It was the kind of night when even the stars hid.
Thunder cracked open the sky like a curse, and the wind roared through the banyan trees as if something ancient had awoken. Rain lashed against the small clay-roofed homes in the remote village of Kalapahar, nestled deep in the dense forests of Bihar. It was a village older than memory, where traditions bled into superstition, and shadows lived longer than men.
In one of the smallest huts on the outskirts, the screams of a woman pierced through the storm like a knife through silk.
"Ay Allah... save them!"
The midwife stumbled in the dim lamplight, her hands shaking, soaked in blood and sweat.
Inside, Fatima Begum lay twisted in agony on a torn cotton sheet. Her husband, Haji Qasim, a quiet, aging man with deep eyes, knelt outside the room muttering verses from the Quran under his breath, his trembling fingers clutching the prayer beads.
The pain was unnatural. The labor long. The storm... relentless.
And then—two cries.
One a boy. The other a girl.
Twins.
The midwife looked at them and froze.
They didn't cry together. No.
They cried in perfect alternation.
One after the other. One... then the other.
Like call and response. Like ritual.
Their eyes opened too soon.
Too sharp.
The boy looked at his sister first.
The girl turned her tiny face toward him and blinked.
The thunder outside fell into silence.
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Five years passed. The village didn't forget the night the twins were born. Nothing ever felt quite right after. Chickens laid eggs in odd shapes. Wells dried during monsoon. Children claimed to see "people" walking upside down in the fields. But no one blamed the twins. Because the twins saved lives.
The boy was named Ayu—piercing hazel eyes that always looked like they were watching something behind you. The girl, Ayumi, had skin like pale moonlight, and the softest voice, but never blinked when she looked someone in the eye. They were never apart. Not even for a moment. They slept on the same straw bed under a single worn blanket. Ayumi would curl beside him, kiss his cheek, and whisper, "Good night, Bhaiya." He would kiss her on her forehead and whispered, "Sleep, Ayumi. Stop being pagli." And yet, his arm always pulled her close.
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It began with a goat.
Old Kaleem Uncle's goat went missing one night.
The first real strangeness came on a summer morning. Their house stood at the end of a narrow dirt lane, right before the forest. Beyond their home, the trees began—tall, thick, whispering trees, always swaying even when the air was still. They were on their way to fetch water from the village well when Ayumi froze. She tightened her grip on Ayu's hand.
"Bhaiya," she whispered. "He's watching us."
Ayu followed her gaze. Under the neem tree by the riverbank, tied to a broken pole, was Kaleem Uncle's goat—the white one with one horn and a habit of chewing shirts. But something was wrong. Its neck was twisted at an impossible angle. Its eyes—wide, wet, and open—stared directly at them. And blood, thick and dark, had pooled at its mouth. Ayu felt something cold slide into his chest, like ice poured directly into his heart. Ayumi took a step forward.
"Don't go," Ayu said sharply, gripping her wrist.
She didn't move. Just tilted her head, like listening. Her lips moved slightly, almost inaudibly. "He says... someone who looked like you came last night."
Ayu's face tensed. "Who?"
"A boy. Like you. But he walked backward. His face was wrong. His teeth were too many."
Ayu's stomach turned. He glanced again at the goat, but now it looked just like any dead animal. Yet the air around them grew heavy, like a presence was draped over their shoulders. Ayumi turned slowly to her brother, her eyes glassy.
"He says it whispered something to him before it broke his neck."
"What did it whisper?" Ayu asked, almost against his will.
Ayumi's voice dropped to a hush. "Run."
They ran.
That night, Ayumi wouldn't sleep. She kept her forehead pressed against Ayu's shoulder, eyes wide. "He still talks," she whispered.
"Who?"
"The goat. He says... the one who killed him is looking for us next."
Outside, a dog howled. A lantern blew out in someone's courtyard. The shadows outside their window leaned inward, like they were listening. Ayu lay there stiffly, listening to the sound of his sister's breath. But something strange crept into his ears that night. A whisper. It was faint—like wind under the door. Then again, louder. A voice. Not Ayumi's. Not anyone's he knew. It said his name.
"Ayu..."
He sat up, heart pounding, but the room was empty. Ayumi stirred beside him.
"You heard it too?" she asked without opening her eyes.
He nodded.
Ayumi curled closer. Her voice was barely audible now. "They're starting to talk to you too."
The next night, Ayu kissed her forehead before sleep. He didn't know why. It just felt right.
Three days later, Kaleem Uncle found his second goat dead. No wounds. Just a snapped neck. And a symbol—drawn in blood—on its side: A circle with an eye crossed out. The Maulvi came. He prayed. Said it was shaitaan. But neither twin said a word. That symbol—it burned in Ayu's mind. He'd seen it. Somewhere. But couldn't remember where.
The village buzzed with unease. The older women muttered under their breaths, some clutched taweez around their necks. Children weren't allowed near the trees after dusk. Yet no one blamed the twins. Because a week before, Ayumi had told Ramesh Bhai not to let his son ride the buffalo cart into the forest. "The wheel will break," she said. "And the snakes will come." Ramesh Bhai laughed. The next day, he broke his leg in three places. And the cart's wheels were found coiled with dead vipers.
Ayumi never lied. Ayu never guessed. He just knew.
They kept it secret—what they saw. The way shadows sometimes moved the wrong way. The way people they didn't know smiled too long. The way the air in some houses turned heavy—like someone had just breathed their last. They never told their parents. They never told anyone. They only told each other. In whispers. In bed.
But that wasn't the end of the goat.
That night, when Ayu got up to drink water, he saw something by the door. A shape. Squatting. Looked a bit like Ayu.
But its neck was straight now.
Its eyes blinked.
It turned to him and whispered.
"I am coming. And I have your face."
Ayu dropped the metal lota with a loud clang. Ayumi rushed to him, arms around his waist.
"You saw him too?"
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END OF CHAPTER : 1 : THE BIRTH OF THE SHADOWS!
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