Voices from the Deep

“What the—! Who’s washing dishes by the pond?”

Sujoy screamed out loud.

Hearing his shout, his parents looked down from the rooftop toward the pond—but saw no one there. They quickly brought Sujoy back inside the house.

This pond has a reputation. It’s said that once every year, it claims a life—be it human or animal. The legend goes back to 1990, when the pond was first dug. Back then, the entire area was surrounded by dense jungle and crime was rampant. A mad old woman was murdered and buried beneath this very pond. Not just her—several other bodies were said to have been buried here as well.

But the old woman never harmed anyone. Many people claimed to have seen her. She doesn't show herself to just anyone—only to those going through a rough patch or, strangely enough, those about to enter a prosperous time.

“I wonder why our son saw her,” Sujoy’s father whispered to his mother.

“Who knows… Lately, the dogs have been howling at night. They stand in a circle near the pond and just... howl,” Sujoy’s mother replied, eyes wide with worry.

“It’s late. Let’s get some sleep.”

“You go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute,” she whispered back.

The pond stood still. It had been the center of many strange sightings over the years, but nothing ever seemed harmful. That is, until about a month ago, when everything changed. No one knew why the pond suddenly turned violent.

These days, whenever a newborn boy was born in one of the nearby houses, he would mysteriously go missing. And it wasn’t just babies—chickens and goats began disappearing from the village homes without a trace. People blamed petty thieves at first, dismissing the incidents. But when the disappearances increased, the villagers decided to take action. They hired two night watchmen, promising to pay them a monthly fee.

It worked—at least for two nights. The third night, the thefts began again. But now, there was something new. Each house began to get hit with stones—actual bricks and pebbles thrown out of nowhere. And in the morning, the stones would be gone without a trace. Strangely though, huge rocks would often be found near the pond the next day.

This convinced many that something was wrong with the pond.

At the villagers’ request, the two watchmen were posted closer to the pond. Sujoy’s family even started sending them dinner every night. It was the peak of summer—many villagers stayed awake at night, especially those who had farms and animals to protect.

One Wednesday night, dinner was served—rice, lentils, green jackfruit curry, and bokful fritters. The watchmen ate heartily on the field beside the pond.

“Ratan, take the plates back to Sujoy’s place,” Amit said. “I’ll wash up in the meantime.”

But when Ratan returned from the house and approached the pond, what he saw made his blood run cold.

He saw Amit being dragged into the middle of the pond by four or five short, hideous, dark figures. Even under the moonlight, their faces were hard to make out. But Ratan could clearly count them—four or five of them.

He screamed.

Hearing his cry, neighbors rushed to the spot. They too saw what was happening.

The next morning, Amit’s body floated to the surface. No one wanted to go into the water, but a few brave men finally pulled his body out.

Word spread fast. People from surrounding villages came to see the haunted pond. Many believed it was responsible for all the strange happenings.

But this was clearly the work of some supernatural force—and only someone with spiritual powers could deal with it.

Many shamans, monks, and occultists were approached, but none were willing to take the risk.

Finally, one tantric agreed—only if he was paid a hefty fee. Around the same time, news came that Ratan had died. He had been suffering from a high fever, talking nonsense, and then passed away.

The villagers, shaken, begged the tantric to begin the ritual as soon as possible.

He chose a Tuesday night—on a new moon, no less. The ritual began at 11:00 PM.

The tantric drew a sacred circle on the ground and warned everyone not to cross it. Then he began his chants. He threw some sacred ash into the pond. The water rippled violently, and even the surrounding trees began to shake in the wind.

Suddenly, something terrifying happened.

From the faraway sal tree, a dark figure floated down and landed just a few feet from the tantric. No one could tell if it was a man or a woman. It was darker than the darkest night.

The tantric scooped some water and ghee, swirled them above the fire, and hurled it at the figure.

Then he spoke in a booming voice:

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

In a chilling, inhuman voice, the figure replied,

“I want revenge.”

“Revenge? For what?” the tantric asked.

“I want to destroy Supriya—Vidya’s wife.”

“Who are you? Why do you want to kill her?”

“I’ve stayed in this pond for years without harming anyone. But Supriya—ugh, what a vile woman. Either punish her, or give her to me.”

“What did she do?” the tantric demanded.

“One afternoon, she went to Saikat’s house. No one was home—Saikat was at school, his mom had gone to fetch water, and his dad was at work. Supriya and Saikat’s mom were on friendly terms. And Saikat had a baby sister, barely a few months old.”

“She started playing with the baby—dancing around, holding her. But suddenly… she dropped her. Then she heard Saikat’s mom approaching. Fearing she’d be blamed, she picked up the baby—who wasn’t moving—and carried her to the pond.”

“She tied the baby inside a drum, added sacks full of bricks, and sank it into the water. No guilt, no remorse—just pure selfishness.”

“Ugh!”

________________________________________

“Hey, brother... Brother, would you like some sherbet?”

I jumped up, startled.

Turns out, I was wearing headphones and typing this story on my phone. I was on a train, headed to my uncle’s house.

Who was calling me?

I looked out the window. A man was selling mango-flavored sherbet. I was scared out of my mind.

I said no and quickly shut the window, put my headphones back on, and went back to writing.

But then...

My heart skipped a beat.

How was that possible?

The train was moving at full speed—so how did I just have a conversation with someone standing outside the window...?

That day, I couldn’t finish the story.