Karthik, a fifteen-year-old, told himself he disliked spiritual practices because they had been relentlessly thrust upon him by his parents since childhood. But the truth was more complex, and far more painful. His friends at school relentlessly teased him, chanting mock mantras whenever he spoke, asking him to "cleanse the school with his prayers," or demanding he perform a quick pooja when he tried to offer an opinion. To them, he was merely "the priest's kid"—a walking, talking joke. Desperate for acceptance, for a sense of belonging that wasn't tied to ancient rituals, Karthik not only began to genuinely hate the practices, but he also made sure everyone knew it, loudly and often. This forced display of defiance, however, had slowly, painfully, fractured his relationship with his loving, yet unyielding, parents, who served as priests at the local temple.
The constant tension only worsened during his school holidays. A huge pooja was scheduled to take place at the temple, and for days beforehand, his parents began the frantic preparations, expecting his full participation. Every attempt to shirk his duties was met with failure.
He tried hiding at his school, only to be caught and severely scolded by both his parents. The next day, he attempted to hide within the temple itself, and was, of course, caught again. His friends, passing by, would often see him sweeping or carrying offerings, shouting jeers and mocking him for "lying" about hating religious practices. The humiliation burned, fueling his resentment even further.
For his next attempt at escape, he chose a place they would never visit: a cemetery on the edge of town. It was an old, open cemetery, sprawling across a forgotten patch of land, far from the well-trodden paths.
The graves themselves were arranged in a chaotic, disorderly manner, some leaning precariously, others half-swallowed by overgrown weeds and tangled vines. Broken gravestones lay shattered amidst the gloom, their inscriptions faded into illegibility, while fresh mounds of disturbed earth suggested recent, hasty interments. Hints of recent activity, like overturned soil near a splintered wooden cross, added to the unsettling atmosphere of neglect and disarray.
Despite the eerie atmosphere, Karthik barely registered the unsettling details. His only concern was finding a sanctuary from his parents' relentless demands. It was quite far away, and his parents would never dream of visiting such an inauspicious place, especially during the preparations for a holy event. He hid there, and for nearly two hours, no one found him. A new personal record, he inwardly celebrated. Pleased with his temporary freedom, he decided to stay a bit longer.
What he hadn't expected, however, was for the exhaustion from the long walk to catch up with him. He fell asleep amidst the shadowed neglect of the graves and only woke up when his watch read 10 p.m.
Panic seized him. He scrambled to his feet, about to rush back home, but a low, rhythmic chanting suddenly cut through the heavy silence. Despite the prickling dread, a foolish curiosity compelled him to investigate the sound, drawing him deeper into the cemetery.
A subtle rustle shifted behind him. He spun around, but the oppressive darkness revealed nothing. Or so he thought.
Though his eyes saw only shadows, the air suddenly thickened, filling with the cloying, putrid stench of a rotting corpse. It clawed at his throat, threatening to make him vomit. The feeling of being watched intensified, pressing down on him from all sides, a cold, unseen presence. He turned to flee, but a desperate voice sliced through the silence: "Please... help me!"
For a paralyzing moment, he hesitated. Should he dare to look back? Was this a trick of the mind, or something truly desperate? He chose to look, and what he saw sent a chilling tremor through every fiber of his being.
The disfigured, human-like figure, its neck and legs twisted at impossible angles, lurched towards him with a grotesque, shambling manner. Its eyes, though sunken, glowed with an eerie, sorrowful light. "Please... help me," it rasped again, its voice filled with an unbearable agony that seemed to echo from beyond the grave.
He trembled, fear freezing his muscles, but a primal surge of adrenaline broke through. He gathered what little courage he had left and ran, not daring to glance back. He burst from the cemetery gates, expecting the unnatural pursuit to be hot on his heels. Yet, there was only silence—a terrifying, ominous silence. Without daring to question its unsettling absence, he sprinted the rest of the way home, his mind a maelstrom of absolute horror and raw fear.