The day after the meteorite fall were quiet.
No one noticed the small fragments that fall into the river.
It sank silently, vanishing beneath the murky current near the bend where children used to swim.
The next morning, Nay htoo caught a fish that didn't feel quite right. It thrashed harder than usual and bled greenish fluid when gutted . It's bones looked softer too - almost rubbery . He frowned but said nothing.
His mother boiled it for lunch.
Nay htoo went about his days like usual . He helped his mother fushnets and played tag with other children in the muddy fields.
The stars that had fallen were the only real topic of conservation.
But by the third morning, something felt wrong .
It began when U Ba Gyi didn't show up at the tea shop . He was old , and sometimes foeget the time . But his wife had left early for the fields and when she returned at midday she found their hut empty.
That evening, the sky turned a dull red before fading into night . Not blood - red - just off enough to make Nay htoo glance twice.
The next morning air felt thinner than usual.
Nay htoo sat by the riverbank , staring at his empty fishing net . Not a single ripple moved across the surface. No fish . No insects. Even the birds , once and playful this time of day , we're absent - like the whole forest had taken a breath and chosen not to exhale.
He tugged the net back in and laid it beside him. May htoo approached quietly, carrying a bundle of boiled rice wrapped in banana leaf.
" Still nothing?" she asked, setting it down beside him .
He shook his head. " Not even a nibble it's like the river died overnight ".
May htoo looked across the Still water . " Ko lin didn't come home last night. His mother was crying. "
" He went to the mango grove, right? "
Nay htoo asked.
She nodded " He should've been back before sunset. His flip - flops were still by the hut this morning. "
By noon , another name was added to the whispers.
Uncle Dway , the old woodcutter, hadn't returned from the northern trail. His cart had been found abandoned just before the tree line .
" They probably went deeper into the forest, " one man said.
"Or took shelter somewhere," another added.
But no one believed it.
The mist came first.
It slithered between the bamboo huts just past midnight, thick as smoke, swallowing the moonlight. May htoo woke with a gasp, her throat tight.
Beside her, Nay Htoo stirred. "What—?"
"Shh."
The village was never silent. Not truly. Even at its stillest, there were always frogs singing in the paddy fields, the rustle of palm leaves, the distant yip of a prowling fox.
Tonight, there was nothing.
Then—
Squelch.
A wet footstep, just outside their door.
May Htoo's nails bit into Nay Htoo's wrist. The oil lamp flickered, its frail light trembling over the walls. Shadows stretched too long, too thin, like something was pressing against the other side of the bamboo.
Another step. Closer.
Something dragged itself through the mud—a slow, sticky sound, like meat peeled off bone
Nay Htoo reached for blade.The knife wouldn't save them. He knew that. But his fingers curled around it anyway.
The footsteps stopped.
Right outside.