Kundan | Nani Ka Ghar | A True Horror Village Story

"My name is Kanchan Devi, and I have been here in this village for 40 years. As with any other village, ours was like any other. But all that has changed since my husband, Mahendra Chaudhary, died. Since you left, the villagers completely changed. Over half of them sold their fields, and those few who remained have lost all hope. They now think it's just a question of time when this village will be snatched from us.".

People from the village believe quickly. Others actually believe that one can never return. But presently, they shall see how the dead may come back to the land of the living. I will get you back. Are you hearing me? Ah, I am reminded again—you won't hear a thing. Anyway, I shall be going to meet you in the evening, at the garden.

This is the same garden where my husband met his death. Though the villagers hold the garden to be cursed and claim that it entices people, for me, it's the only area where I remain calm. When I was exiting the house, I saw my daughter Anu and my grandson Kundan coming down the path of the garden towards me. I was amazed—nobody ever ventures into that garden. Where were they coming from?

As they came closer, I asked, 'Where are you two from?'

'Nani. behind the garden,' Kundan faltered.

'The garden? Why have you been going there?' I shot at him.

'Not close to the garden, Nani. Behind the garden. There's a field where I was playing,' Kundan explained.

'And where was your Masi? What was she doing with you?' I asked.

'Masi accompanied me. She finished work early today and wanted to take a walk,' he clarified.

'Okay. Go home now. It's late,' I said sternly.

'Where are you off to, Nani?' they inquired.

'For a walk,' I answered.

'Where to?' Kundan continued to pry.

'The entire village is available for a walk. I'll go wherever I want. Now you two, go home,' I waved them off.

After they went away, I couldn't but wonder—did they know of the secret known to my husband and me? Soon enough, I arrived at the hut within the garden. As I entered, I could hear his voice.

'You're here,' he said.

'Yes. Do you feel what I am doing is wrong?' I questioned.

'Wrong for whom? The villagers?' he retorted.

'And who else?' I questioned him.

'It's for their benefit,' he stated.

'What benefit, Kanchan?' he dared to question.

'The debt of your presence here is being settled by the villagers. If you remain, then the village remains. Without you, nothing will be left,' I clarified.

'But does that excuse gambling with the villagers' blood?' he insisted.

'Don't forget—you're no longer human. You're a spirit now. And to keep you grounded in this world, I have to have human blood every Amavasya (new moon). I'm only doing what's required,' I said firmly.

'Was it necessary to get Master Ji into this? He was my friend—someone dear to me. But you subjected him to the same life as the others,' he bemoaned.

Don't forget, the voice you now have as a spirit was only possible due to Master Ji," I reminded him.

"But he was my friend," he said sadly.

"He wasn't just your friend. He was close to our whole family," I stressed.

"And now you've dragged our family into this? Does that mean Anu and Kundan came here?" he asked in alarm.

Yes, they did. And they read the letters you wrote," I disclosed.

"What were Anu and Kundan doing here? And why, when I asked them, did they say they had been behind the garden?" he questioned.

"Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it," I reassured him. "You just get ready for the next Amavasya.

On my way back home, I knew that soon I would have to start answering the questions my family members would pose. But I knew what I should say. I entered the house and found my daughter Anu there.

'Where are you coming from, Anu?' I asked her.

'I went for a walk,' she said.

'Where to?' I persisted.

'To the garden,' she owned up.

'What were you doing at the garden?' I went on.

'I visited the hut,' she admitted.

'Oh, so you visit the hut? And what is it that you do there?' I asked.

'I feel at ease with Papa there. I feel as though I can converse with him,' she revealed.

'And how do you converse with him?' I asked.

'By leaving him letters,' she said. 'And he reads them.'

'Really?' I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Yes, there are plenty of people who still talk to the living in the form of letters after death," she said.

"Why don't you write the letters at home then?" I asked.

"I don't sense his presence at home. I sense it in the garden," she replied.

"And you believe his ghost reads your letters?" I asked.

"Yes. Why don't you?" she shot back.

'Then why did you hear his voice in your dreams? Didn't you?' she questioned.

I was confused and annoyed and ended the conversation. Anu left, but I knew her questions wouldn't end. She would ask more sooner or later, and I would have to be more careful.

I wasn't about to let my family fall into this conflict—a conflict that started on the night our door was knocked. When my husband answered, there stood John Matthew. He was a wealthy man with one and only purpose, which was to acquire the villagers' lands.