Two days went by.
There was silence in the field. Never did the scarecrow go back to its place. Once full of cries and whispers, the wind now blew softly, as though the land had let out a sigh of relief.
However, something felt a little strange.
Deepak was the first to notice. The birds did not return.
The sky was devoid of crows. The trees are devoid of sparrows. The chirping and flapping of wings that had once filled the mornings had given way to an unsettling quiet.
With every hour that went by, Ramlal became quieter. More often, he sat on the porch and gazed blankly out into the field, as though he was waiting for something or someone.
"Are you okay?" One morning, while offering him tea, Deepak inquired.
At first, Ramlal remained silent."The seal took part of me," he said gently.
Beside him sat Deepak. "What do you mean?"
"I feel empty. As if the object I buried in that well demanded something from me in exchange for returning. His hand, which he had bled into the seal, caught his attention. It was nourished by my blood. I can feel it inside of me now. observing.
Deepak shuddered. That's the trauma alone. The terror. It will fade.
Ramlal smiled feebly. "I have witnessed terror. This isn't it.
It rained that night.
The sky cried over the dry ground for the first time in months. The smell of new earth rose as the fields soaked up the rain. With his arms extended, Deepak stood at the porch's edge, welcoming the storm.
Perhaps this was the purification they required.
Then he caught sight of them.
footprints.
In the freshly created, barefooted, deep, muddy walk from the well to the house.
His eyes trailed after them. They came to a halt at the porch steps.
then vanished.
Nobody had appeared. Nobody had gone.
"Uncle?" he called.
No answer.
Deepak hurried in.
Ramlal's seat was vacant.
The table's oil lamp flickered. and left after that.
Abruptly, a blast of chilly air blew through the house.
Then Deepak heard footsteps, slow and wet, dragging, a sound he hadn't heard since the first night.
from the rear room's direction.
He picked up the sickle from the kitchen counter and proceeded with caution.He opened the door with a push.
Ramlal was standing in front of the window.
"Uncle?" Deepak muttered.
Ramlal remained still.
He had shaking hands.
"Are you okay?"
No response yet.
Ramlal then slowly lifted one arm and gestured toward the window.
Deepak stepped forward, looking through the glass stained with rain.
Initially, all he saw was darkness.
Then a flash of lightning.
And it stood there on the field.
The scarecrow.
back at its position.
However, something had changed.
Instead of slumping, its head was tilted upward. It had stopped stretching its arms. They hung down. Limp. similar to actual arms. Additionally, it had a red thread in its hand.
Deepak stumbled backward. "No, it was sealed. We have it sealed!
Finally, Ramlal turned.
He had blood in his eyes.
Like tears, little red streaks ran down his cheeks from the corners.
His voice was no longer his own as he rasped, "I told you." "I lost something because of it."
Then he passed out.
With a cry, Deepak ran to grab him. He was scarcely breathing. As cold as ice.
Something moved inside him, as shown by the odd pulse that throbbed beneath his chest flesh.
After dragging him to the bed, Deepak wrapped him in blankets and turned on all the lights in the house.
Then he sat and gazed out the window at the scarecrow. It was still there.
But now he knew.
It was always there.
All it had done was alter form. A host had been found.
It had also selected Ramlal.
To be continued...