A Small Town – Evening
The sun had dipped low. A man, tired from the day's work, approached the modest home and knocked gently. The wooden door creaked open. A woman smiled warmly at the sight of him.
"You're back," she said softly.
He stepped inside, placing his bag down. On the floor, a little girl—barely three years old—was playing with a scattered makeup kit, her tiny fingers dabbing colors on her cheeks.
He knelt beside her.
"What have we here? A little artist?" he chuckled.
She giggled and reached for his nose with a lipstick.
The woman disappeared into the kitchen, returning minutes later with a steaming cup of tea. She handed it to him with care.
He took a sip, still sitting on the floor, the child now crawling into his lap. The scene was calm—almost idyllic. A picture of normalcy.
Knock. Knock.
Another knock echoed at the door.
The woman glanced at her husband, slightly puzzled, then moved to answer.
"Who is it?" she called out.
"Police." A firm voice replied from beyond the door.
She paused. The man rose slowly from the floor, brows furrowed.
She opened the door halfway. Two officers stood there, serious.
One pulled out a photograph and looked past her.
"Sakharam Galve?" he asked, eyes locking with the man now standing behind the woman.
The woman turned to her husband in disbelief.
"What's going on?"
The police didn't wait. They pushed inside gently but firmly.
"You're under custody. Come with us."
"What is this about?" she cried.
"He hasn't done anything!"
The neighbors began to gather outside, murmuring among themselves. Shock rippled through the small lane.
Sakharam said nothing. His eyes drifted to his daughter still sitting on the floor, unaware. Confused, but not resisting, he allowed the officers to take him.
A perfect life, fractured in seconds.
His silence said it all—he wasn't scared. But something inside him had just shattered.
From behind a dense neem tree, Rohan stood silently, arms crossed over his chest. Beside him, the shadow soul loomed like a dark silhouette, faint and flickering in the moonlight.
Across the narrow street, he watched as police escorted Sakharam into custody. The man showed no resistance, no panic—just calm acceptance. His wife pleaded, neighbors whispered, and the child watched unknowingly.
Without turning, Rohan spoke.
"You did good."
The shadow soul gave no reply—only faded into the wind like black smoke dissolving into nothing.
Rohan's eyes narrowed, still fixed on Sakharam.
The man didn't once glance back. Didn't question. Didn't beg.
"Why is he so calm?" Rohan muttered to himself.
"Why doesn't he look scared... even now?"
A chill passed through him—not from the air, but from the storm of questions brewing in his mind.
This wasn't over.
Sakharam was hiding something. And Rohan knew... he had to dig deeper.
Three Weeks Later – Midnight at Holkar Bridge
The sky hung heavy with clouds as Rohan walked alone along the fog-laced bridge. It was just past 1 a.m. The cold wind whispered across the iron railings, but he didn't flinch. He was used to this silence now.
Stopping near the center of the bridge, he stood still—waiting.
Moments passed.
The air thickened. The soul appeared behind him, a spectral presence hovering inches above the ground.
Rohan didn't turn. He simply spoke into the void.
"Sakharam has been arrested. So what now?"
A pause.
The soul's voice was clear and sharp, slicing through the fog.
"Bring him here."
Rohan clenched his jaw.
"No."
A beat of silence followed.
He turned—but the soul was gone.
Frustrated, Rohan exhaled slowly, then summoned his shadow soul.
"Find her," he ordered.
The spirit obeyed and vanished without a trace.
---
An Hour Later – Banks Beneath the Bridge
Descending from the bridge's edge, Rohan followed a narrow, overgrown path down toward the riverbank. The moon briefly escaped the clouds, casting pale light on a forgotten structure—a small, moss-covered temple nestled between rocks and reeds.
Inside, it was cramped and half-collapsed, but something felt wrong. Ritual markings stained the cracked floor. Strange symbols, burnt candles, and a bundle of ashes were scattered across the altar.
Then he saw them—two photographs, yellowed and pierced with needles. One showed a woman. The other, a young girl—about 8 years old.
His heart sank.
He pulled out his phone and took pictures of the evidence, the unease growing in his chest.
Rohan's Apartment – 2:47 a.m.
Rohan sat at his desk, the cold glow of the screen illuminating his tired face. He opened Kadambari's case file and compared it with the photographs he had taken at the temple.
"It's her," he whispered. "No doubt."
He stared at the second photo—the young girl.
"But who's the child?" he muttered.
Something wasn't adding up.
He leaned back, replaying everything.
Sakharam was found with a wife and a three-year-old daughter. But if that's true... then who was the girl in the photograph from the temple? And who was the voice pleading with me—'release me'?"
His eyes darted across the documents. And then, something clicked.
"No..." he muttered, rising to his feet.
He flipped back to Kadambari's profile. There—buried in the notes.
"One daughter, age 8, missing at the time of Kadambari's death."
His heart pounded.
"Could it be... her soul? Trapped like Kadambari?"
Rohan grabbed his keys, urgency overtaking exhaustion.
"If that girl's soul is still bound, then Sakharam knows more than he's told."
Without wasting another second, Rohan rushed out the door and sped into the night, heading straight for the police station.
He needed answers.
Police Station – 2:50 a.m.
Darkness swallowed the building as the power cut out. The backup generator rumbled once… then died, water hissing from its shorted panel—sabotaged.
Inside, a faint chill crept through the corridors.
A constable entered, his gait unnatural. His eyes—pure white, devoid of pupils. Possessed.
Without warning, he lunged at his colleague, slamming him into a desk. Chaos erupted. Two more officers rushed in, attempting to restrain him, but the possessed man fought with inhuman rage. Bones cracked. Screams echoed.
Then—silence.
The last remaining officer, bloodied and trembling, stood in the ruined hallway. He stared, paralyzed, as the soul shifted hosts. A whisper laced with malice filled the air.
The entity entered him.
Eyes now glowing faintly, the possessed officer moved mechanically. He limped to the key rack, pulled free the lockup key, and approached the holding cell.
Inside, Sakharam backed away, eyes wide with recognition.
"Please... don't. I want to live," he pleaded, voice shaking.
The possessed man tilted his head, smiling eerily.
"I want a body," he answered, voice layered with another.
The cell door clicked open.
---
3:45 a.m. – Rohan Arrives
Rohan skidded his bike to a halt outside the station. The building was shrouded in darkness. Inside, bodies lay scattered across the floor—officers bruised and unconscious.
His pulse quickened.
"Sakharam!" he shouted, sprinting in.
The cell was empty. The lock hung broken. The presence was gone.
Without hesitation, Rohan pulled out his phone—called for ambulances and backup. Then he rushed back to his bike.
The night wind whipped against him as he accelerated toward Holkar Bridge.
It wasn't over yet.
Holkar Bridge – 4:10 a.m.
Rohan scoured every inch of the bridge.
He sprinted across the span, searching beneath the railings, scanning the shadows where moonlight refused to reach. Nothing.
He rushed down to the riverbank, shoes sinking in the wet soil. The small hidden temple he'd discovered earlier stood silent. Cold. Abandoned. No fresh signs of life… or death.
No blood. No footprints. No Sakharam.
His breathing grew heavier—not from exhaustion, but from the weight pressing in on his chest.
He stood still.
"Shadow…" he whispered. "Come to me."
Silence.
He tried again. Louder. Then screamed the name that had never been given.
No response.
His eyes darted across the foggy landscape. The air felt thicker now. Still. Unnatural.
"Why… why isn't it coming?"
He stepped back, shaken. A chill traced his spine. He clenched his fists, trying to make sense of it.
"Did the soul take him somewhere else? Did it consume my shadow too?"
A single terrifying thought crawled into his mind:
What if… I've lost control?
Rohan stood in the dark, utterly alone, with questions echoing louder than the silence around him.
Somewhere Unknown – 4:44 a.m.
Rain lashes against the jagged rocks outside a hidden cave. Thunder rolls above.
Inside, a dim oil lantern flickers, casting long shadows on the uneven stone walls.
A faint tap… tap… tap…
Something is knocking—barely audible—against the inside of a thick, dust-covered glass bottle.
Inside it: a swirling mass of black mist. Alive. Trapped.
Rohan's shadow soul—its form distorted, weakened, desperate.
The bottle rocks slightly again.
Tap… tap…
Across the cave, on a makeshift bed of blankets and crates, a figure sleeps. Face obscured. Breathing steady. Calm. As if everything is exactly as planned.
Lightning strikes.
For a fraction of a second, the shadow soul's reflection appears on the glass—eyes wide with fear.
To be continued…