Tag Archives: Horror

Fantasy writing by Richa Mehndiratta, Fiction, Horror

“The Queen’s Curse”

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Part 1 :-

Chapter 1: Jia’s Heartache

Jia sat in her small apartment, surrounded by the faint scent of his cologne that lingered on the pillow, his old sweatshirt tossed carelessly across the couch. Every corner seemed to whisper his name, and every object reminded her of the love she had lost. The breakup had torn her apart, leaving an aching hole in her chest that she couldn’t escape.

She missed his touch—the way his fingers had felt on her skin, the warmth of his embrace. Even the thought of his deep, soothing voice felt like a lifeline she couldn’t grasp anymore. There were days she felt like she could still hear his laugh echoing in the background, or smell the faint trace of his aftershave as if he were right next to her. But he wasn’t.

Days turned to weeks, and Jia found herself spiraling deeper into sadness. No matter how many times she tried to push the memories aside, they kept resurfacing like an unwanted visitor she couldn’t shake.

One afternoon, she felt a surge of frustration, fed up with her own grief. “I need something to distract myself,” she thought. After a moment of deliberation, she grabbed her coat, determined to get out of the apartment for a while.

Chapter 2: The Withered Library

Jia walked through the rainy streets of the city, her boots splashing in the puddles, until she reached a part of the town she hadn’t visited before. Nestled between narrow alleys and forgotten streets was an old, crumbling building — a library. Its windows were clouded with years of grime, and the once-grand sign hanging above the door was barely visible, the paint peeling away like the pages of a forgotten book.

The Amravati City Library was a place Jia had heard of in passing, but never considered stepping into. Now, it seemed like the perfect escape.

She pushed open the heavy door, the creak echoing through the silence of the building. A musty smell hit her nose as soon as she stepped inside — the smell of old books, dust, and forgotten memories. The walls were lined with tall, sagging bookshelves, some of which leaned precariously to one side. Dim light flickered from old lamps mounted on the walls, casting long, eerie shadows across the rows of books.

“Hello?” Jia called, but the sound of her voice swallowed by the vast emptiness. She glanced around, but there was no sign of a librarian or anyone else. She was alone.

Drawn by an inexplicable pull, Jia wandered deeper into the library. As she passed the shelves, she noticed many of the books were frayed and falling apart. The place felt like it had been abandoned for decades. Finally, her eyes settled on a thick, leather-bound volume sitting on a wooden pedestal, its pages yellowed with age.

The cover read: “Stories from Real Incidences”.

It seemed almost as if the book was waiting for her to pick it up. With trembling hands, Jia opened the cover and began to read.

Chapter 3: The Queen’s Tale

The story began in a distant kingdom, centuries ago. The kingdom of Amravati, ruled by a queen who had the rare gift of foresight. Her name was Queen Amravati, and she was both revered and feared by her people. It was said that she could see into the future, predict the coming of prosperity or calamity, and steer her kingdom toward success. For a time, she was celebrated as a goddess.

But that was before the darkness came.

Amravati’s power, which was once seen as a divine gift, began to show a darker side. Her predictions turned grim. She foretold a terrible drought that would devastate the kingdom, leading to famine and death. She predicted the fall of the crops, the plague that would sweep across the lands, and even the death of those closest to the royal family. With each warning, the people grew anxious, fearful, and angry.

For a long while, the court had trusted her, even worshiped her. But as her predictions grew darker, so did their attitudes. Whispers began to spread through the kingdom — the queen was no longer seen as a benevolent goddess, but as a witch, a harbinger of doom.

The king, who had once been her closest ally, began to distance himself from her. The people, who had once adored her, now turned their backs. No one wanted to hear her prophetic visions anymore. They wanted hope, not despair.

Then came the worst prophecy of all. The king’s mother, a frail woman who had been by the queen’s side through thick and thin, fell ill with a high fever. Her condition worsened by the day, and despite the best healers in the kingdom, she died within a week.

The king, grief-stricken and desperate, accused Amravati of cursing his mother, of bringing the plague that had claimed her life. He was consumed by rage. He called together his ministers, and they, too, saw the queen’s powers as unnatural.

“She is evil. She has brought this curse upon us. She must be punished.” The ministers spoke, each word laced with fear and suspicion.

The king, now blinded by grief and rage, listened to their counsel. He condemned Queen Amravati for her supposed role in the death of his mother. The people, now stirred up by the whispers and accusations, turned on her completely.

Amravati was bound and taken to the execution chamber. The room, cold and dark, smelled of burning wood and death. The crowd outside, hungry for revenge, jeered and threw stones at her.

Amravati was burned alive. But as the flames consumed her body, she screamed a terrible curse, one that would haunt the kingdom for centuries to come.

Chapter 4: The Curse of Amravati

The story in the book continued, but Jia felt her breath catch in her throat. She couldn’t stop reading. The words pulled her deeper, and she was no longer aware of the library around her. Her fingers trembled as she flipped the pages.

The curse, it seemed, was real.

After Amravati’s death, the kingdom fell into chaos. The drought that she had foretold came to pass, followed by famine, disease, and death. The crops withered in the fields, and the people starved. The kingdom that had once thrived now lay in ruin.

But what truly terrified Jia was the final sentence of the story.

“Her spirit never left the kingdom. The queen’s curse lingered, twisting the fate of those who crossed her path. Anyone who dared to seek her power, anyone who touched her legacy, would become her next victim.”

Jia’s heart pounded in her chest. She felt a chill run through her spine. The words on the page began to blur, and she looked around, trying to focus. But the library was no longer quiet. The air felt thick, oppressive. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to grow darker, almost as though they were alive, creeping closer.

And then, she heard it.

A whisper. Soft at first, but growing louder.

“Jia.”

It came from behind her, followed by a cold breeze that swept across her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

She spun around. There was no one there.

Her breath hitched as she tried to shake off the feeling, but the whispers continued. “Jia. You know what you have done. You cannot escape.”

Jia’s heart thudded in her chest. She dropped the book and stumbled back, but her eyes were drawn to the dark corners of the library, where shadows twisted and swirled like something alive, waiting to claim her.

She turned to run, but the door slammed shut, trapping her inside.

Chapter 5: The Queen’s Return

Jia didn’t know how long she had been running through the maze of bookshelves, her feet stumbling over the old, crooked floors. Her mind was in a haze—the curse was real. Amravati’s curse had found her.

As she turned a corner, she saw something impossible. In the farthest corner of the library, a woman stood, her figure shrouded in darkness. Her eyes glowed like molten gold, her face pale and twisted in a permanent, unnatural smile.

“Amravati?” Jia whispered, her voice trembling.

The woman stepped forward, and as she did, the air grew colder, heavier. Jia felt her chest tighten as if something was trying to crush her.

“You shouldn’t have opened the book.” Amravati’s voice echoed, hollow and distant, but it felt all too real.

Jia fell to her knees. The library around her started to warp, the shelves bending, the walls shaking. And in that moment, Jia knew—the curse wasn’t just about the queen’s death. It was about her unfinished vengeance. And Jia was now a part of it.

Part 2 :-

“The Queen’s Wrath – Part 2”

Chapter 1: The Return of the Past

Jia hadn’t slept in days. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the cold grip of Amravati’s spirit tightening around her. The whispers were no longer just a faint echo in her mind; they were a constant presence, louder and more insistent. “Revenge. Revenge.” The words repeated like a mantra, guiding her thoughts toward a singular purpose.

She hadn’t understood it at first—why she felt so out of control, why her thoughts seemed to betray her, but the pieces started falling into place as the days passed. Amravati’s soul, the vengeful queen, was taking over. Her body, her mind, her every action were no longer her own.

But it wasn’t just about the kingdom anymore. It wasn’t just about the death of the queen or her fiery end. Amravati’s curse had a more personal vendetta—one that intertwined with Jia’s broken heart.

It was all connected to Rohan.

Rohan’s family was the last surviving branch of the royal bloodline, the descendants of the very king who had condemned Amravati to death. Jia’s mind swirled with the realization — the queen’s wrath was not satisfied by her own death; she wanted to wipe out the last remnants of the king’s family.

And now, those people were Rohan’s family.

Chapter 2: The Unholy Connection

Jia couldn’t escape the urge to reach out to Rohan. The memories of their love were like open wounds, raw and bleeding. She missed him. Amravati’s rage intertwined with Jia’s sorrow, creating a twisted craving to see him again. She couldn’t explain why she felt this pull, but her fingers found themselves typing out a message to him one cold evening.

“Rohan, I need to see you.”

The response came faster than she expected.

“Jia… Is it really you? Where have you been?”

Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t heard from him in months—not since their breakup. The floodgates opened, and she felt the warmth of his words suffocating her with both longing and dread. Amravati was awake now, guiding her actions, manipulating her emotions, and she couldn’t tell if her feelings for Rohan were genuine or simply a part of the queen’s revenge-driven plan.

But Jia couldn’t stop herself.

“Please, I need to explain… I can’t live without you.” She typed, almost pleading.

It wasn’t just her words. It was Amravati’s voice speaking through her—her desire for vengeance masked as love.

Chapter 3: The Meeting

They agreed to meet at the old park where they used to go for walks together. Jia hadn’t seen him in months, but when she walked up to him, a familiar pain sliced through her chest. Rohan looked as good as he ever had, maybe even more handsome, the weight of their breakup not seeming to have affected him as much as it had affected her.

But there was something off about him. His eyes were distant, searching, as though he was trying to piece together the puzzle of who Jia had become.

“Jia, I don’t understand. Why did you leave? I thought we were—”

The words caught in her throat. Jia wanted to answer, but Amravati’s spirit was in control. Her body trembled as she tried to speak, the words coming out not her own.

“Rohan, I never left you… I was always here. You just never saw me.“

Her voice was low, almost eerie. Rohan took a step back, eyes widening.

“What do you mean? You’ve been gone for months, Jia. I’ve moved on.” His words hit her like a slap, but they also stirred something in her—a fury, an ache that wasn’t hers. Amravati’s rage was slowly consuming her, and now, the queen’s intentions began to bleed through.

“No… No, you haven’t,” she whispered, her tone turning cold. “You don’t even know what you’ve done.”

Rohan stared at her, confused and a little frightened. “What are you talking about?”

And then, Amravati’s power fully took over. Jia felt her body move without her will. The claws of vengeance dug into her, and in an instant, her hands wrapped around Rohan’s throat. Her eyes, once full of grief, now glowed with an unnatural malice, an ancient, murderous rage.

Rohan gasped, struggling to break free, but it was too late. Amravati’s vengeance was swift. The last of the king’s bloodline was snuffed out in an instant.

Chapter 4: The Aftermath

Jia woke up hours later, sprawled on the cold ground of the park, her hands covered in blood. She felt like she had been drowning in her own skin. When she looked around, the weight of what had just happened hit her like a freight train. Rohan was gone.

She tried to scream, but her throat was raw, as if she had already tried to do so. The once-familiar park now felt like a foreign, desolate place. Jia stumbled to her feet, only to find that Amravati had already set the next part of the plan into motion. She was no longer in control.

Her thoughts were not her own. They were consumed by visions of the royal family, Rohan’s parents, and anyone with ties to the bloodline. One by one, they began to die, gruesomely—the family that had once condemned Amravati to death was now being erased from history.

Chapter 5: The Mental Asylum

Days later, Jia was found wandering the streets in a trance-like state, her eyes wild, her clothes torn. The authorities had no idea what had happened. She was covered in blood, but there were no answers. Rohan’s body was found, his family killed one after another, and all signs pointed to Jia.

She was arrested, thrown into a mental asylum, where she was confined to a small room, her mind unraveling more with each passing hour.

The doctors tried to understand her, but all she could say were the same words over and over.

“I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything… Amravati made me. The queen… the curse. It wasn’t me.”

She was deemed insane. The world thought she had snapped under the weight of grief, that her obsession with Rohan had pushed her over the edge.

But what they didn’t know was the truth. The library had been sealed, banned by the authorities, its dark history erased from public memory. No one dared speak of Amravati or the curse again.

Epilogue: The Library’s Dark Legacy

The Amravati City Library remained abandoned and untouched, its doors now locked tight, its dark history buried deep beneath the rubble. People spoke of it only in whispers.

But in the dead of night, some still claimed to hear whispers coming from within, voices that promised vengeance, voices that still carried the weight of a queen’s curse.

Jia’s story, too, would fade—just another tragedy lost in the cracks of time. But somewhere, in the darkest corners of the city, the whispers of Amravati’s wrath could still be heard, beckoning those foolish enough to seek the cursed books.

Part 3 :-

Title: “The Queen’s Wrath – Part 3”

Chapter 6: The New Victim

The Amravati City Library, long abandoned and sealed away from the public, had somehow disappeared from the memory of the city’s residents. The story of the cursed queen and her vengeance faded with time, relegated to the forgotten corners of urban legend. The books that had once been housed there were moved to a new, more modern public library in the city, and among them, hidden within the stacks of dusty volumes, was the same cursed book.

Years passed.

The library itself, now a gleaming, modern building, stood at the heart of the city like a beacon of progress. The new generation of readers didn’t know the horrors that lay within its walls. The quiet hum of fluorescent lights and the soft rustle of pages turned by eager students were the only sounds that filled the building—until the book was rediscovered.

On a quiet Tuesday afternoon, a young woman named Meera, new to the city and eager to dive into books she had never read before, found herself wandering the aisles of the public library. Meera, a recent college graduate, was looking for something to escape her own tangled thoughts—something to distract her from the emptiness she felt after leaving her small hometown behind.

Her eyes wandered across the rows of books, scanning titles, but nothing seemed to catch her interest. That was when she spotted it—an old, leather-bound volume sitting slightly out of place on a high shelf. Its cover was dark, almost too worn, the title barely legible.

“Stories from Real Incidences.”

The title seemed innocuous enough, and her curiosity got the better of her. Meera pulled the book down from the shelf, her fingers brushing the edges of its brittle pages. It felt strangely heavy, like it held more than just words—like it carried something far older, more dangerous.

Without a second thought, she found a quiet corner in the library and opened the book.

Chapter 7: The Return of Amravati

Meera’s fingers trembled as she turned the first page, reading the words about the ancient kingdom of Amravati and its tragic queen. As she read, a strange unease began to settle over her. It was as if the words themselves had a life of their own, wrapping around her like an invisible force.

And then, she came across the final part of the story—the curse, the death of Queen Amravati, and the destruction of the royal family. The warning at the end of the book stood out, in stark contrast to the rest of the tale:

“Her spirit never left the kingdom. Her vengeance lives on, waiting for the next fool to awaken it.”

Meera felt a cold chill creep down her spine. Her eyes darted to the library entrance, but there was no one in sight. It was quiet—eerily so.

Suddenly, she felt the unmistakable sensation that she was being watched.

She glanced around, but there was no one nearby. Her breath quickened, and a shiver ran through her. The feeling wouldn’t leave, though. It was as if something—or someone—was standing just beyond her line of sight, waiting for the right moment to make itself known.

And then, she saw it.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a figure. A woman, dressed in an ancient gown, standing motionless by the tall, dimly lit shelves at the far end of the library. The figure was almost too still, her face pale and ghostly, a twisted, knowing smile playing on her lips.

Meera froze, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe.

The woman’s eyes glowed with an eerie intensity. Her presence was like ice in the air, cold and suffocating. She didn’t speak, but Meera felt her voice in her mind, the same voice that had whispered in Jia’s ear, now calling out to her.

“You are mine now.”

Meera tried to scream, but no sound came out. She felt her hands go numb, her vision spinning, and the room seemed to close in on her. The figure in the corner stepped closer, her smile growing wider and more twisted, until her face was mere inches from Meera’s. The library around them began to distort, warping into something dark and oppressive, the walls closing in as if they were alive.

The book in Meera’s hands began to pulse, the pages fluttering as if caught in an unseen wind, its words shifting, changing in a language Meera couldn’t understand.

“You opened the door, Meera. Now you belong to me.“

The whisper echoed in her mind, but before she could react, the room fell into darkness. The light overhead flickered and died. Meera’s hands trembled uncontrollably as the book fell from her grip, landing with a soft thud on the floor.

And in that moment, as the shadows in the room grew thicker, the queen’s cold laugh rang through the silence.

Chapter 8: The Curse Reborn

The next morning, when the library reopened, no one found Meera. The book was gone, but the strange sense of unease remained, like an invisible presence lingering in the air.

Meera’s parents were contacted, and they told the police that she had been acting strangely in the days leading up to her disappearance. No one could explain where she had gone or why she had vanished without a trace. The only thing anyone could agree on was that she had checked out that old book.

The Amravati City Library was still sealed off, but the book had somehow ended up back in circulation, like a dark seed waiting to be planted in the hands of the next unsuspecting reader.

Chapter 9: The Endless Cycle

Some time later, a new librarian working the night shift began noticing strange occurrences at the library. Books would be out of place, lights would flicker, and sometimes, when she walked between the rows of bookshelves, she felt eyes watching her—cold, unblinking eyes.

One evening, she ventured into the old archives room in search of misplaced books. It was there that she found something that had been forgotten for years—a dust-covered box, sealed with a thick layer of cobwebs. Inside, she discovered an old leather-bound book, still worn from age, with the same title: “Stories from Real Incidences”.

With trembling hands, she opened it, and before she could even read a word, the temperature in the room dropped. A cold gust of wind blew across her face, and she felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

But it was too late.

From the shadows, a figure slowly emerged.

Standing in the corner of the room, smiling, was Amravati.

-Richa ❤

Fiction, Horror, Thrill

Title: The Shadow in the Pines

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Page 1: The Perfect Weekend

The mist in Shimla has always made the town look like something out of a forgotten fairy tale—a little magical, a little eerie. Ridgeview Cottage sits at the edge of a secluded pine forest, its weathered wood and aged stone walls blending into the landscape like it’s been here forever. The perfect place to get away from the chaos of college life—but there’s something about this place, something that feels off.

Five college friends—Jenna, Emily, Tyler, Nathan, and Chris—decide to spend a long weekend here, away from exams, deadlines, and everything else. They all need a break, but none of them realize just how badly the past is about to catch up to them.

Characters:

  • Jenna – The responsible one. She holds everything together when chaos threatens to break out. Strong but secretly burdened with the weight of her family’s expectations.
  • Tyler – The reckless one. Always looking for excitement, often at the cost of those around him. Pranks and jokes are his way of handling stress.
  • Emily – Quiet and reserved. A girl with a dark past, one she hasn’t fully shared with her friends. The weight of her secrets often keeps her isolated.
  • Nathan – Loyal, kind, and always protective of his friends, especially Jenna, with whom he’s secretly in love. He often plays the peacemaker in the group.
  • Chris – The free spirit. He’s spontaneous, impulsive, and loves the thrill of the unknown. He’s the one who suggests crazy ideas, like using a Ouija board to spice things up.

The friends arrive at Ridgeview Cottage late in the afternoon, their car winding up the narrow roads, cutting through the pine trees. The air smells like rain, and the sky hangs heavy with clouds. The cottage is perfect—rustic, cozy, but there’s a coldness to it, a stillness that doesn’t feel entirely welcoming.

Tyler (grinning, hopping out of the car):
“Alright, guys, time to break out the party favors!”

Jenna (rolling her eyes):
“Oh no. Please tell me you didn’t bring one of your stupid pranks again.”

Chris (laughing, lugging the bags up the steps):
“Come on, let’s just enjoy the weekend. No drama, no pranks. For once.”

But the moment they step inside, the creaky floorboards and the shadows in the corners seem to whisper a warning. There’s an oppressive silence about the place, like it’s been waiting for something. For someone.

Scene 2: Emily’s Hesitation

They set up for the night in the living room by the fire. Jenna and Nathan settle on the couch, chatting easily. Chris is fiddling with his camera, taking random photos of the fire. Tyler is looking around for something to get the fun going. Emily, however, sits in the corner, as far from the group as possible, curled up with a book.

Tyler notices this, always the one to push people’s buttons. He leans over the back of the couch, looking at Emily with that mischievous grin of his.

Tyler (teasing):
“Come on, Em. Quit hiding. We’re all here to relax, not sulk in the corner.”

Emily (without looking up):
“I’m fine. Just… tired.”

Jenna (noticing the tension, tries to lighten the mood):
“Come on, Em. Join us. It’s your weekend too. No more studying.”

But Emily’s face tightens. She looks like she’s about to say something, but then, just as quickly, she turns away. There’s a story behind her hesitation—one she’s never told anyone.

Page 2: The Ouija Board

Later that evening, after dinner, Tyler suddenly comes into the living room holding an old, dusty Ouija board.

Tyler (grinning, eyes alight with excitement):
“Alright, let’s get the real fun started. I found this at a flea market in Shimla. Who’s up for a little ghost-hunting?”

Chris (laughing):
“You’re out of your mind, man. But sure, why not? What could go wrong?”

Jenna (reluctantly):
“I don’t know, Tyler. I mean… Ouija boards? That’s pushing it a bit.”

Nathan (playfully):
“Come on, it’s just for fun. Let’s see what happens.”

Emily (looking up, her voice a low whisper):
“Don’t do it. Please.”

But Tyler ignores her, already setting the board up on the coffee table. Chris and Nathan eagerly sit around it, and even Jenna—though uneasy—reluctantly joins in.

Tyler (mocking Emily):
“What’s wrong, Em? Afraid of a little fun? You don’t believe in this stuff anyway.”

Emily (her voice barely audible, shaking her head):
“You don’t understand. It’s not about believing. It’s about what you might stir up.”

But the rest of the group laughs it off. Tyler places his fingers on the planchette, and they all do the same.

Tyler (mockingly, to the board):
“Alright, who’s out there? What do you want?”

The planchette moves, slowly at first, like it’s testing the waters. Everyone gasps, half-excited, half-nervous.

Chris (laughing nervously):
“Alright, this is crazy. It’s like someone’s really moving it.”

The planchette moves again, this time faster, and begins spelling out letters:

“J”
“A”
“R”
“E”
“D.”

Jenna (stunned):
“Wait… Jared? Who’s Jared?”

Emily (in a sharp, panicked voice):
“No! Stop! You don’t know what you’re doing. Please!”

But it’s too late. The Ouija board seems to have awakened something, and the air in the room becomes thick—stifling, cold. The fire flickers, and suddenly, the room feels dark—unnaturally so.

Tyler (grinning, but now with a hint of unease):
“Alright, alright. Who’s Jared? Is someone trying to talk to us?”

The planchette spins wildly.

Emily (her voice trembling):
“You don’t understand. That name… it’s connected to me. To my brother.”

The group falls silent. Emily, who has been so reserved, finally opens up about something none of them knew.

Emily (looking down, almost whispering):
“Jared was my brother. He disappeared five years ago. No one knows what happened to him. But I do. I… I never told you, but… I think it has to do with this place.”

Page 3: The Story of Jared

The room is silent for a long time as Emily begins to speak.

Emily:
“Jared and I grew up here, in Shimla. But it wasn’t like the vacation spots you all know. The town’s full of secrets. My brother… he started seeing things—things that weren’t there. He said he was being followed, that someone was watching him.”

She pauses, struggling with the memory.

Emily (voice breaking):
“It was Vikram. A friend of ours. He was in love with me, and Jared knew it. Jared tried to protect me… but Vikram…”
(pauses, choking on the memory)
“Vikram didn’t like being rejected. He didn’t like anyone standing in the way of what he thought was his. And so, he did something. He made Jared disappear. I don’t know if he killed him, or if he… sent him somewhere, but Jared was never the same. He was afraid, and he tried to tell me, but he… he disappeared.”

The group listens in stunned silence.

Jenna (whispering):
“Vikram? But… Vikram was always nice. He was your friend!”

Emily (shaking her head):
“He was never my friend. He was obsessed with me. And when Jared wouldn’t leave me alone, when he started questioning Vikram about his feelings… Vikram… he snapped.”

The storm outside intensifies, and the tension in the room feels unbearable. Emily’s past is now exposed, and with it, the full weight of what’s happening begins to sink in.

Page 4: The Killer’s Return

As night falls, and the storm rages on, things take a darker turn.

Tyler (laughing nervously, trying to break the tension):
“Alright, alright. Let’s just take a breath here, okay? No ghosts. No curses. This is just—”

Suddenly, there’s a loud knock at the door.

Everyone freezes. Nathan looks toward the door, his face pale.

Nathan:
“Who… who could that be?”

The door bursts open, and standing in the threshold is Vikram—looking wild, his eyes burning with madness.

Vikram (smiling eerily, voice low and dangerous):
“I see you’ve been talking about me, Emily. You never could run away from the past, could you?”

The group recoils. But Emily… she knows. She knows this is the moment.

Vikram (eyes locked on Emily):
“I’ve been waiting for this. All these years. You thought you could escape me. But I will make you remember what you did.”

Emily (shaking, but resolute):
“No, Vikram. I didn’t do anything. You did this. You killed him.”

And with that, the storm outside rages on, and the fight for survival begins. The past has returned for its revenge.

End of Part 1.

Part 2

The Darkness Unleashed

Page 5: Vikram’s Madness

The storm outside intensifies as Vikram steps further into the cottage. His eyes are wide with a dangerous frenzy, his breath ragged, and in his hand, he holds a knife, glistening in the flickering light of the fireplace.

Emily gasps, her heart hammering against her ribs. Nathan stands up first, stepping between Vikram and the others, his voice trembling.

Nathan (voice shaky):
“Vikram, what the hell are you doing? You don’t have to do this. Just—just put the knife down.”

But Vikram only grins wider, his gaze fixed on Emily, as if the others don’t even exist to him. The room feels smaller with every passing second, the walls closing in, the shadows growing longer.

Vikram (softly, almost whispering):
“You never understood, Emily. You never saw the truth.”

Emily backs away, her hands trembling. Jenna moves closer to Nathan, trying to stay calm, trying to make sense of the madness unfolding before them.

Jenna (frantically):
“Vikram, stop! This isn’t you. What are you doing? You were our friend!”

Vikram (his voice rising, his anger spilling out):
“Friend? I was never your friend. I was a puppet, a fool! And Jared… Jared took everything from me. He took you from me, Emily.”

Emily (horrified, tears falling):
“You… you’re the reason Jared disappeared, aren’t you?”

Vikram’s expression twists with rage. He steps forward, the knife held loosely at his side but with a menacing intent. The others back up, forming a loose circle around Emily.

Vikram (snapping):
“He took you away from me! He kept you to himself! And you… you chose him over me. Don’t you see? He had to die. And when he did… when he disappeared, I thought I could be free. But you never let me be free, Emily. You came back. You came back, and now you’ve brought all of them with you. All of you… you don’t know how much I’ve sacrificed for this.”

The silence is heavy, suffocating. Chris moves toward the door, eyes darting toward the window, as though hoping for an escape. But the door is locked. The house is a trap.

Chris (nervously):
“We need to get out of here. Now. We have to call the cops!”

Vikram (laughing bitterly, eyes wild):
“It’s too late for that. You think anyone’s coming for you? This place is isolated. The storm is a wall. No one is coming. And you—you will never leave. Not until I get what I deserve.”

The tension in the room is unbearable. The atmosphere is thick with fear. As Vikram steps closer to Emily, Tylersuddenly lunges forward, grabbing Vikram’s arm, trying to wrest the knife away.

Tyler (gritting his teeth):
“Get off her, you psycho!”

But Vikram is stronger than Tyler anticipated. In a swift movement, he shoves Tyler back, sending him crashing into a table. The force of the impact knocks the wind out of him, but he doesn’t stop. Chris rushes forward too, but Vikramspins, slashing at the air with the knife, narrowly missing.

Chris (panting):
“Damn it, get back! We need to—”

Jenna (interrupting, her voice trembling but firm):
“Vikram, listen to me! We know what happened to Jared. He’s gone, but you’re still stuck in this nightmare! You don’t have to do this. Let us help you!”

Vikram stops, his eyes narrowing on Jenna. The knife lowers slightly. There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes—a fleeting moment of doubt—but it quickly passes, replaced by a cold resolve.

Vikram (almost to himself):
“Help me? You can’t help me. None of you can.”

Page 6: The Final Reveal

The room grows colder. The wind howls outside, rattling the windows. Emily feels as though she’s trapped in a nightmare she can’t escape. She knows Vikram is a broken man, but it doesn’t make him any less dangerous.

Emily (sobbing, pleading):
“Please, Vikram. You don’t understand. You never understood. Jared never wanted to hurt you. He loved you—just not the way you wanted him to. You had to let him go.”

For a brief moment, Vikram seems to pause, his grip on the knife loosening. Tyler, still dazed from the earlier shove, pushes himself off the ground and moves towards the others, trying to come up with a plan.

Tyler (whispering to the group):
“We need to distract him. Get the knife away from him. We can’t let him—”

Suddenly, a sharp, crackling noise cuts through the silence. It’s coming from the old radio in the corner of the room. At first, no one knows what it is. Then, a voice. A familiar voice.

Jared’s voice (distorted):
“Emily… Emily, help me… I’m still here…”

The group freezes. Emily’s face pales as she stares at the radio, her eyes wide with horror. Jenna looks between Emily and Vikram, her confusion growing.

Emily (barely able to speak):
“Jared…? Jared, is that you?”

Vikram (hissing):
“Shut up! You never listened to me! You never believed me!”

Emily (her voice trembling, reaching for Vikram’s arm):
“Vikram, please… I know you think I forgot about you, but I never did. I thought… I thought Jared would be the answer. I thought we could fix things…”

Suddenly, the room grows even darker, the shadows seeming to stretch longer. The voice from the radio becomes more distorted, almost demonic.

Jared’s voice (distorted and twisted):
“She chose him, Vikram… she chose him… now you will pay.”

Vikram (eyes wide, voice cracking with desperation):
“No… No, I’m the one who was wronged. I’m the one who deserves to be loved!”

And then, in a moment of horrifying clarity, it all clicks into place. The voice isn’t just Jared’s. It’s something else—something ancient, something that has been watching from the shadows. Jared never left. In some twisted way, Jaredand Vikram are now both trapped in this cycle—the curse that binds them, and anyone who dares step into Ridgeview Cottage.

Page 7: The Trap Tightens

The room falls silent as the voice fades into static. But the horror isn’t over. The air grows thicker, the pressure in the room suffocating. Everyone feels it. Emily knows this is it.

Emily (eyes wide, whispering to herself):
“This house… this place… it’s where it all started. Where everything broke. And now it’s come to claim us.”

End of Part 2.

Fantasy writing by Richa Mehndiratta, Fiction, Horror

The Haunting of Hartmann School

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(With the Cursed Well, Wind Chimes, and Mirror)

It was a cold evening at Hartmann School in Ooty, and the farewell day had just come to an end. The students were buzzing with excitement, exchanging last-minute memories. But for Aman, Ravi, Simran, Neha, and Karan, it wasn’t just about saying goodbye to school. They had one final adventure planned—a dare they had been discussing for weeks.

Everyone knew the rumors about the school’s backyard. The place was always avoided after dark, the air thick with whispers of strange happenings. People said it was haunted by something dark, something no one could explain. But on their last day together, the group of friends was determined to explore it once and for all. After all, it was their last chance to access the backyard when the gates would be closed, and the entire school would be empty.

The yard was eerily quiet, the wind rustling the wind chimes that hung on an old tree near the gate. The sound was different tonight. It wasn’t just the usual soft tinkling but a harsh, almost angry clanging that echoed in the dead silence of the evening. “That’s strange,” Simran said, looking up at the chimes. “I’ve never heard them sound like this before.”

“It’s just the wind,” Ravi muttered, but even he felt a chill down his spine. “Let’s go.”

As they crossed into the backyard, a sense of unease filled the air. The yard was overgrown, the plants and bushes wild and untamed, but what caught their attention was an old, neglected well. Its stone walls were covered with moss, and the surface of the water inside seemed to glimmer faintly in the darkness. It wasn’t just any well; it looked like it had been abandoned for years, as if no one had dared to approach it. But tonight, it called to them.

They gathered around it, staring at the eerie water below. But as they did, they remembered the stories they’d heard from Rajesh, the school’s peon.

“Don’t go near the well,” he had warned countless times. “It’s cursed. There’s a reason the land was abandoned before the school was built.”

But none of them had ever taken Rajesh seriously. Until now.

“What’s the big deal with the well?” Karan asked, kicking at the dirt near its edge. “It’s just a well.”

Rajesh’s words echoed in their minds, but they shrugged it off, convinced it was just superstition. But something about the place felt wrong. The air felt heavier, and the wind had begun to pick up. The rusted wind chimes rattled again, and they all jumped, startled by the sudden loud clanging.

“Let’s check out the shed over there,” Aman suggested, trying to shake off the growing unease.

But as they turned, they spotted something else—the mirror. It was small, cracked, and covered in grime, leaning against the wall near the well. Simran’s curiosity got the better of her, and she moved closer, wiping off the dust from the glass. When she peered into it, her reflection was distorted, but that wasn’t the worst part.

“Guys, look!” Simran gasped, her hand shaking. “There’s someone behind me in the mirror.”

The group spun around, their hearts racing, but the backyard was empty. The mirror reflected a shadowy figure standing at the edge of the yard, its face hidden in darkness.

“Stop scaring us,” Neha said, but her voice was trembling.

But Simran couldn’t tear her eyes away from the mirror. “No, something’s not right here.”

Just as she stepped back, a voice—a cold, hollow whisper—came from the direction of the well. “You shouldn’t have come… You shouldn’t have disturbed me.”

Suddenly, the ground began to rumble, and the well seemed to pulse, like it was alive. A low, guttural growl echoed from deep within the earth, sending chills down their spines.

The Backstory
The curse that haunted this land had begun long before the school had ever been built. In the late 1800s, the land had been owned by a wealthy landowner, Raghav Singh, who lived with his wife and son, Arjun Singh. Arjun was an intelligent and ambitious young man, but also a little too greedy for his own good.

Raghav Singh had made his fortune through trade, and in his old age, he planned to pass it all on to his only son. But Arjun, instead of being grateful, had grown impatient. He wanted it all now, and his mind was filled with dark ambitions. When his father fell ill, Arjun saw an opportunity.

In a desperate attempt to gain access to his father’s wealth, Arjun poisoned Raghav, intending to inherit the fortune prematurely. But things didn’t go as planned. The poison didn’t kill Raghav right away, and as he lay dying, he cursed his son, warning him that his greed would bring ruin to their entire family. But Arjun, driven by a desire for power, ignored the curse.

Soon after, Arjun’s mother fell ill under mysterious circumstances. And then, just days before Raghav died, Arjun’s wife went missing. Arjun had no explanation, but he began to feel the weight of his actions. The strange things happening around him were signs of the curse he had brought upon himself.

In a fit of panic, Arjun went to the well near the house—the one his family had always used for their water. He thought if he could offer a sacrifice, he could reverse the curse. But as he looked into the murky water, the darkness that had claimed his family took hold of him instead. The well became his tomb, and from that moment on, the land was cursed.

As the years passed, the property was abandoned, and eventually, the school was built on top of it. But the curse remained. And now, anyone who came too close to the well would feel the wrath of Arjun’s spirit, forever trapped by his own greed.

Back in the present, as Arjun’s vengeful spirit manifested in front of the group, the wind chimes rang violently, and the mirror began to shimmer and crack, showing grotesque reflections of the friends—each one seeing their own worst fears staring back at them.

The shadowy figure in the distance began to grow, its face becoming clearer. Arjun’s eyes glowed with an unnatural light, his skin pale and decayed, his form towering and menacing. His voice echoed across the yard, “You woke me. Now, you will pay.”

Before they could react, Aman screamed in terror, feeling a cold, invisible force grip him. His body was pulled toward the well. “Help! HELP!” But his cries were drowned out by the wind and the eerie clanging of the chimes.

One by one, the group was dragged toward the well. Ravi, Neha, and Simran vanished into the darkness, their bodies pulled by the curse that Arjun had set in motion years ago. Karan, the last to go, managed to break free for a moment, but as he turned to run, the mirror shattered, and he saw Arjun’s face staring at him in the shards. The last thing Karan saw before everything went black was Arjun’s hand reaching for him.

The next morning, Rajesh arrived at Hartmann School as usual, thinking it was just another normal day. He unlocked the gate and made his way toward the backyard, where the morning fog still clung to the earth. He wasn’t expecting what he found.

The first thing he noticed was the unsettling silence. The wind chimes, which had always been so loud and ominous, were still—motionless in the stillness of dawn. Rajesh thought it was odd, but he continued on. But when he stepped into the backyard, the air grew heavier, colder. A strange, unpleasant odor hung in the air, as if something had died there.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw it—the well, its stone walls dark and dripping with moisture, the surface of the water still like a mirror. But this time, there was something else—a dark, wet stain around the base of the well. Rajesh’s heart raced as he slowly moved closer, sensing something wasn’t right. That’s when he saw it.

The bodies of the five students were lying around the well, huddled together in unnatural positions. Their faces were twisted in horror, frozen in time, and their clothes were torn and covered in mud. But the worst part was their skin—pale, waxy, as if they had been drained of life. The eyes of Simran, Ravi, Neha, Aman, and Karan were wide open, staring into nothingness, but there was no sign of life in them.

It was clear that they had been dead for hours, but there was something so strange about their appearances. Their bodies were unnaturally still, as if they had been carefully arranged. It was almost like something had placed them there, and not just left them to rot. And then Rajesh noticed something that made his stomach churn—the slightest trace of a dark, sticky substance around their mouths, as though they had been choking on something before they died.

Suddenly, the wind picked up, and the wind chimes rang out in sharp, violent clinks, though there was no breeze. Rajesh took a step back, the hairs on his neck standing up, as he realized the full horror of what had occurred.

Within minutes, the police arrived. The area was immediately cordoned off, and a team of officers began to investigate. The scene they arrived at was more baffling than they could have imagined. There were no signs of a struggle, no clear injuries. The bodies seemed untouched, as though they had simply fallen to the ground, lifeless.

Detective Sharma, who had worked many gruesome cases, could not explain it. He walked around the well, his eyes narrowed, but nothing about the scene made sense. It wasn’t like a normal murder or accident. It felt… supernatural. The presence of something darker.

When the families of the children were called, the reaction was one of shock and disbelief. Aman’s parents were the first to arrive, their faces stricken with grief. His mother collapsed into his father’s arms when they saw their son’s body. Simran’s parents, just as devastated, could barely comprehend what had happened. There were no answers, no reasoning.

They all wanted to know how their children ended up dead in the backyard of their school. What had killed them? Was it an accident? Or had someone done this to them?

But the police couldn’t provide any answers. The only clue they found was a scrap of paper found near the well, soaked and torn but legible. It read:

“The curse cannot be broken. The well will take more. One day, you will be back.”

The family members were horrified. They couldn’t understand what it meant, but it felt like a warning, like something ancient and evil had taken their children.

The school’s administration was thrown into chaos. The principal, Mr. Mehra, insisted that it was a tragic accident—that maybe the students had been exploring the yard and something had gone wrong. But deep down, he too felt the dread creeping in.

The backyard, once considered a “haunted” part of the school, had always been kept off-limits. But no one had ever truly believed in the stories. The presence of Rajesh, the school’s peon, who had warned about the well and the curse, became more significant now. Had he known something all along?

Rajesh, too, was in shock. He had seen strange things happen near the well, but he had never imagined that anyone would be foolish enough to go near it. He couldn’t help but feel guilty. Maybe he should have done more to stop them. Maybe he should have locked the gate and prevented them from entering. But even Rajesh knew that something far darker than any of them could understand lived on that land.

Over the next few days, the school came under scrutiny. News spread like wildfire, and soon the tragedy became a local legend. People from nearby towns started visiting the school, not to grieve, but to see the place where the children had met their end. The stories about the curse of Arjun Singh and the well resurfaced, and many believed it was his vengeful spirit that had killed the children.

A local priest came to the school to perform a cleansing ceremony, but when he arrived near the well, he refused to go any closer. “The land is tainted,” he muttered. “There is nothing that can stop the curse now. The evil here has taken its toll, and it will not be undone.”

The police investigation remained open, but no one could figure out what had happened to the children. There was no sign of a struggle, no evidence of poisoning or drugs—just the strange, lifeless bodies surrounded by an oppressive, thick silence. They couldn’t explain why the children had died, but the authorities started closing in on something: this was no accident. It was as if something had been waiting for them, watching them. And when they went near the well, they had sealed their fate.

As for Hartmann School, it became a ghost story itself. The backyard was closed off permanently, and the school board decided to demolish the well and the area around it. But no matter how much they tried to erase the past, the whispers of the dead lingered.

And whenever the wind blew through the trees, the sound of wind chimes could be heard—an eerie, almost mournful clinking, as if the spirits of the children were still trapped there. As for Rajesh, he quietly left his job, unable to live with the weight of what had happened.

In the end, no one ever truly knew what happened to Simran, Ravi, Neha, Aman, and Karan. But one thing was certain—the curse that haunted the land was not just a story. It was real. And it would never let anyone forget.

End

Disclaimer:

The story you just read is purely fictional and a product of my imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental. This story does not reflect or represent the actual history of the school mentioned and is intended for entertainment purposes only.

By : Richa Mehndiratta, Fantasy writing by Richa Mehndiratta

The Tragic Tale of Devinder Sharma’s Family – The End

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The Poisoned Feast: A Horror Tale

In the heart of New Delhi, the Sharma family had it all—wealth, status, and a seemingly perfect life. Devinder Sharma, a powerful businessman, had built an empire from the ground up, his family by his side. His wife Suman, ever the doting partner, had supported him through thick and thin, their two children the picture of health and happiness. Their home was a fortress, filled with the finest things money could buy. It was a life many envied.

But tonight, in the midst of their grand success, something darker lurked—something ancient, something that could not be bought or controlled. The Feast.

The Sinister Dish

It was a night of celebration. Devinder had just closed the biggest deal of his career. To mark the occasion, Suman decided to prepare a special family dinner: fish curry—a recipe passed down from her ancestors, one that had never failed to impress. She had spent the afternoon in the kitchen, perfecting the dish with her own hands, her movements graceful yet focused. Little did she know, she wasn’t alone.

As the curry simmered on the stove, an eerie presence seemed to fill the air. The kitchen, once warm and inviting, felt suddenly cold. Suman brushed it off, attributing the chill to the late evening hour. But something was wrong. The fish—bought fresh from the market that morning—looked… off. The eyes of the fish seemed to follow her, their glossy black pupils unnervingly lifelike.

Unaware of the sinister force creeping into her home, Suman continued preparing the meal.

When the family sat down to eat, they felt an overwhelming sense of unease. Devinder, always the picture of strength, felt a sudden tightness in his chest. Suman felt a cold shiver run down her spine, her hands trembling slightly as she lifted her spoon. Their children, usually so full of energy, seemed oddly quiet, their eyes darting around the room as if hearing something only they could perceive.

The fish curry—rich, fragrant, and spicy—was the center of the meal, and for the first few minutes, it seemed like nothing more than a hearty dinner. But then, the darkness began to unfold.

The Terrifying Symptoms

Within minutes of swallowing their first bites, the family began to feel sick. At first, it was mild—just a slight nausea, an odd tingling in the stomach. But soon, the symptoms escalated.

Devinder’s breath grew shallow, his skin pale and clammy, the blood draining from his face. Suman doubled over in agony, clutching her stomach as an unholy pain twisted inside her. Their children—normally the picture of vitality—began to wail, their eyes wide with terror. It was as though something was crawling inside them, eating them from the inside out.

But it wasn’t just food poisoning. No. This was far worse. Something ancient had been awakened.

The house grew darker, the air thicker with the weight of something malevolent. The walls of the once-grand dining room seemed to close in on them, suffocating in their suffocating isolation.

As they scrambled to get to the hospital, shadows danced at the edges of their vision. The familiar world seemed to warp, the bright lights of the city outside now dim, the streets unrecognizable, as if the world itself was shifting into something unearthly.

The Unearthly Presence

In the hospital, the family was quickly admitted, but the doctors were powerless to help. They had never seen anything like it. The bloodwork showed nothing. There were no traces of bacteria, no toxins, no signs of infection. Yet the symptoms only worsened. Organs began to fail. Fevers spiked uncontrollably. They were dying—slowly, agonizingly—but there was no logical explanation.

But as the night wore on, things grew even stranger. Devinder, barely conscious, began to hear whispers—soft voices that seemed to come from the walls. Suman, her mind fracturing under the strain, saw shadows moving in the corners of the room, figures that were not human. They would vanish when she blinked, only to return again, just out of sight.

A terrible thought began to gnaw at Devinder’s mind: this wasn’t a natural illness. It was a curse.

The Revelation

As the family’s health deteriorated, the truth began to reveal itself. The whispers grew louder. The shadows more persistent. And then, as if driven by some unseen force, Devinder tried to recall what he had missed earlier. The fish—the fish curry—hadn’t been just an ordinary meal. There had been something wrong with it from the start.

He remembered something that Suman had said earlier in the day, a strange reference to her grandmother’s recipe. “This curry has been in my family for generations,” she had said, her voice soft, almost reverent. “It was made for occasions like this. The night when everything changes.”

The words hit him like a bolt of lightning.

Her grandmother. The source of the recipe.

It was then that the whispers stopped, and an image formed in his mind. The grandmother’s portrait that had always hung in the dining room—her eyes cold and unblinking. A woman he had never really thought much of. But something about her was wrong. Her gaze had always been too intense. Too knowing.

He began to piece it together. Suman’s family had once been part of an ancient, occult circle, one steeped in dark rituals. The fish curry wasn’t just a family recipe—it was a vessel for a curse, passed down through the generations. A curse meant to bring death to those who consumed it, a curse that would consume them in the most horrific way possible.

The poison in the curry wasn’t a mere chemical—it was supernatural, tied to something far older than mere mortal understanding.

The Horror Unleashes

The house itself seemed to come alive, now. The hospital room became a funhouse of horrors. The walls began to ooze blackened ichor, dripping down like liquid sorrow. The shadows seemed to grow, closing in, whispering names, familiar and foreign at the same time.

Devinder tried to scream, but no sound came out. He looked at Suman—her face pale, her eyes hollow—suddenly realizing that she had known all along. She had invited this into their home.

Suman, her face twisted with a strange, unnatural calm, stood up, her eyes black pools of emptiness. “It’s too late,” she whispered, as the room seemed to swallow her words. “It’s been passed down. We couldn’t escape it, Devinder. None of us can.“

The walls trembled, the ceiling cracked, and from the depths of the shadows, a figure emerged. It was the shape of an old woman, her face pale and gaunt, her eyes wide and unblinking. The grandmother. Her twisted form seemed to float above the family, an entity of pure malice and ancient power.

“Devinder,” she crooned, her voice not human, but something much older, “your soul is mine. And so is your family’s. You have invited me into this world with your greed. Now, you will pay.”

The lights flickered, and the room spun into chaos. Devinder’s world shattered, his vision filled with images of death and decay. The walls seemed to pulse with a life of their own as the figure of the grandmother drew nearer.

The End of the Line

Devinder’s scream was drowned by the unnatural silence that followed.

In the aftermath, the Sharma family was found, but not as they once were. Their bodies were decayed beyond recognition, their eyes wide open in eternal terror. The poison had not just killed them—it had twisted their souls, binding them to the house, to the curse.

And in the stillness, the house remained. Silent. Watchful. Waiting for the next soul to come.

******************************************************************************

The Tragic Tale of Devinder Sharma’s Family – The Beginning ; The Truth

The Poisoned Feast: The Curse of the Forgotten Cult

The Sharma family thought of themselves as modern, progressive, and distant from the old world. They prided themselves on their wealth, their accomplishments, and their status. But buried deep in the roots of their family tree was a secret—a terrible, bloodstained secret—one that had remained hidden for generations.

It all began centuries ago, in the isolated village of Kumarhati, nestled in the shadow of the Aravalli Hills, where superstition and dark rituals ran as deep as the river that cut through the land. There, a group of powerful and wealthy landowners had formed an elite cult, dedicated to an ancient and forgotten god—Maalok—a deity of darkness, death, and rebirth. The cult’s purpose was simple: to gain immortality and eternal power, they would have to make sacrifices of great blood and soul, offering their lives—and the lives of others—to Maalok.

The cult was led by Raghunath Sharma, the patriarch of the Sharma family and the first of their bloodline to seek the ancient knowledge that would make him and his descendants rulers of the earth. Raghunath had heard whispers of Maalok from an old sage, a man whose eyes were said to see beyond the mortal realm. The sage had given him a forbidden text, a grimoires written in blood, filled with incantations that would unlock the gateway to the god’s power.

It was in the small hours of the night that Raghunath performed the first of many rituals, invoking Maalok’s name under a blood-red moon. He killed a child—a sacrifice that would be the first of many—and as the blood pooled around the altar, the earth seemed to tremble beneath his feet. Maalok appeared, a towering figure of shadow and smoke, his eyes glowing with an unnatural fire.

In exchange for the sacrifice, Maalok granted Raghunath immortality—not in the form of eternal youth or a long life, but in the form of a curse. He was promised power beyond his wildest dreams, but with a terrible price: his descendants would forever be bound to Maalok, forever cursed to feed the god’s hunger for souls.

For the first few generations, the cult’s power grew, the family’s wealth expanded, and they prospered. But with each generation, the rituals grew darker, and the cost became heavier. Blood sacrifices were required every few decades to keep the curse from consuming them entirely. Every member of the Sharma family was born with an inherent link to Maalok, but as the years went on, it became harder to maintain the god’s favor.

The curse had taken root in their bloodline, and each child born of the Sharma family had to play a part in the sacrifice—whether they were willing or not. They had to offer up someone close to them—someone they loved or held dear—to Maalok, feeding the god’s hunger for human souls.

The Breaking Point: Suman’s Grandmother

As the cult’s influence spread, the Sharma family moved away from Kumarhati, settling in the bustling heart of New Delhi. The family’s wealth flourished, and the cult’s rituals, once carried out in secret, became more subdued, disguised under the guise of normal family traditions. But the curse never stopped following them.

It was during this time that Suman’s grandmother, Radha Sharma, a highly influential woman in the family, became aware of the true weight of their legacy. Radha had always been strange—quiet, cold, and distant from the other women in the family. The elders had whispered that she was the “chosen”—the one who could hear the god’s voice in her dreams, feel his whispers in her bones.

Radha’s power grew alongside the family’s prosperity. She was the one who had kept the ancient rituals alive in secret, continuing to offer up sacrifices to Maalok to ensure the family’s continued fortune. But by the time Suman’s mother was born, Radha had grown deeply conflicted. She was beginning to see the true horror of what the family had become.

Her nightmare began when, in one ritual, she tried to break the pact with Maalok, refusing to sacrifice another innocent soul to feed the god’s hunger. She attempted to destroy the grimoires, hoping to sever the connection between the family and Maalok, but it was too late.

In that moment of defiance, Maolak exacted his vengeance.

The god cursed her—cursed the entire Sharma bloodline—with a more horrific fate than death. Radha became a vessel for Maalok’s power, a living nightmare, a shell of a woman consumed by the dark god’s presence. She could never escape Maalok’s grasp, and soon, she realized the curse wasn’t just about death—it was about enslaving the soul forever.

Radha’s mind began to break under the weight of the curse, and she found herself passing on the forbidden knowledge to Suman, telling her that one day, she, too, would be forced to carry the weight of the curse on her shoulders.

The Return of the Curse: Suman and the Fish Curry

Radha’s final days were spent in torment. Her last words to Suman were cryptic: “The fish curry. The recipe.”

Suman had never understood, but in the years that followed, she often found herself drawn back to her grandmother’s legacy. She never imagined that the fish curry—a seemingly innocuous family recipe—was part of the ritual. The fish, the spices, and the poisonous herb that only grew in the family’s ancestral village were all components of an ancient, ritualistic dish, designed to lure the god’s power back into the world through a blood sacrifice hidden in plain sight.

Suman had no idea that by making the fish curry for her family, she was unknowingly awakening Maalok again—inviting the god into their home through the blood and the feast. She was not just feeding her family; she was feeding Maalok’s hunger. And as the curse took root, it was not just a family meal that they were consuming—it was a ritualistic offering to the ancient god, one that would bind the souls of her loved ones, just as it had bound Radha, and every Sharma before her.

The poison, unknown to the family, had been introduced not just to cause death, but to open a gateway—a gateway through which Maalok could pass into the world once more. The suffering they endured wasn’t just from the toxin—it was from the god himself, feeding on their souls as they slowly withered away.

The End of the Bloodline

As Devinder began to unravel the truth in his fevered state, he realized that there was no escaping Maalok. He had been a fool to think they could ever outrun the curse. They were doomed from the moment they took the first bite of the fish curry, just as Radha had once been, just as Raghunath had been. The pact with Maalok was eternal.

Devinder’s last thoughts were filled with terror, knowing that even if he survived the poison, he would never escape the grip of the god.

And as the hospital room descended into darkness, the whispers of Maalok began to fill the air, signaling the start of something far worse than death: the return of the ancient curse that would consume their very souls.

In the end, the Sharma family would never be free. They were merely the latest victims in an ancient ritual, bound to the god forever, the cycle of sacrifice and suffering repeating until the end of time.

Conclusion

The curse of Maalok, born from a long-forgotten cult, had finally claimed its due. The fish curry, the family recipe passed down through generations, had become the key to unlocking Maalok’s return—a god of death, hunger, and souls. With each generation, the Sharma family had fed the god with their own blood, unaware of the horrors they were perpetuating.

Now, as the last of the Sharma bloodline crumbled, the ancient curse was complete. The power of Maalok would never fade, and the family’s bloodline would remain forever tainted, bound to a god that feasted on their souls for eternity.

The shadows lingered, and the curse would continue. Forever.

Horror

The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty

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Quote

He sat on the cot and drank in darkness. Wet came the tears. They would not cease. This was like childhood, this grief. – William Peter Blatty

About the Author

Born on January 7th, 1928 in the New York City, Blatty was an American writer and filmmaker. He took his Bachelor’s Degree in English from the Georgetown University, followed by a Master’s degree from the George Washington University.

Blatty was known for his novel THE EXORCIST, which was later adapted as a film by the director William Friedkin. William married four times and had seven children. He was a Roman Catholic, he filed a canon law petition against his alma mater Georgetown University.

Blatty died of multiple myeloma on January 12, 2017, at a hospital in Bethesda, five days after his 89th birthday.

Book Review #14

The Exorcist is a horror novel written by William Peter Blatty. It is based on a 1949 exorcism, Blatty heard about while he was a Bachelor’s student in 1950, at Georgetown University. The book will take you through the ride of feelings like shock, horror, fear, nausea and small measure of dogged hope.

Undoubtedly, a best seller THE EXORCIST has the accurate details in the theological and psychological aspect. It is one of the best books ever written of it’s types that excels the genre of terror, and supernatural.

It is not simply horror, it is so much more and being such a long and detailed book, when it ends that feeling of being immersed in another world disappears as if something is now missing. I highly recommend this book of pretty great artistry. However, not meant for the weak hearts.

#About the cover, I still get chills down my spine, whenever I pick this book. To me it feels like the girl on the cover will open her eyes anytime.

Where to buy?

Amazon.com and Amazon.in