The rhythmic chirping of birds filled the air as the sun set behind the towering apartments, casting long shadows across the park. The laughter and shouts of children playing echoed, amplified by the coconut trees swaying gently on the sidelines. Suddenly, a boy struck the ball with such force that it rolled to the feet of a man sitting on a bench, lost in thought.
He picked up the ball and tossed it back with little energy before returning his gaze to a worn photo tucked neatly in his wallet—a snapshot of his wife and son. The evening breeze rustled his white kurta, its fabric fluttering slightly but held in place by his heavy frame. Then his gaze was drawn towards a father teaching his one-year-old son to ride a bike.
Father, his voice soft and calm, “Peddle it.”
Suddenly, his son appeared on the cycle, crying, “Father, don’t leave me,” as he pedaled a few meters.
He looked away, letting his eyes wander towards the clouds, when a mid-aged couple approached…
“We are with you, Raghvendra” said Mr. Kapoor, offering quiet comfort.
“You can call us at any time, Mr. Singh.” Softly added by his wife.
They bade him goodbye and left the place with their son, Krishna. As they walked away, a mysterious suitcase appeared on the path, but only for a moment. Raghvendra’s eyes locked onto it, and an unsettling voice echoed in his ears, “Hell awaits you.” He shook his head in disbelief as the suitcase vanished, realizing with a chill that it had been nothing more than a hallucination. But was it? No, I need to hold myself together," he muttered, trying to steady his resolve.
The sun finally set, and the moon took its charge in the night sky. Under the faint glow of the streetlight, he turned his head to the left, his eyes lingering on a charred, desolate bungalow as a suffocating weight settled on his chest. In the eerie silence his mind betrayed him, the echoes of their screams pierced his ears. His eyes turned numb and finally a single tear hesitantly traced a path down his cheek, another followed. He quickly wiped it away with his bare hand, but the tears continued their relentless path. When someone handed him a tissue.
Startled, he turned to his right and saw a man in a suit sitting next to him with a briefcase. He accepted with a nod of gratitude.
The soothing breeze turned into a gust of wind, its sudden force rustling the leaves as the echoes of a wolf’s howl and a dog’s bark shattered the park’s stillness. Raghvendra, gathering what little courage he had left, stood up, silently acknowledging his internal lapse. Before he could bid the man goodbye, his eyes locked onto the suitcase—a familiar sight from earlier. The man handed him a card: “WELCOME TO HELL.”
Raghvendra raised an eyebrow, his voice steady but tinged with disbelief, “Is this really the moment for this kind of joke?”
The man, unshaken, replied calmly, “It’s an offer of a lifetime.”
Raghvendra’s voice faltered, barely audible as he whispered, “Offer of a lifetime,” his anger rising. His eyes flickering with rage. He took a closer look at the card before tearing it into pieces. ‘And I reject it,’ he said, turning to stride toward his house, scattering the torn fragments in the air. The man smirked as the fragments of the card spontaneously ignited, their flames flickering in the dim light, leaving behind his briefcase marked with the symbol of the Macabre—a dead skull.
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The breeze exerted all its might to hinder Raghvendra’s journey home. Yet, his grief-laden body stood firm as his thoughts lingered on the enigmatic appearance of the man in the suit. Gazing at the stars, he muttered inwardly, " All I am left with now are the fading echoes of you and our little monsters’ memories” His eyes wandered, lost in the vastness of the sky, searching for some last flicker of hope, but disappointment soon etched itself across his face. With a heavy heart, he lowered his gaze and trudged forward, each step weighted with the burden of his thoughts.
The next morning, Raghvendra was stirred awake by the cheerful chatter of a child. Before he could even determine whether it was another hallucination, a small voice called out, “Wake up, Papa! Wake up!”. His son leaped onto him. “Let’s go play!”. When his wife entered with a tray, her tone soft but firm. “First, eat something.” The boy grabbed a piece of toast. The woman sat beside Raghvendra, her movements gentle and deliberate, as she softly said, 'Recently it’s been hard for you.” Raghavendra nodded as he wrapped her in his arms. His wife’s eyes filled with concern, further added, “But you need to move on.” Raghvendra, his voice crackling as he questioned, “How?” She slowly freed herself from his grip and, with a pained look, replied, “Find a purpose.”
Suddenly, the air grew blisteringly hot, and flames erupted around them. Raghvendra watched in horror as the fire consumed everything in front of him. His wife screamed, clutching their son, whose face twisted in pain. “Dad, you didn’t save us!”
The flames roared in his ears, the heat unbearable, and then, with a jolt, Raghvendra awoke—drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. He found himself back in his bed, the oppressive silence of the room a stark contrast to the nightmare he had just endured.
He splashed cold water onto his face, the droplets trailing down as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He murmured, “What purpose?”
His breath caught when his wife’s face appeared beside his—her features marred by burns, one side still hauntingly familiar, her eyes soft yet filled with sorrow.
“You should accept it,” she said gently. “It will give your life a purpose—and me, peace.”
“It might be another hallucination. Just like you, just like everything else I’ve seen,” he argued, his voice trembling with frustration and fear.
“Or maybe a chance for us to reconcile,” she reassured
His eyes welled up, emotions surging through him, but before he could respond, she vanished like a wisp of smoke.
Shaken, Raghvendra wiped his face with a towel, steeling himself. He glanced at the photo of his wife and whispered, ‘If there’s any chance to be with you, I’m going to take it. No matter what.” He then quickly hurried to the bench; his eyes fixed on the briefcase. Just as he reached for it, a hand rested on his shoulder. Startled, he turned to find the man in the suit was standing behind him.
“What’s inside?” Raghvendra asked, his voice edged with curiosity.
The man simply gestured toward the briefcase. “Open it and see for yourself.”
Raghvendra hesitated, then unlatched the briefcase. Inside was a single letter, on which in bold was written, “KUA WELCOMES THE NEW SOUL HAUNTER.” The moment he read it; the sky turned black; clouds formed around him. Raghvendra, his voice trembling asked, “What’s happening?” But the man remained unshaken, his coat clinging to him as though it were part of him, an unnatural stillness about him, “Your chance.” He replied. When a surge of power lifted him off the ground. His eyes blazed with flames; lightning sparkled in his hand. Pain shot through his body as he shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the transformation as a sword materialized in his grip. The immense pain coursed through him, turning his veins a deep crimson red. He tried to look away, but his gaze caught on a boy nearby. His eyes locked on the child’s face, confusion and anger warring within him.
But to the boy—and to anyone else in the park—nothing seemed amiss. There was only a man in a suit, casually scrolling on his phone, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
Moments later, Raghvendra was flung to the ground, unconscious. As the suited man calmly picked him up and with a smirk, he vanished into thin air leaving behind a single note:
“WELCOME TO KUA.”