The Thread of Darkness

It was a sleepless night for him. Maybe because of the hot summer air, or the thoughts that clouded his mind. But he was still determined to get some sleep. He struggled until midnight, tossing and turning in bed with his eyes closed. It happened just as he was starting to drift off. A slight thump... A rush of fear infiltrated his heart, waking him up from his slumber. As he strained his ears to pick up even the slightest change in sound, he realized someone or something was walking toward him. His heart beat faster as the slow, damp feet approached him. The sound stopped just beside his bed. He pushed his face into the bed, his body completely still—his desperate attempt to appear like a lifeless body betrayed only by the up-and-down motion of his pounding heart.

He no longer heard the fan running, nor the crickets outside—only a growling breath beside his bed. Determined not to make the mistakes that the characters in horror movies do, he thought: Whatever it is, it cannot hurt him as long as he’s under the protection of the blanket. It is, and always has been, the armor that shields him from dark forces. In that made-up relief, he controlled his breathing, now completely still without any movement. The only thing he had to do now was wait until it realized he was already dead and left.

But then he felt a cool breeze on his feet and realized his legs were outside the sheets—the only part of him that wasn’t protected.

"Should I pull my legs under the sheets? It hasn't noticed that yet. Maybe I'm safe."

Clouded by conflicting thoughts, he finally decided to slowly pull his legs under the sheets. Suddenly, he felt something grab his feet. A chill ran down his spine, his heart raced as panic set in. All his efforts had gone in vain.

"I’m gonna die a miserable death."

Each touch pressed down on him, exerting its dominance over him, trailing over his body and dragging itself to his ears.

"Look at me..." it said in a sweet voice, trying to cover the underlying growl.

"It’s just a nightmare," he thought to himself, pushing his face deeper into the bed, hoping it would all go away.

But it didn’t. It continued to drag itself over him, exerting its weight, sending cold waves through his body, its real voice becoming more and more apparent.

"Turn around...

I want to see your pretty face...

I want you to be mine...

Don’t you want it too?"

He wanted to scream, but he lost his words. His tongue felt dry, unable to utter a single sound. He called out to the gods—any of them—it didn’t matter whom—he just wanted to be saved. But no one listened. Still, he prayed with all his heart, hoping someone would show him mercy. But with each passing second, he cursed the gods for not helping him, for not doing their duty to rid him of the evil.

After a while, the abuse stopped. A slight relief, but his mind remained conscious of the surrounding danger. It was no time to be at ease.

Just as his fear began to subside, it came again, stronger than ever, sinking deeper into him, trying to turn him around.

"Ah..." A faint sound escaped his mouth.

Holding on to the bed as tightly as he could, he struggled to not turn around, not to look at it. That’s when he remembered one of his grandma’s ghost stories about Brahmarashas, Chathan, Odiyan and more (malevolent beings in Hinduism), and one among them, an unnamed being who longs for a body.

"It will come at the shade of night, bringing a cold breeze with it. It will try everything it can to enter your body, to fulfill its deepest desire to live again."

"That’s scary, Grandma. How will it enter my body?"

"Its desire is so powerful, it will be able to do it just by looking into your eyes."

"That’s not fair! What would I do if it comes for me?"

"Ha… ha… You don’t have to worry, my dear. I won’t let it near you. I’ll protect you, okay?"

"Promise?"

"Promise. It will never be able to break my strong boy. You know, it might be scary and powerful, but it’s scared too—scared of not fulfilling its desire. And if you’re brave and you don’t give in, it will lose its powers and break apart, abandoning its desire for a body and settling into its default form—a thread."

"A thread? Why a thread?"

His memories blurred.

He took a deep breath, summoning all his strength, determined to fight back.

"I won’t give in."

He tightly wrapped himself around whatever he could find, shutting his eyes, determined to survive.

At last, his determination won. The weight on his back turned into a cool breeze and moved to his hand. He felt a thread on his hand. A sigh of relief escaped him.

"But what if it’s another deception?"

Determined not to open his eyes with all the strength he had left, he called out for his mom. He only opened his eyes after he felt the warm presence of her. He cried out, explaining everything. She comforted him, saying,

"It was just a nightmare. Nothing more. I’ll stay with you, you just sleep, okay?"

"But why a thread...?" He thought

Seeing the thread on his hand, his mind recollected the lost memories...

"Thread is its last deception... Masking itself as the deity’s symbol, hoping people will tie it around their wrist, allowing it to enter them... You need to burn it in fire, don’t forget—burn it in fire..."

Just as he tried to tell his mom to burn it, she had already started tying it to his hand.

"This will help you get rid of all the bad thoughts."

"No, Mom, we have to burn it!"

But it was too late. Panic set in. His heart began racing, his vision blurred, and he lost his strength. His head moved on its own, and he saw it—in his mom’s hand...

A THREAD, JUST LIKE HIS...