Chapter 6: The Shadow
Anay awoke at dawn, the unsettling events of the previous night still lingering in the corners of his mind. Without wasting a moment, he hurried down the corridor to Ishaan’s room. As he entered, he discovered that the others were already gathered there, their faces etched with unease and curiosity. Questions hung thick in the air, each friend eager to understand what had triggered Ishaan’s sudden outburst—so uncharacteristic for someone known for his calm demeanor. They waited, tense and expectant, as the morning sunlight crept through the window, casting long shadows across the floor.
Ishaan sat hunched on the edge of his bed, his face drained of color, hands trembling as a cold sheen of sweat clung to his forehead. The others watched him, hearts pounding, as the room felt suddenly smaller, the silence thick and suffocating. Finally, Ishaan’s voice quivered through the stillness. “Last night, when we were on the roof celebrating… I saw something—someone—behind Saurav and Harshit.” His breath hitched, eyes darting to the corners of the room as if afraid the shadows might overhear. “It was the shadow of a woman, moving silently, gliding right behind them. But it wasn’t right. Even in the dim glow, I couldn’t make out her arms, her legs—nothing about her body was clear. It was as if she was made of darkness itself.”
He swallowed hard, knuckles white as he clutched the bedsheet. “But her tongue—God, her tongue—hung from her mouth, impossibly long, snaking down all the way to her waist. It flickered in the air like a serpent. I stared, frozen, unable to speak or even breathe, feeling as though icy fingers were closing around my throat. The way she moved, silent and deliberate, made my blood run cold. I knew, just knew, that if I made a sound or looked at her for a moment longer, she would turn and notice me.”
A chill swept through the room, as if the very memory of that night had summoned an unseen wind, and for a heartbeat, everyone felt as though the shadows on the walls had grown just a little bit darker.
For a long, suffocating moment after Ishaan spoke, a dense, unnatural silence settled in the cramped room. Anay’s voice finally broke through, quiet and shaken, as if each word cost him a piece of his composure. “Do you remember,” he whispered, eyes never meeting theirs, “that night I went up to the roof to take a call? When I came back down, I couldn’t speak to anyone. I couldn’t explain, not then.” He paused, his breath uneven, hands trembling on his knees.
“Up there, in the far corner, she was waiting. Not moving. Not blinking. Her presence was like a cold weight pressing against my chest.” The room seemed to shrink, the air thickening with invisible menace. “I forced myself to look, just to prove she wasn’t real. But all I could see was that face—blank, inhuman, her tongue—God, it hung out, impossibly long, curling downward until it brushed her waist. There were no arms or legs, just that gaping mouth and the tongue, twisting in the darkness.”
He shuddered, hugging himself as if to ward off a chill that clung to his bones. “I wanted to scream, but no sound would come. I just stood there, frozen, until she faded away like smoke. I’ve never felt so helpless, so watched.”
Ishaan’s voice was barely a whisper, trembling with an anxiety so raw everyone in the room felt it press in. “I thought… if I told anyone, she might come again. Maybe even to this very room, to take me.” He stared at the floor, his hands twisted nervously in his lap, and for a moment, the entire group was locked in a hush so deep it felt like the world outside had vanished.
The room was thick with fear, a silence so complete it seemed almost physical. No one dared move, as if the wrong gesture might draw the attention of something lurking just out of sight. It was Rahul who finally broke the stillness, his voice tense, but resolute. “Let’s go to the temple—the one at the entrance of the society. Perhaps the pandit there will know what to do.” The others nodded, relief flickering in their eyes, grateful for any direction, any action that might dispel the oppressive dread.
Without another word, they rose from their scattered places, the decision breathing urgency into their limbs. Clothes and shoes were donned in silence, the clatter of zippers and buckles echoing down the narrow hallway. Moments later, a small procession of anxious young men, hugging themselves against an inexplicable chill. Their footsteps rang against the concrete, carrying them past the looming apartment blocks. Every shadow felt alive, every gust of wind heavy with unspoken menace. At last, the temple came into view: a lonely beacon of light at the edge of the society’s entrance. The familiar scent of incense drifted towards them, oddly comforting. Together, shoulders hunched and eyes darting, they approached the sanctum, seeking not only the wisdom of the pandit, but also a fragile hope that their nightmare might soon end.
Ink of Dread 
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