Night had fallen quietly.
The streets outside Ram's apartment were empty, washed in weak yellow light from the street lamp that flickered every few minutes. The world had curled itself into sleep. Even the stray dog at his gate had dug itself into a warm corner and drifted off.
Inside the room, Ram lay under his blanket, tired but peaceful.
No dream tonight, he thought.
No strange voices.
No heavy chest.
Just sleep.
He closed his eyes.
The fan hummed lazily above him.
Wind brushed the curtains.
His breath deepened, softened, slowed—
Until something cold touched his skin.
Ram's eyes flew open.
He lay still.
Very still.
His mind tried to explain it.
Maybe it was the blanket?
Maybe a breeze?
Maybe he imagined it?
But then it came again.
Something smooth…
something heavy…
something alive…
crawled across his chest.
A slow glide.
Cold like winter steel.
Weight shifting gently, like a living creature testing each part of his ribcage.
His throat tightened.
He didn't dare look down.
His breath stopped.
His fingers curled instinctively around the bedsheet.
The texture was unmistakable—
Skin. Smooth skin.
Cold skin.
Snake skin.
The pressure crossed from the left side of his chest to the right.
A movement so deliberate…
so real…
so undeniably present…
that imagination had no place in this moment.
Ram forced himself to breathe.
A shallow inhale.
A trembling exhale.
"If I don't move…
it won't attack," he whispered inside his mind.
Another glide.
This time across his shoulder.
He couldn't stay still anymore.
With a sudden panic-driven instinct, Ram jerked upright—
"AAH!"
He slapped the lights on.
The room flooded with white brightness.
He looked around.
Every corner.
Every inch of his bed.
Nothing.
No snake.
No creature.
Not even a shadow out of place.
His chest rose and fell rapidly.
"What… was that?" he whispered.
He ran his fingers over his chest, half-expecting marks.
Nothing.
His mind tried to rationalize again.
Maybe a dream.
But dreams didn't leave a lingering chill on the skin.
Dreams didn't feel heavy and alive.
He sat there for a long time, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to slow his heartbeat.
Finally, he lay back down, telling himself:
"You're tired. That's all."
But sleep didn't return easily.
And when it did—
It wasn't gentle.
---
The Second Night
The next night came with a strange heaviness.
Ram tried to follow his usual routine.
Sunrise.
Breathing.
Jog.
Work.
Feeding the stray dog.
Meditation.
But he couldn't shake the memory of that cold crawl on his chest.
It haunted him like a shadow following too close.
By evening, his body felt tired, but his mind was wired. The fear of lying down in the dark crept into him like a growing vine.
Still, sleep wasn't optional.
He eventually switched off the lights.
Closed his eyes.
And waited.
Minutes passed.
Maybe hours.
He didn't know.
His brain hovered between sleep and wakefulness.
And then—
Something shifted in the room.
A presence.
Like someone had just entered.
Ram's eyes snapped open.
He froze.
Because what he saw…
was not human.
Not one.
Not two.
But dozens.
Spirits.
Transparent.
Thin.
Flowing like fog trapped inside bodies.
Eyes dim, not glowing — as if they had forgotten how to shine.
Some looked like men.
Some like women.
Some like children.
And others…
others didn't look human at all.
A deer-like figure with broken legs.
A bird spirit with wings shredded like old cloth.
A shadow with no face.
A crawling shape that didn't belong to any species alive.
They didn't float.
They didn't hover.
They simply existed — as if they had been there all along and Ram had just now learned to see them.
One sat on his study table, legs dangling like a child.
Another leaned against his cupboard.
One stood by the window.
Two crouched near the floor, staring at nothing.
Not a single one looked at him.
But their very presence strangled the air.
Ram's body reacted first.
His hands trembled.
Cold sweat ran down his back.
His lips parted soundlessly.
His mind screamed:
RUN.
MOVE.
DO SOMETHING.
But another voice whispered:
"Breathe."
He remembered the way he had calmed himself.
Inhale… exhale…
He shut his eyes for a second.
And when he opened them again, the spirits were still there.
Still silent.
Still unmoving.
Still not acknowledging him.
Ram swallowed.
His fear had teeth, claws, fangs — but it didn't control him anymore.
Instead of running, he sat up slowly.
One of the spirits — a tall, thin male shape — slightly turned its head, not at him, but past him, as though reacting to some unseen sound.
Another moved its hand, slow as drifting smoke.
There was no malice.
No aggression.
Not even curiosity.
They felt like… shadows of something unfinished.
Lives with open endings.
Pain with no closure.
Memories that refused to dissolve.
Ram's fear softened — subtly, gently — replaced by something deeper.
Empathy.
He whispered into the darkness:
"I don't know who you are…
or what happened to you…
but I'm not here to harm you."
His voice didn't echo.
It absorbed into the room like water into dry soil.
The spirits didn't respond.
But something in the air shifted — a subtle drop in the intensity, like the room exhaled with him.
After a long while, Ram lay back down, eyes still open, watching them.
Minutes turned into hours.
Slowly, his heartbeat settled.
And eventually…
He fell asleep with spirits surrounding him.
For the first time, fear didn't win.
---
The Following Days
It became a pattern.
Not every night.
Not always in the same spots.
But often enough.
Spirits appeared when Ram was drifting between wakefulness and sleep.
Sometimes there were three.
Sometimes ten.
Sometimes many.
Some stood still.
Some moved slowly.
Some lingered like trapped memories repeating the last gesture they ever made.
Ram stopped reacting with terror.
He treated them like quiet beings who shared the room with him.
They didn't touch him.
They didn't whisper.
They didn't harm.
They lived silently.
Like fragments of a forgotten world.
---
Ram's Realization
One night, after a particularly long day, Ram sat on the edge of his bed, waiting.
Not for a spirit.
But for understanding.
And he asked the question aloud:
"Why me?"
The room remained still.
No spirit moved.
No sign appeared.
But deep inside him, his own heart answered:
Because you're changing.
And when a human awakens…
the unseen world begins to reveal itself.
He didn't know where the thought came from.
But he believed it.
Sometimes without knowing, we open doors.
And once a doorway to another realm opens…
It doesn't close again.
---
The Fear Returns
But peace never stays forever.
The spirits had never harmed him.
Until that night.
Ram had just laid down when a cold force pressed against his throat.
Not choking.
Not attacking.
But clearly touching.
His eyes shot open.
A spirit — one he had never seen before — hovered inches above him.
Its face wasn't fully formed.
Its eyes were hollow, like deep caves with no end.
Its mouth opened slowly, impossibly wide.
A whisper escaped — broken, fragmented, cracked like something inside it had shattered centuries ago.
"R—… a—… m…"
The first time they ever said his name.
Ram backed into the corner of his bed, his breath shaking.
"What do you want?" he whispered.
The spirit's jaw snapped back into place.
Its eyes rolled upward.
And then—
Every spirit in the room—
vanished.
Instantly.
Like they had been sucked out of the air.
Ram froze.
The sudden absence was worse than their presence.
His room felt emptier than ever.
Abnormally empty.
Unnaturally silent.
A cold dread gripped him.
Something had changed.
Something bigger was approaching.
Something darker.
He clutched his blanket tightly as a horrible realization sank into him:
The spirits weren't warning him.
They were reacting to something else.
Something that had just entered his life.
And somewhere far away…
Sita's phone switched off.
The exact moment the spirits disappeared.
Ram whispered into the suffocating silence:
"What's happening…?"
The night didn't answer.
But destiny had already begun moving.
And this time, Ram wasn't waking up into a peaceful sunrise.
He was waking up into a storm.