the very last edge of the village, where even electricity doesn't reach, stands Radharani's crumbling old house. As the night deepens, the mango trees surrounding the house seem to come alive—though the leaves don't stir, faint whispers can be heard, as though someone is calling a name over and over.
Grandmother Radharani still goes every full-moon night to the exact center of the mango grove, where an ancient well lies. The well is so deep that no one has ever seen its bottom. There she sits, holding a small wooden doll in her hands. The doll has two black hollows where eyes should be, and around its neck is tied a red thread—thick and dark, like blood that has dried and hardened.
One full-moon night, little Riya, chasing her ball, wandered into the grove. The ball rolled and came to a stop right at the edge of the well. As Riya bent down to pick it up, she heard a dry, rasping voice rising from inside the well:
"Mother… come… I'm here… so cold… very cold…"
Terrified, Riya stepped back. That was when she saw Grandmother Radharani standing there. In the moonlight her face looked waxen white, and her eyes burned like red flames. The doll was no longer in her hand—it was now sitting on the rim of the well, and its head was slowly turning toward Riya.
"You saw, didn't you?" Radharani's voice sounded strange now—as though two voices were speaking at once. "My Manik is still with me. It's just that… his body has become a little heavier. It's wrapped at the bottom of the well."
Riya tried to run but tripped and fell. When she put her hand on the ground to push herself up, something emerged from the soil—a hand. Dry, skeletal, bones protruding. The fingers reached for her ankle, grasping. Around the wrist was an old wristwatch, frozen forever at 12:07 on a night in 1998.
Radharani began to laugh. At first it was a whisper, then it grew into a guttural roar. "He wants you, child. Your voice… your eyes… they were exactly like his."
Riya opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Only a cold gust of air escaped her throat, as though it had risen straight from the depths of the well.
From the next day onward, Riya never spoke again. At night in her sleep her lips would move, and a faint whisper would escape:
"I'm here… so cold… very cold… Mother… come…"
The villagers still say that on full-moon nights, if you stand near the well in the mango grove, you can see two shadows. One is an old woman, the other a small girl. Both have red threads tied around their necks. And from inside the well rises a third shadow—reaching out with bony arms, as though trying to pull one more person down.
Anyone who has gone too close has never returned. All that remains is a single shoe lying by the well's edge… and inside the shoe, a red thread is coiled tightly.