MD SHAHADAT HOSEN RISAN

The Call of the Shadow

At night time, the alleys of the town fall eerie quiet. In Old Dhaka, below the flickering streetlights, an extraordinary darkness lingers—older than time, heavier than night time. In one such alley lives Arif, a quiet university scholar dwelling alone. His mother and father continue to be within the village. He moved into this vintage, creaky residence a month ago. It appeared reasonably priced and peaceful—at first. But each night, in view of that shifting in, something extraordinary has occurred. In the primary week, he began listening to things—tender footsteps at the roof, sluggish knocks on the door. At first, he thought it became simply the vintage residence settling, or possibly a stray animal. But then he observed it took place at the same time: 3:15 a.m. Thats while the shadow could appear. Every night time, without fail, it stood at the balcony—motionless, silent. Not pretty human, now no longer pretty smoke. A vague, ghostly parent with no features, but somehow... it stared at him. Arif by no means heard it speak, but he felt it whispering to his soul.