Chapter 5: Night of Reckoning

The tube light flickered violently, buzzing like a trapped bee. The smell of wet earth and old incense mingled, making it hard to breathe. Meera’s family sat in the sickly light, faces pale and ghostly.

Fear gripped me. I was terrified the light would die. I huddled behind Dadi, clutching her pallu tighter, feeling her heart pound through the fabric.

Dadi stood tall, shielding me. Her lips moved in a silent prayer, eyes never leaving Meera’s family. Dada wiped his brow, hands cold as marble, his gaze fixed.

Meera and Amit sat by the wall, unmoving, their faces twisted in shadow. Riya sat between them, head bowed, hands behind her back.

Dadi’s voice shook. "Old man, kuch toh gadbad hai. Could they be..."

Dada silenced her. "Bas karo. Control yourself."

But Dadi’s face was drained of colour. "It’s all your fault for letting them stay."

Meera spoke, voice hollow: "Uncle, aunty, kya ho gaya? Why are you both acting strange?"

The room seemed to freeze. Even the rain outside faded away.

Dada forced a whisper: "Nothing."

Amit stood abruptly, lifting Riya in his arms, stiff as a puppet. "If there’s nothing, we’ll go upstairs."

Meera said sharply, "I lived here for nineteen years. I know the stairs."

Dada tried to justify: "This house was given to us by the panchayat. We didn’t steal it."

Meera said nothing, turning away. Amit followed, Riya’s red dress bright in the gloom.

They vanished upstairs. Downstairs, only we remained, the silence pressing in.

Dadi whispered, "It’s 11:40. Let’s run."

She pulled me to the door, panic in every movement. Dada stopped her: "Don’t be rash. Only we can hear the voice outside. Meera’s family didn’t react."

Dadi froze. "That’s true. With such a loud voice, they should’ve heard."

Dada’s eyes darted. "Maybe the vengeful spirit is outside, trying to trick us into opening the door."

Dadi’s hands shook. "But Meera’s family...they’re not right either. And when lightning struck, none of them had a shadow."

Dada’s voice trembled. "I saw it too. Maybe it’s the spirit’s trick."

"Can a spirit really do that?" Dadi whispered.

Just then, the man outside screamed again: "Bhaiya, why haven’t you run yet? If you wait, it’ll be too late!"

Each word clawed at the glass, demanding attention. I pressed into Dadi, feeling her warmth and terror.

Dada called out, "Who are you?"

The answer came: "Ram Dutt."

The name fell like a thunderbolt. Dadi gasped, hand to her forehead. "Ram Dutt ka aatma... Bhagwan bachaye."

Ram Dutt had once lived in our mohalla. He’d died in a car accident, body shattered, legs crushed. No family left to claim him. Dada had made his coffin, carried him to the ghat.

Now his voice had returned, in the storm.

Dada’s voice was papery. "Ram Dutt, why have you come back?"

Dadi glared, whispering, "Old man, do you want to die? Talking to the dead."

She pulled me close, both of us trembling, and together we waited for whatever the night would bring.

Outside, Ram Dutt’s voice faded into the rain, but inside, the shadows only grew deeper. I pressed my face into Dadi’s saree, praying we’d all see the morning.