The rain was pounding so hard on the roof that the children were almost certain it would break through.
In the middle of the night, everyone was asleep—except for a few children. A little girl had gathered them around, telling stories as usual. But tonight was different. Maybe it was the heaviness of the weather, but she had chosen to tell a terrifying story this time.
Aria looked first at her best friends, Lina and Raghav, then at the other children.
"I'm going to tell you a story," she whispered. "A story so frightening, no one has dared to speak of it. This isn't a fairy tale—it's a curse."
"A long time ago, storytellers were seen as bridges between gods and humans. Every story carried a soul. But one day, a Brahmin scholar—Rishi Kaamdev—dared to write a story even the gods were too afraid to tell."
"It was about a being whose name must not be spoken. Its face was so terrifying that even the gods couldn't look at it. Those who did went mad, blind, or died. The gods forbade its name, erased it from memory. But Kaamdev grew curious."
"He wondered, 'Why would the gods fear something so much?'
Then one night, a voice in his dream whispered:
'Write me… or I'll be forgotten forever.'"
"And so he wrote. But the moment he did, the story began to write him. His pen moved on its own. His hands bled, his tongue stilled, his mind blurred.
By the final page... his face had changed.
The being came—and stole it."
"But the stolen face couldn't hide the horror beneath. Its eyes remained as pitch-black, bottomless voids. Once you saw them, you felt watched… forever."
"That being was Vetala. Born from unfinished stories. It haunts others, makes them write, then traps them in their own tale. The last sentence is never written by you.
It's written by it.
With your blood."
"Vetala waits in the shadows. It has no face.
Each new face... is another writer's doom."
A child asked, trembling, "Then why did you say its name?"
Lina and Raghav stared at Aria. But she wasn't looking at anyone. Her gaze was locked into a dark corner—as if something, or someone, was there.
The child touched her shoulder. "You're scaring me…"
Suddenly, Aria turned to him and shouted, "BOO!"
Lightning flashed. The ceiling groaned.
The Phone Call and the News of Death
Lina had fallen asleep at her desk. The sound of raindrops tapping against the window had pulled her into a memory from the past. But the sharp ring of her phone startled her back into the present. A name flashed on the screen: Aria.
"Aria?"
The voice on the other end was shaky and hoarse.
"Help me… I can't escape it. I never could. It… it wants you."
Aria sounded like she was having a panic attack. Her words were fragmented but held meaning—she was in pain.
"I don't understand… Who are you talking about? Are you in danger? Call the police, Aria!"
A scream rang out — a sharp, ear-piercing scream — and then the line went dead.
Lina called again and again, but there was no answer.
---
The Next Morning
An unknown number appeared on the screen. Lina hadn't slept. Her eyes were bloodshot, her voice exhausted.
"Hello?"
The person on the other end was silent for a moment. Then a hesitant but familiar voice spoke:
"You're Lina, right?"
Lina froze. "Yes? Who's this?"
"This is Raghav. Raghav Sinha."
Her stomach dropped. She hadn't heard that name in years, but she could never forget it.
"I was a friend from the orphanage," he said, pausing briefly. "I also… work with the police now."
Lina's hands began to tremble. Her voice came out barely audible.
"Did… did something happen?"
Raghav took a deep breath.
"Aria… she died by suicide last night. And your number was the last one in her call log. You were the last person she spoke to. So… I had to reach out. Maybe you know something."
Lina felt ice fill her chest. "No… I just… I still don't understand what happened."
Raghav's voice softened, though he kept a formal distance.
"I know… this isn't the right time for questions. But Lina… Aria had no one else. We were the only family she had from the orphanage. No one is coming to her funeral and… I don't want her to go alone."
Lina's voice broke. "Her funeral… when is it?"
"Two days from now. A quiet, official ceremony."
Lina closed her eyes. Her breathing was uneven. "It's been years, Raghav… I don't even know who you are anymore."
"But she never forgot you," Raghav said. "She used to talk about you all the time. Like… you were still with her somehow. That's why I thought… maybe you'd want to come."
For a moment, only the sound of rain filled the line.
When Raghav spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.
"We still don't know what really happened. There's no clear explanation. But… maybe something she said to you that night—some detail—could help us understand."
Lina lowered her head.
"She just… sounded terrified. Like she was running from something she couldn't name. It didn't make sense. I kept replaying it in my head all night but… none of it made any sense."
Raghav listened quietly. Then he said:
"Some people… carry a storm inside them. No matter what you do, it never leaves. Maybe Aria was one of those people."