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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/BuddhaTheGreat on 2024-09-27 16:08:50+00:00.
Freshly out of some context? Maybe you missed my last post. If you have simply zero idea what I’m yapping about, though, you should really start at the beginning.
I’ve decided to clean up the titles a bit and formalize them so people can keep track of these posts better. Nothing doing about the previous entries; I’m not sure even an entire estate’s worth of money can convince the Reddit overlords to allow us to edit titles. Also, a lot is happening here. A lot. I’ll write stuff up as and when I can, but these instalments are going to get a little spaced out. On the brighter side, as long as I’m writing, I’m still alive.
It was a while until I mustered up the courage to leave the encounter site with the Spirals. Yes, I’ve decided to call those things Spirals, on account of the, you know, spiral faces. The star-eyes driver guy had given me zero idea as to how long his ‘protection’ would last, but when my skin began to crawl with the unmistakable sense of a predator watching me, I figured it was time to grab my luggage and go.
Taking his advice, I got off the roads and ducked into the alleys, weaving in and out occasionally as some paths ran into dead ends or particularly aggressive-looking cows. I did not initially think I would actually be able to navigate the village properly, given that I was literally a child the last time I saw it, but some sort of deep-seated subconscious memories must have resurfaced, because the dense semi-urban sprawl soon began to dissolve back into large fields and imposing farmhouses.
Unlike the fields at the edge of the settlement, these belonged to the richer farmers, and were much better kept and maintained. That meant I was getting closer to the manor, because these were estate lands that had been leased out for farming. A paved stone road ran straight through the fields and towards the house, but there was no way to be certain that this section was not also included in the ‘avoid roads’ titbit. Instead, I opted to trample through the fields.
I regretted that decision as soon as my foot touched the soil. The fields had been watered recently, turning them into a sopping, muddy mess that clung to my shoes and then my legs as I painstakingly trudged my way through. Some places looked dry, promising safety, but were, in actuality, congealed lumps of sludge that definitely did not send me skidding and faceplanting into the ground more than a couple of times. Mercifully, however, no massive mud monster or living tendrils of paddy rose up to attack me again. Mr. Star seemed to have been right; whatever wanted to kill me had not counted on me going off the beaten path (no, I haven’t settled on a name for the guy yet; please help me pick).
Soon, I could see the manor house looming in the distance, which meant that the estate boundaries were not far. Given that I was almost at my destination, I decided that it was safe to return to the convenience of the approach road before I had a few more close encounters with dirt. It was then that I encountered my first villager. Well, the first after my ride got eaten.
Imagine, if you can, gentle reader, that you are walking down the street near your house in the middle of the day, going pleasantly about your business. Then, a dishevelled man comes clambering out of the corner of your vision, caked in mud and lugging two dirty suitcases, armed with a knife jammed hastily into his pocket, sporting a thousand-yard stare and an irritated scowl. Then he locks eyes with you and begins sprinting in your direction.
Some of you may be braver than I am, but as for me, I would very much prefer to be wearing brown pants at the time.
As such, I could not truly blame the poor farmer for taking one look at me, clutching his lungi in his hands, and running full tilt in the opposite direction. To add to his woes, he was running in the direction of the estate, so I had little choice but to pursue him. In hindsight, my loud shouts to slow down, accompanied by wild gesticulation, may have done nothing to alleviate his fear.
It took no more than another minute or two of running and shouting before the road bent slightly downwards, sloping towards the estate’s hefty stone boundary wall. The cobbled road continued through the boundary and into our private lands beyond, but the way was barred by a massive iron gate guarded by two bare-chested guards with thick lathis. The farmer ran straight to one of them and grabbed his arm, pointing wildly at my demonic form galloping close behind, the sun at my back casting a suitably fearsome silhouette. The two of them looked at me, looked at each other, and quickly raised their sticks, brandishing them warily as they approached me. The villager cowered behind their bulk for protection.
Sensing that I was about two seconds away from getting my dome cracked, I slowed to a walk, holding up my hands (and the luggage in them) in a placating gesture.
As they got closer, they must have noticed that I was at least human, because their gaze slightly softened. Slightly. One of the men jerked his head up in the universal gesture: “What do you want?”
I wiped some of the sweat and dust off my face, hoping it would help my case. “Wait, wait, I’m just here to meet the lawyer!”
“What lawyer?” one of them barked.
“The estate lawyer. The one that dropped in a few days ago. Look, I’m Rajendra Thakur’s son. Birendra Thakur’s grandson? Apparently, I’ve sort of inherited this place now, so… Just calm down, okay? Don’t hit me.”
It wasn’t the best speech in history, but this did seem to give the guards some pause. They hesitantly lowered their lathis. “Rajendra babu’s son? Why should we believe you?”
“Hold on.” I knelt on the ground, opening one of the suitcases and extracting the inheritance letter. “Here you go.”
One of the guards took the envelope and pulled out the letter. “This is in English. I can’t read it.”
The other one, older, with a few greying hairs, slowly came closer and squinted at my face. “Wait… It’s him! It’s really him!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! Yes! I remember his face, though it has been so long! The young master! The Chhote Thakur is here!” He dropped his lathi and folded his hands together. “Forgive us, my lord, we could not recognize you like this.”
The other guard decided to trust him and folded his hands as well, bowing slightly. “Thakur, why are you covered in mud? Did something happen?”
“Oh, never mind that! He obviously ran into trouble on the way!” The older one waved at him dismissively, practically chasing him off. “Go to the house! Inform the family! Bring the palanquin!”
I raised a hand. “No palanquin, thank you. I’ll walk.”
“He’ll walk! Why didn’t you inform us you were coming, Thakur? We could have escorted you here.” He leaned in a little. “The village is not safe nowadays.”
I touched the edges of my face, where the skin was still dry and torn. “I’m aware. About that… there’s a dead body. Near the panchayat office. We were attacked.”
I expected some kind of reaction, but he only nodded solemnly. “Who?”
“Ramu. The—”
“The shopkeeper’s son.” He nodded again, before turning to the other guard. “You’re still here? Go!”
As he ran off, the farmer slowly came out of hiding, bowing. “Thakur! I could not recognize you. Otherwise, I would never have run!”
I stopped him before he could touch my feet. This seemed to be becoming a pattern. “I understand.”
“I should have helped you. I should have seen who it was.” He folded his hands. “There are strange people roaming around nowadays. Strange things, too. Not the ones we are used to. Others. I just did not want to die. I have a family.”
“Strange things?”
“The family will explain all, Thakur.” The guard motioned to the gate. “Please come with me. It is not safe outside the walls. And you! Go to the village and alert the others! Tell Ramu’s father too. We need to recover the body.”
“Yes, sir.” The farmer bowed again and ran off.
“Come with me, Thakur.”
As he took us through the gate, I noticed for the first time that the metal had been engraved with minute designs and writing. The wall was also similarly painted over with a variety of icons and pictures, some of which I recognized as religious. Most of them, however, held no meaning for me. There were also a variety of charms and trinkets hanging from ropes at regular intervals, but I barely had time to inspect them before I was ushered through to the other side.
Beyond the gate, the open fields fell away to a garden running along the inside of the wall. No, not a manicured lawn-and-flowerbeds kind of garden. A real garden, shadowy and tastefully overgrown. The road broke into a number of meandering paths, lit by open torches every few paces. Trees and shrubbery rose overhead, carefully curated into an intertwining canopy that provided shade on hot afternoons like this one. Flowers, weeds, creepers, and herbs all tangled with each other in the undergrowth, creating a dense carpet that seethed with constant movement from critters. Here and there, mushrooms poked through the green. Despite the lo...
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