Bhairava was sleeping peacefully in his room. The night was calm, and the house was quiet. Across the hall, his sister Shivani was also asleep, her room filled with soft moon
light. Everything felt safe.
Bell, their golden retriever, lay curled near the front door, his body warm and relaxed. The air was cool, and the silence felt comforting.
But then—the front door creaked.
It was slow. Careful. Like someone didn't want to be heard.
A shadow slipped inside.
The figure moved quietly, step by step, blending into the darkness. Its face was hidden, swallowed by the night. No words. No sound. Just the soft thump of feet on the floor.
Bell stirred. His ears perked up. He let out a low growl, sensing something wrong. Then he barked—sharp and loud, breaking the silence.
The figure didn't stop.
It walked toward him, slow and steady.
Bell backed away, barking again, louder this time. His body trembled. His tail tucked between his legs. He barked with fear, warning the house, begging for someone to wake up.
The figure got closer. Bell whimpered.
Then THUD.
A heavy sound echoed through the hallway. It was deep and final, like something falling hard. A door creaked open. One door opened slowly.
Then a scream.
It was sharp. Full of terror. A woman's voice, echoing through the walls.
Bhairava jolted awake. His heart pounded in his chest. He sat up, confused, his breath caught in his throat. Then the scream came again louder, more desperate.
He threw off his blanket, rushed to the door, and stepped into the hallway. "Mom?" he called, voice shaking. "What happened?"
No answer.
The hallway was dark. Too dark. Shadows stretched across the walls like long fingers. The air felt colder now, heavier.
He walked slowly, barefoot on the cold floor, each step careful. The floor creaked under him. The air felt thick, like something was watching.
Then—whoosh.
A shadow ran behind him. Fast. Like a ghost.
He turned around. Nothing.
He spun again. Another shadow darted past him.
He froze.
His voice cracked as he shouted, "Who is that?!"
He kept walking, heart pounding. Then something hit his leg.
He looked down.
Bell was lying on the floor. Unmoving. Blood soaked his golden fur.
Bhairava gasped. "Bell?" he knelt beside him, hands trembling. He touched Bell's side but no movement. No breath.
Tears filled his eyes. His chest tightened. He felt dizzy.
He stood up and ran to his parents' room. "Mom!" he shouted, knocking hard.
The door was already open. He pushed it slowly. The room was dark. Too dark to see. He stepped inside and turned on the light. And froze.
His mother was lying on the bed. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. A bullet wound marked her forehead. Blood had soaked the pillow, dripping down the side of the bed.
His father was on the floor. A knife was buried deep in his chest. Blood spread across the carpet like a dark pool.
Bhairava froze.
His legs felt weak. His hands shook. He couldn't breathe.
He ran to his mother, grabbed her shoulders, tried to shake her awake. "Mom? What happened?" he cried. She didn't move. She was gone.
Then he saw his father stir just a little. His chest rose weakly. His hand reached out, trembling.
Bhairava rushed to him, knelt beside him. "Dad, what happened? Who did this?"
Ashok's lips moved slowly. His voice was faint, barely a whisper. "Shivani… protect her…"
Then bang.
A gunshot rang out from upstairs. It was loud. Sharp. It echoed through the entire house like thunder.
Bhairava's eyes widened. "Shivani?"
He jumped to his feet and ran out of the room, his footsteps pounding against the floor. "Shivani!" he shouted, racing up the stairs.
His voice cracked with fear. His legs moved faster than his thoughts. He reached her door and shoved it open.
And the world shattered as he saw her.
Shivani was lying on the floor. Blood pooled beneath her head. Her eyes were closed. Her face was pale.
She had been shot. She was gone.
His whole body went numb. His breath caught in his throat. He couldn't speak. He couldn't cry.
"No…" he whispered, stepping closer. "Shivani…"
Bhairava collapsed to his knees beside Shivani's body. His hands trembled as he lifted her gently into his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder, lifeless. Her skin was cold. Her lips slightly parted, as if she had tried to speak one last word.
Tears streamed down his face. His chest ached. He felt like the world had collapsed around him.
"No…" voice cracking. "Shivani… wake up…"
He shook her gently, desperation rising in his chest. "Please… wake up…"
His scream tore through the silence. "SHIVANI !"
The room didn't answer. Only the sound of his own sobbing filled the air.
Then he felt it.
A presence. Cold. Heavy. Like the air had thickened behind him.
Bhairava's eyes widened. He spun around, adrenaline surging through his veins. A gun was pointed at his head.
Without thinking, he grabbed the attacker's arm and shoved the weapon aside. The shot fired loud, deafening but missed.
He jumped to his feet, heart pounding, and faced the figure. Tall. Drenched in black. No face. No eyes. Just a void where a face should be.
The figure stood still, silent, like death itself. Bhairava's grief twisted into rage.
His voice was low, trembling with fury. "You… did you do this?"
The figure stood still, and something began to emerge from the void beneath its hood—just enough to be seen. A smile. Not a face, not eyes, just a smile. Pale, cruel, and terrifying. It hovered in the darkness like a wound carved into shadow.
Bhairava's eyes widened, rage flaring in his chest. His fists clenched. "Did you just smile?" he growled, voice sharp with disbelief and fury.
Driven by frustration, he stepped forward and threw a punch, striking the figure squarely where the face should be. "Stop!" he shouted, but the smile didn't fade. It stayed, twisted and mocking, feeding on his anger. He hit again—once, twice—each blow harder, faster, but the figure didn't react.
Then, with a sudden bang, his third punch was stopped mid-air. The figure's left hand shot up and caught Bhairava's fist with brutal precision. Now they were locked, Bhairava's left hand gripping the figure's right, the one holding the gun, while his right hand was trapped in the figure's grasp.
Without warning, the figure pulled its head back and slammed it forward. The impact landed cleanly on Bhairava's nose with a sickening crack. His grip loosened. His body staggered backward. He dropped to one knee, dazed, blood pouring from his nose.
He raised a trembling hand and wiped it across his face. His palm came away stained red.
The impact left Bhairava unsteady. He knelt on the fractured floor, breath shallow, eyes locked on the blood smeared across his palm. Rage surged through him again, hotter than before.