Chill of the Unknown

The night was not as warm as usual. Mist hung heavy in the air, and the moon, obscured by black clouds, only seldom illuminated the sleepy village of Kandapur with its unsettling light. A young woman in her early twenties named Maya was returning home on foot from her aunt's house.

The streets were empty; she couldn't quite place her suspicions, but something didn't feel quite right. There was a noticeable absence of the often reassuring sounds of the night, such as the distant barking of dogs and the rustling of trees. The sound of thin gravel crunching beneath her feet was all she could hear.

Suddenly, Maya felt it—a cold, unnerving sensation against her arm. It wasn’t just the night’s chill. This was different, sharper, as if someone—something—had brushed against her.

She stopped, looking around, but there was no one in sight. “Is anyone there?” she called out, her voice trembling slightly. No answer.

She quickened her pace, her heart racing now, but the chill followed her, creeping up her spine like icy fingers. Every few steps, it felt as though an invisible presence was right beside her, breathing softly, touching her skin with a cold so deep that it left her shivering despite her thick woolen shawl.

The village’s old temple bell rang in the distance, breaking the silence. But it didn’t feel like a comfort. The sound was haunting, as though it had been rung by a hand long dead. Maya’s breath quickened.

“This is just in your head,” she whispered to herself. But the chill returned, more insistent this time—around her neck, her arms, her legs, as if she was being embraced by something she couldn’t see.

Ahead, her house came into view. She hurried, her steps frantic now, eyes darting left and right. She reached the door, fumbling with the keys, hands shaking uncontrollably.

Finally, she managed to unlock it, slamming the door behind her. Inside, the familiar warmth of the small, dimly lit living room brought a slight relief. But only for a moment.

As she leaned against the door, breathing heavily, Maya noticed something—a mist, faint but unmistakable, swirling in the air right in front of her. And then, she felt it again. The cold. Only this time, it was inside her house.

She backed away, eyes wide, scanning the room for anything that could explain what was happening. The temperature had dropped suddenly, and her breath formed small clouds in the air. A low creak echoed through the room.

The wooden floor beneath her feet seemed to shudder, as though something—or someone—was moving beneath it.

Maya’s mind raced. Could it be a spirit? She had heard stories from the elders—tales of restless souls wandering the village, seeking warmth, seeking life. She never believed them.

Until now. Her body froze in place, and just as she thought she couldn’t feel any colder, the icy touch returned, this time wrapping around her wrist like a grip. She gasped, pulling her hand back, but there was nothing—no hand, no figure, just the oppressive cold.

Suddenly, the window rattled violently, the glass fogging up instantly. And then, on the windowpane, as though traced by invisible fingers, words began to appear: I am here.

Maya’s heart stopped for a second. Who—or what—was here? Her hands trembled as she backed into the corner of the room, every instinct in her body telling her to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. She was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by fear.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the cold started to lift. The room grew warmer. The mist faded. But the fear remained. Slowly, cautiously, she approached the window. The words had disappeared, leaving no trace. Was it her imagination? She didn’t know. But one thing was clear: whatever had touched her, whatever had been inside her house—it was real.

Maya stepped back from the window, her pulse still racing. She didn’t sleep that night, sitting on the floor by the door, her eyes wide open, waiting, listening for the return of the cold touch that had haunted her.

The village’s stories of spirits weren’t just tales meant to scare children. They were warnings. Warnings Maya now understood all too well.