Echoes from the Lake

Meera had always wanted to do something meaningful after graduation, so when she was offered a teaching job in a remote village in Gujarat, she didn’t hesitate. The village was small, and backward in facilities, but the people were warm and respectful. They all called her "Teacher Ji." She quickly adjusted to the village life, and the students seemed eager to learn.

However, one student kept getting absent—Ravi, a quiet boy who sat at the back of the class. One day, after school, Meera decided to ask another student, Ajay, what had happened to Ravi. She found him just as he was leaving the classroom.

"Ajay, why hasn’t Ravi been coming to school?" Meera asked.

Ajay’s face paled. His lips quivered as he struggled to speak. "Teacher Ji... he drowned... in the lake."

Meera froze. Drowned? How could no one talk about it?

“Why hasn’t anyone told me this?” she pressed. “Why isn’t the village talking about it? Does the class know?”

Ajay shook his head, his eyes watering. "Nobody talks about the lake." His voice trembled as he repeated, "Nobody."

And that was it. The conversation died there, leaving a heavyweight in Meera’s chest.

She asked around—neighbours, shopkeepers, anyone who might know. Each time, she was met with the same reaction: silence, and a slow, haunting shake of the head. No one dared to speak about the lake.

Meera’s curiosity only grew. Something was wrong with the lake, and she needed to know what. One early morning, while out for her usual walk, she heard a muffled scream. She looked toward the lake and saw Ajay struggling in the water, his arms flailing.

Without thinking, Meera ran toward him, diving into the cold, dark water. She reached out, grabbing his hand, but something was pulling him down. Something stronger than her, unseen but powerful.

Then, from beneath the surface, a figure shot up—black hair tangled, pale face twisted in anger. It was a young girl, no older than fifteen, her face contorted with rage. She screamed, a sound so sharp it pierced Meera’s ears and yanked Ajay into the water.

Meera was pulled out by a passing villager, who had seen her struggling. Soaked and shaking, she couldn’t believe what she had seen. Her mind refused to accept it. But the fear was real.

The man who pulled her out whispered to her in a low, shaky voice, “Teacher Ji, that lake… it’s cursed. You shouldn’t have gone near it.”

Meera, still gasping for breath, demanded to know what was going on. The villager hesitated but finally told her the truth.

"There’s an old bungalow at the upper end of the lake. Years ago, a migrant family lived there—a father, mother, and two daughters. They were poor and came from a low caste. The village wouldn’t help them, wouldn’t give them food. Desperate, the family thought of fishing in the lake for food. But when the villagers found out, they locked the family inside their house, accusing them of polluting the lake because of their caste.

The family grew weak, too weak to survive. They ate their dog first. Then, when the mother died, the father and daughters... they ate her.”

Meera’s blood ran cold.

“And then, when the father grew weak, the daughters ate him too. They couldn’t leave the house, though. The village had locked them in. It was during a time of great fear. People didn’t want anything to do with them because of their caste. They were forgotten, locked away to die.”

The villager looked down at the ground, avoiding her eyes. “The daughters eventually died, poisoned by the rotten meat they had eaten. And ever since... no one talks about it. But sometimes, the lake... it takes people.”

Meera couldn’t believe such a horrific story, but she couldn’t shake the image of that girl in the lake, pulling Ajay under.

Her curiosity now felt like a curse. Days later, on her walk, she saw two young girls near the bungalow. They were playing with a ball, laughing as if nothing was wrong. Meera hesitated but then decided to approach them. She wanted answers. They smiled and waved at her.

“Teacher Ji, will you play with us? Please!” one of the girls asked, holding out the ball.

Meera hesitated but, against her better judgment, kicked the ball back. The girls giggled. "Come inside, Teacher Ji. Just for a little while."

Before she knew it, she was following them into the old bungalow. The house was eerie, frozen in time. In the garden, a dog sat tied up, its eyes hollow, ribs showing through its matted fur.

Inside, the house smelled of damp and decay. A man sat on a rocking chair in the corner, wearing a dhoti and kurta. He rocked slowly, in rhythm to some unseen music.

Meera forced a smile. “Who is that?”

The girls giggled. “Papa! He likes his chair.”

Something about the man felt wrong, but Meera couldn't place it. She continued visiting the bungalow, bringing treats for the girls, yet each time, she never spoke to the father. He was always there, rocking, never turning to look at her. 

Then, one day, the truth revealed itself. Meera entered the house again, and the girls were eating candies she had brought. She glanced at the man on the chair—this time, she could see the other side of his face.

Her heart stopped.

The right side of his body was nothing but bones, rotten flesh hanging loosely from the skeleton. The left side was the only thing still intact. 

Meera screamed, backing away, but when she turned toward the door, it was locked. The same lock that had been placed by the villagers years ago was still there, rusted shut.

The girls laughed, their voices growing hollow and distant. The air thickened with the stench of death.

Trapped, with no escape, Meera realized the horror that awaited her.

The lake... the bungalow... the curse. There was no escape. No one had survived it. And now, it was her turn.