The Dark Side: Anthology of Short Stories exploring the dark side

Yakshi Amma

In the dense backwaters of Kerala, surrounded by mist-covered mangroves and towering coconut trees, lies the ancient village of Vellanad. The village, untouched by modernity, is known for its annual Theyyam festival—a ritual dance that invokes spirits to bless and protect the community. But for the past three years, something has been wrong.

Strange whispers circulate the village about a haunting tale—one that takes root in the minds of those who hear it. The elders warn against listening, but curiosity often wins. The tale revolves around Yakshi Amma, a vengeful spirit who was once a devotee of the local deity. Betrayed by her people centuries ago, she cursed the land and vowed to haunt anyone who invoked her name. The villagers claim that hearing her story is enough to bring her wrath upon them.

It begins as an innocent conversation—a friend whispers to another about the tale, and suddenly, strange things begin to happen. Flickering oil lamps, eerie wails in the night, and footprints of a barefoot woman leading into the dense forest. No one admits it openly, but they all feel it. A presence, dark and suffocating, that follows them home, making even their shadows seem unfamiliar.

Suhas, a journalist from Kochi, arrives in Vellanad to investigate. Dismissive of local superstition, he intends to debunk the haunting and write an article about the psychological effects of folklore on rural communities. Suhas meets with Mani, the village's oldest resident, a man who carries the burden of the town's secrets. He is reluctant at first but eventually reveals the story of the Yakshi Amma—a woman wronged by love, betrayed by family, who cursed not only those who killed her but their descendants, tying the fate of Vellanad forever to her rage.

Mani warns Suhas not to listen too deeply, and not to dwell on the details, for the story has a way of taking root in your mind. Suhas, brushing it off as paranoia, laughs. But that night, in the small homestay where he resides, Suhas hears a soft tapping at his window. When he looks outside, there's no one there. But the tapping continues. The next morning, a figure made of ash is drawn on the ground outside his door—an omen Mani had described in chilling detail.

Over the next few days, Suhas interviews more villagers. Everyone has their version of the haunting, each more unsettling than the last. Some claim to have seen the Yakshi Amma at the edge of the paddy fields, others say they've heard her weeping in the kavu (sacred grove), and a few even describe sleep paralysis episodes where they feel her long fingers wrapping around their necks.

Suhas tries to remain skeptical, but the strange occurrences escalate. One night, while reviewing his notes, he catches a glimpse of a shadow in his peripheral vision—a woman draped in white, standing at the far end of his room. When he looks directly, there's nothing there. His rationality starts to fray. Sleepless nights and the weight of the villagers' fear start to erode his skepticism. It's not just in their heads, he begins to think—it's in his too.

The local priest advises Suhas to leave before the Theyyam festival when the spirits are at their strongest. Suhas, though shaken, decides to stay. He feels the story is too compelling to abandon. He wants to get to the bottom of it, to see the ritual firsthand and prove there is no curse.

As the festival begins, Suhas witnesses the Theyyam performance—a vibrant yet terrifying dance where the performer becomes possessed by the deity. But as the dancer enters a trance, something goes wrong. His body contorts unnaturally, and a voice, not his own, escapes his throat—a woman's voice, shrill and full of venom.

"Leave," she hisses through the dancer, her eyes locking with Suhas's, "before I finish what I started."

The villagers panic. The Theyyam dancer collapses, unconscious, and the crowd scatters. Suhas feels a chill run down his spine. The curse was no longer just a story—it was unfolding before him. His breath quickens, and everywhere he turns, the image of the Yakshi Amma seems to follow him. He leaves the temple grounds and returns to his homestay, packing his things in haste.

But just as he is about to leave, he finds a note slid under his door. The handwriting is unmistakable—it's Mani's. It reads: "You heard her story. You know what happens next."

Desperation sets in. Suhas drives through the winding village roads, away from Vellanad, yet the further he goes, the more lost he feels. The trees grow denser, and the mist thickens until the road is swallowed by it. In the distance, he hears the sound of anklets, the soft rhythm of someone walking. His heart pounds as he sees her—a silhouette in white, standing at the center of the road.

The car comes to a screeching halt, but when Suhas looks again, she is gone.

The villagers never hear from Suhas again. His car is found abandoned near the edge of the forest, doors wide open, keys in the ignition. No sign of him is ever found.

The story is now retold in every corner of Kerala. Those who hear it, even in passing, start to feel a presence, see shadows that shouldn't be there, and hear the soft tapping of unseen hands at their windows. Psychologists dismiss it as mass hysteria, folklore-driven fear. But the villagers of Vellanad know better.

They say the Yakshi Amma no longer waits for people to invoke her. The story is enough.

And whoever hears it...well, they know what happens next.