 'We mustn't leave her alone in the forest.'
For a moment, my father almost obeyed. Almost. But then, as the Saheb's hand drew nearer, he noticed something—something that made his blood turn to ice. The Saheb's feet..."
Rohila Bai leaned closer to the children, her voice dropping to a whisper. "They weren't touching the ground. He was floating, his shadow twisting unnaturally beneath him, as if the very forest was holding him up."
Mahima let out a soft cry, pulling her blanket tighter around her. Vijay whimpered again, burying his face in his pillow.
"My father staggered back, his chest tight with fear. 'Saheb!' he stammered. 'What are you—' But before he could finish, the Saheb's smile grew wider, unnatural, stretching across his face like a mask. 'Come,' he repeated, his voice now echoing unnaturally, as though it were coming from all around. 'The forest is safe. She's waiting.'"
Rohila Bai's eyes filled with tears as she recounted her father's horror. "And then... the Saheb's face began to change. The smile twisted, the features blurred, and my father knew—knew that what stood before him was not Saheb. It was Garika, wearing his form, playing with him, luring him deeper into the forest."
The children sat frozen, their eyes wide with terror. The storm outside roared louder, as though the forest itself was alive, echoing the horrors of the story.
"My father turned and ran, faster than he ever had before. Behind him, he could hear the Saheb's voice calling, 'Don't leave us! Come back!' The shadows reached for him, clawing at his legs, but he pushed forward, desperate to escape."
Her voice faltered, and she took a deep breath, her eyes glistening with tears. "When he finally reached the road outside the forest, he collapsed, gasping for breath. He thought he was safe. But the forest… it doesn't let go so easily."
The children remained silent, too scared to speak.
Rohila Bai's voice dropped to a whisper. "He felt it before he saw it. The air grew heavier, the shadows lengthened unnaturally. He turned, too terrified to look but unable to stop himself."
She paused, her eyes dark with memory. "And there, at the edge of the forest, stood the Saheb—or what looked like him. His clothes were torn, his face distorted like ripples in water. He wasn't smiling anymore. Instead, his lips moved soundlessly, forming words my father couldn't hear but understood in his soul."
The storm outside seemed to deepen, the wind howling like a chorus of lost souls.
"The Saheb raised a hand, pointing at my father, as if commanding him to return. And behind him, hidden in the shadows, stood another figure. A towering shape, darker than the night, with eyes that glowed like embers. Garika."
Rohila Bai's voice trembled. "My father could feel its malice, its hunger. It didn't move—it didn't need to. Its eyes bore into him, promising one thing: You belong to the forest now."
"My father..." Rohila Bai continued, her voice barely audible now, "summoned the last of his strength and forced himself to his feet. He staggered away from the forest, the sound of laughter—twisted and mocking—following him until he reached the safety of the village. And even then, he never truly escaped. The forest's curse... the creature's eyes... they haunted him for the rest of his life. He could still hear the Saheb's voice calling him at night, could still feel the pull of the shadows. And when he died, years later, his last words were..." She hesitated, her face pale with fear. "'Don't let him take me back.'"
The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air.
Rohila Bai looked at the children, her expression softening. "That's enough for today," she said gently, her voice shifting to one of care. "No more stories about the forest. Let these old tales rest where they belong—in the past."
"But Amma—" Mahima began, her voice trembling.
"No buts," Rohila Bai interrupted firmly, standing and smoothing her saree. "I'll bring you warm milk to help you sleep. The storm will pass, and with it, all the shadows."
She stepped out of the room, leaving the children alone. The wind sighed against the windows, and for a moment, the shadows seemed to stretch a little longer, lingering in the corners of the room.