The Khet-ki-Mend Haunting 1
1813 Words
The Khet-ki-Mend was a slim, raised dirt trail that carved through the sprawling farmland, serving as the main artery to St. Joseph’s Modern School. In the golden light of the afternoon, it was a picture of pastoral peace. However, as the sun dipped below the horizon, that serenity curdled into a predatory gloom. Once night fell, the neighborhood surrendered to an uneasy silence, broken only by the rhythmic hum of crickets and the lonely, metallic chime of the temple bell signaling the evening aarti.
Anjali felt a crushing weight in her limbs. The frantic drumming of her heart was so loud it seemed to muffle the sound of her own gasping breath as she ran. To her eyes, the shadows were no longer still; they twisted and lunged, turning every dark corner into a hiding place for something wicked. Lungs burning and mind reeling, she finally collapsed onto the parched earth, a silent plea for rescue on her lips. But before any savior could arrive, a heavy, unnatural exhaustion claimed her, dragging her down into a dark and sudden sleep.
A rasping voice, thin as brittle paper, sounded in the darkness: “Anju, you can’t run from me, you know that, don’t you? I promised I would hunt you until I claimed you. I will destroy you, and nothing shall ever stop me!” The creature was an entity of pure dread, a figure resembling a withered old woman. Her skin and head were covered in sparse, patchy gray hair, her long incisors protruded grotesquely from her closed mouth, and her eyes were thin, sunken slits in the skull-like face.
An icy touch brushed against Anjali’s shoulder—a sensation so frigid it sent a bolt of terror straight to her core. She caught a momentary glimpse of a clawed, skeletal hand before a piercing shriek tore from her throat.
“Mother Shanti, help! She is going to take my life! I don't want to die! Please, Mother, save me!” Her scream shattered the midnight air, vibrating with a raw, primal dread.
The darkness of the Khet-ki-Mend seemed to swallow her whole, and she drifted back into a heavy, dreamless void.
Eventually, that same cry sliced through the early morning stillness of the family home like a jagged blade.
“Anju, wake up! It is only a dream, open your eyes!” Shanti’s voice cut through the fading echoes of the scream. She had been in the parlor when the first shout rang out—a sound so harrowing it sent her flying down the corridor. She burst into the room, the silk of her sari rustling against the doorframe like a storm of dead leaves.
“Save me! Help me!” Anjali continued to sob even as she jolted awake. She was drenched in a cold, oily sweat, her heart thumping so violently against her ribs she feared they might snap.
Shanti rushed to the bedside, her face etched with a mother’s panic, and pulled the girl into a fierce embrace. “Be calm, Anjali. What has happened? I could hear your cries from across the house.”
“Mother, she returned!” Anjali’s knuckles went white as she clutched Shanti’s gown. “She won't stop hunting me... this time, she almost succeeded. I’m terrified. She won’t leave me alone. Please, Mother, you have to do something.”
Shanti rocked her daughter back and forth, her hand moving in a steady, calming rhythm. “Hush, my child. It was merely a nightmare, I promise. Your father and I are right here; we will keep you and your brothers safe no matter what. You have a clean soul, and no shadow can harm you under this roof. It is just that recurring bad dream, beta.”
The heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps suddenly vibrated through the stone floor of the hallway.
“Anjali, another one? The same vision for the third time this week?” Prakash appeared in the doorway, his tall frame casting a long shadow that stretched across the floor and up the dark wooden wardrobe. His voice carried a weight of deep, focused concern.
Anjali scrambled out of bed, leaving the comfort of her mother for the unshakable presence of her father. “Yes, Papa! Mother doesn't believe how real it is.” she cried, burying her face in his chest. “She was monstrous this time. So old, with fingers like sharpened claws. Her eyes... they looked like glowing embers. She hunted me all across the trail!”
Prakash held her tightly, stroking her hair while his eyes scanned the dark corners of the room where the lamp’s glow failed to reach. It was as if he were searching for the literal ghost his daughter described.
“Forgive me, my precious girl,” he murmured with a heavy gravity. “We will find refuge in the light. Shanti, go wake the boys. We must all gather at the Pooja Ghar for morning prayers.”
He began to lead Anjali away, but Shanti remained frozen by the bed, her fingers nervously twisting the bedsheets. Her voice rose, brittle with a defensive edge born of hidden fear.
“Prakash, Anju is just imagining things! There is nothing there! Anjali, please... do not bring such talk of evil into this house!”
Prakash didn't look back. He understood his daughter in a way Shanti was too afraid to acknowledge. To him, Anjali was a rare soul, a gift from the heavens after years of waiting. He knew this was no fantasy. Her "Sight" was a divine, if heavy, cross to bear.
Shanti, however, saw fear as a toxin. She preferred the comfort of logic—that the girl was simply exhausted from her studies at St. Joseph’s or had listened to too many ghost stories from the village children.
As they walked toward the prayer room, the flickering orange light of the diya lamps beckoned, yet the chill on Anjali’s skin persisted. Her face was a map of a hidden world her mother refused to recognize—a world that was waiting for her just beyond the school gates.
The rising sun provided little warmth, only the cold start of a Monday morning. Anjali pushed her terror deep inside, masking it for the sake of the school day.
The morning mist still clung to the Khet-ki-Mend when Prakash’s Premier Padmini gave a violent, mechanical cough—a rough “Ruh-ruh-ruh!”—before finally sputtering to life. The beige sedan began its slow, careful crawl toward the school.
Prakash stopped the car where the dirt path met the school boundary, leaning over to open the passenger door.
“Anju, wait a moment before you head in,” he said, his brow furrowed with worry. “I want you to know that I am handling this. Don't let those dark dreams ruin your day, all right? We have sought the Maker’s help, and Bhagwan has promised to shield us from every shadow.”
Anjali’s expression brightened momentarily. “I understand, Papa. I’ll be brave, I promise. Please tell Mother to make Dal-Roti-Sabzi for us tonight...”
“Anju, I hate Dal-Roti! Tell Mother to make Rajma Chawal instead! It’s way better, and I know you actually like it more!” Rajesh piped up from the rear.
Rajesh, her eleven-year-old brother, was the family’s resident wit, always eager to voice an opinion. He sat beside Suresh, the youngest.
Anjali, a courageous sixteen-year-old, stepped out onto the dusty path. She was a top-tier student, and her academic brilliance was a point of immense pride for her parents. Prakash truly believed she was destined for greatness.
She was a well-known figure at St. Joseph’s Modern School, located right on the Ratanpur trail, famous for both her friendly nature and the many trophies she had earned for the school. Her brothers attended a nearby primary school.
Waving goodbye, Anjali shouldered her bag and walked toward the iron gates as the sound of the old sedan faded into the distance.
The school courtyard was buzzing with unusual energy. Students were huddled in tight groups, whispering feverishly.
“Hey, Anjali!” Mengah shouted, sprinting toward her and coming to a sudden stop.
“Good morning, Anju! It’s good to see you,” Sushi added, offering a quick, warm hug.
“Morning, Mengah, morning, Sushi. It’s good to be back after a weekend that felt like it would never end,” she murmured. “What is happening? Why is everyone so worked up?”
“You haven't heard the news? Wait, did you just get here?” Mengah asked, her eyes wide.
“Yes, Papa just dropped me off. I had that nightmare again. I was terrified. We had to spend the morning in the Pooja Ghar praying for protection.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Anju. Truly, it was just a dream,” Sushi said quickly, as if saying it would make it a reality.
“I don’t believe it was just a dream.” Anjali’s tone was sharp. She stared past them into the trees. “This is the third time this week. This isn't normal. The same entity—an ancient, terrifying hag—keeps hunting me. Mother agrees with you, but Father believes an evil force is lingering nearby. I can feel it, Sushi. I don't know where it's hiding, only that it's very close.”
Anjali stopped near a patch of tall ferns where the air felt strangely stagnant. “Look at what she did,” she said, unfastening her cuff.
She pulled back her sleeve to show them her forearm. The wound was jagged and fresh—a raw scratch that looked like thick, dull nails had been dragged through her skin. The edges were angry and swollen against her skin.
“I got this during the dream,” Anjali whispered. “When I woke up, the sheets were stuck to the wound. I’m scared, but Papa says we are protected.”
“Bhagwan protect us!” Mengah gasped, stepping back and covering her mouth. “Anju, you're terrifying me. This sounds like the ghost stories Grandma Pyati used to tell to keep us from playing outside after dark.”
The three girls stood in a heavy silence, the reality of the injury hanging between them. They began to walk toward a massive banyan tree in the garden, its gnarled roots hanging like ropes. Finally, they reached the notice that had the entire school in chaos.
“Anjali, we’re getting a new principal,” Sushi whispered urgently, glancing around to make sure no staff were within earshot.
- Writer
