Manoj did not turn around.
He couldn't.
The whisper had come from directly behind him. Warm against his ear. Identical to his own voice.
"Come back."
Slowly, painfully, he forced himself to breathe.
Sayantika noticed first. "What happened?"
His eyes were still fixed forward. "It spoke again."
Anirban's jaw tightened. "What did it say?"
Manoj swallowed. "It… sounded like me."
Silence fell like a stone dropped into deep water.
Dustu shook his head. "No. No, that's not possible."
But nothing tonight had followed the rules of possible.
---
The fog thickened again, pressing close around them. The trees that had bent inward now formed a crooked wall behind their backs. The path they came from was gone. Not hidden. Gone.
Sibom wiped mud from his jacket, hands trembling. "We should stick together. No one moves alone. Not even two steps."
"Too late for that," Sayantika whispered.
They all felt it now.
The space between them no longer felt empty.
It felt occupied.
Like an invisible body brushing lightly against their shoulders when they shifted.
Anirban stepped toward Manoj. "Show me your hand."
Manoj hesitated, then lifted it.
The symbol burned darker than before. The edges looked wet, almost pulsing. Not bleeding. Just alive.
Sayantika leaned closer. "It's the same carving from the shrine."
"Why him?" Dustu asked.
No one answered.
Because they all knew.
This garden belonged to Manoj's family now.
And maybe… it never truly had.
---
A sudden snap echoed to their left.
Not a branch breaking.
A footstep.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
They turned together.
The fog shifted, opening just enough for them to see—
Another shape.
Not tall like the first figure.
Smaller.
Human-sized.
Standing between two crooked trees.
It wasn't solid.
More like a shadow cut out of deeper darkness.
"Who's there?" Sibom shouted, voice cracking.
The shape did not respond.
It lifted one arm slowly.
And pointed.
At Manoj.
Then it dissolved into smoke.
---
Dustu stepped backward and hit something solid.
He gasped and spun around.
But nothing stood there.
Only a tree trunk.
Except—
The bark had been scratched.
Deep claw marks.
Fresh.
Anirban ran his fingers over them carefully. "These weren't here before."
The scratches formed lines.
Not random.
Letters.
Half-visible.
Sayantika wiped away moss.
The words beneath made her breath stop.
"RETURN WHAT WAS TAKEN."
Manoj's head lifted slowly.
"What was taken?"
Anirban looked at him carefully. "You tell us."
"I don't know!"
His voice echoed strangely.
Too loud.
Too layered.
For a second, it sounded like two voices speaking at once.
The others heard it too.
They stepped back slightly.
Manoj noticed.
And that hurt more than the fear.
---
The ground trembled faintly beneath them.
A low hum rose from somewhere below the soil.
Not mechanical.
Organic.
Like something breathing under layers of dirt.
The shrine behind them cracked louder.
Stone pieces slid off.
And from the center of the carved symbol—
Dark liquid spilled again.
But this time it didn't drip downward.
It moved.
Crawling across the stone like living ink.
Spreading.
Searching.
Manoj felt heat in his palm.
The symbol there began glowing faintly.
The liquid on the shrine reacted.
It shifted direction.
Toward him.
"No," he whispered.
He stepped back.
The liquid followed.
Not fast.
Just certain.
---
"Run," Sibom said quietly.
"No," Anirban replied immediately. "If we scatter, it picks us off."
"Then what do we do?" Dustu snapped.
The whispering returned.
Louder.
Clearer.
Not distorted anymore.
"You promised."
"Left alone."
"Betrayed."
Manoj clutched his head.
Images flickered in his mind.
A younger version of himself.
Digging.
Laughing.
Years ago.
He had been ten.
He remembered sneaking into the deeper part of the garden with a shovel.
There had been something buried near the old shrine.
A box.
Wooden.
Old.
He had found it by accident.
He opened it.
Inside—
Black soil.
And something wrapped in cloth.
He never told anyone.
He had taken the cloth bundle home.
Out of curiosity.
Out of childish greed.
His grandmother had seen it.
Her face had drained of color.
She took it from him.
And burned it.
He had never asked why.
He never thought about it again.
Until now.
His stomach dropped.
"I took something," he whispered.
Everyone stared at him.
"What?" Sayantika demanded.
"I don't know what it was. Years ago. There was a box buried near here."
The ground trembled harder.
The whispers sharpened.
"Thief."
"Break."
"Return."
Anirban grabbed Manoj's shoulders. "What was inside?"
"I told you, I don't know! My grandmother burned it!"
The tremor stopped.
Suddenly.
Completely.
The silence that followed was worse than the shaking.
Because now—
Something understood.
---
The fog parted slowly in front of them.
Not randomly.
In a straight line.
Creating a path deeper into the hollow.
An invitation.
Or a command.
Sibom shook his head violently. "We are not going further."
"We don't have a choice," Sayantika said softly.
The trees behind them tightened, trunks grinding against each other.
Closing.
The only open direction—
Forward.
Toward where the fog thinned into deeper darkness.
Anirban exhaled slowly. "If you disturbed something buried… maybe it wants balance."
"Or revenge," Dustu muttered.
Manoj stared at his marked palm.
"It said return."
"But it was burned," Sayantika said.
"Maybe not all of it."
---
A sudden blur shot across the path ahead.
Fast.
Low to the ground.
Dustu screamed and stumbled sideways.
The blur stopped just beyond the fog.
And for half a second—
They saw it clearly.
A crouched silhouette.
Human-shaped.
But its limbs bent the wrong way.
Its head tilted unnaturally far to one side.
And its face—
Had no features.
Just smooth darkness.
Then it stood upright in a single unnatural motion.
Too fluid.
Too fast.
And whispered—
"Mine."
It lunged.
Not at all of them.
At Manoj.
Anirban reacted first, shoving Manoj sideways.
The shape passed through where he had stood—
Like smoke.
But the air around it froze solid.
Sayantika grabbed Manoj's arm. "Move!"
They ran.
All of them.
Down the path carved through fog.
Branches scraped their faces.
Roots caught at their feet.
The whispering chased them.
Footsteps pounded behind them—
And beside them—
And ahead of them.
Impossible directions.
Sibom tripped.
Dustu hauled him up.
"Don't stop!"
The path narrowed.
The fog thinned.
And suddenly—
They burst into a clearing.
But this one was different.
In the center stood a massive, ancient tree.
Its trunk split open down the middle.
And inside—
Carved into the exposed wood—
The same symbol.
Hundreds of times.
Layered over each other.
Manoj froze.
The mark in his palm burned violently.
The whispers stopped.
Total silence.
Then—
From inside the hollow of the tree—
A voice spoke.
Not layered.
Not distorted.
Clear.
Cold.
And patient.
"You took what was bound."
The ground behind them sealed.
The fog rose like walls.
They were trapped in the clearing.
The tree creaked.
Its split trunk widened slowly.
Like something inside was pushing outward.
"You will replace it."
Manoj's breath shook.
"Replace what?"
The tree groaned louder.
And from the darkness within—
Something began to crawl out.
Thin fingers first.
Then a hand.
Bone-white.
Too long.
Gripping the bark.
The others stepped back.
But the voice did not address them.
Only him.
"One for one."
Manoj felt the weight of understanding crush him.
The garden didn't want an object back.
It wanted balance.
It wanted something living.
And as the figure inside the tree began pulling itself into the moonlight—
It smiled.
With a mouth far too wide.
"To be continued…"