The Enigma of Chitterpari

Chapter 16 - "The Night of long knives"

A biting wind whipped through the dark, its icy fingers shaking the trees and stirring the night with an eerie, unsettling rhythm. The distant clamour disembodied shouts, piercing cries, and the unmistakable crash of glass rode on the wind, setting their nerves alight. Each step forward felt heavier, as though the air itself was thickening, compressing their chests with a creeping tension that grew unbearable. They quickened their pace, an unspoken dread shared between them, knowing that something ominous awaited, just out of sight, lurking beyond the next turn.

When they rounded the final bend, the scene unfolded like a grotesque nightmare brought to life. The heart of the village, once a cradle of tranquillity and familiarity, had transformed into a cauldron of chaos. The two small grocery shops, for years the lifeline of the community, were now the epicentre of a violent, uncontrollable frenzy. A crowd swarmed, pulsating with a raw desperation that stripped every shred of humanity from their faces. These were no longer neighbours—they had become something primal, driven to the brink by fear, hunger, and the ruthless will to survive. The fragile mask of civility had been ripped away, revealing the savage instinct lurking beneath. Bodies hurled themselves at the shops with frantic energy—stones, planks, and even bare hands slammed against the cracked windows. Jagged shards of glass glinted menacingly in the fading light, strewn across the ground like teeth from some monstrous jaw, ready to bite. Inside, the shelves that once brimmed with simple necessities were under siege. Hands clawed, tore, and grabbed for anything—cans, bags of rice, whatever could be wrestled free in the chaos. Sharing was no longer an option. The air buzzed with a greed so fierce it seemed to consume the very soul of the village, leaving only a raw, gnawing desperation in its wake. The cacophony of the mob swallowed the night—screams of rage, terror, and madness collided in the air. The crush of bodies, once bound by friendship, now turned on one another, fists flying, feet trampling, pushing and shoving with a brutal urgency that bordered on insanity. Sweat and fear mixed into a pungent stench that clung to the air, thick and suffocating. Wood splintered, shelves crashed, goods tumbled to the floor in an endless cascade of destruction, the sound echoing like the death knell of their once peaceful world. The village had fallen into madness, and they stood at its edge, paralyzed by the unravelling of all they had known. The village had turned into something unrecognisable, a swirling mass of madness and fear.
Arham was the first to move. Without a word, his feet pounded against the earth as he darted toward the crowd. His face was set, his eyes locked on the shops at the heart of the storm, but his mind had already gone blank—overwhelmed by one single, savage need.
Get supplies, protect the family.
Behind him, Dr. Younas followed, his calm demeanour shattered. His hands, once so precise in their work, trembled as he shoved through the throng, a man transformed by the panic clawing at his insides. His usual calm had evaporated; now, there was only the raw instinct to survive.
The group stood rooted to the spot, their hearts hammering in their chests, Abdullah was the first to break the silence, his words thick with disbelief. "What the fuck is happening?" His eyes widened with horror as they took in the spectacle before them.
"Is this... even real?" Ali's voice was barely a whisper, lost in the wind as he watched Arham and Dr. Younas struggle against the mob. Their faces twisted, eyes wide and wild, as they fought through the crush of bodies like animals cornered by an unseen predator.
Hamza, gripping the amulet hanging around his neck so tightly his knuckles turned white, muttered under his breath. "They've lost it..." His voice trembled as if he couldn't comprehend the scene before him. His eyes flicked from one familiar face to another—each distorted by hunger, fear, and something even darker.

Madness.

Abbas stood beside him, his face grim. "Everything's falling apart," he said, shaking his head slowly. "And we're stuck here..."
Ali's stomach churned as his eyes swept over the scene.
The villagers fought—no, they tore at each other—for whatever meagre supplies they could grab. The sharp glint of shattered glass reflected their teeth ready to devour anyone who came too close. The children were even worse, they screamed, their high-pitched wails cutting through the air like knives. They clung to their parents—tiny hands gripping whatever they could, terrified eyes wide as they were dragged along in the chaos. Their cries were swallowed by the adults, too lost in their own frenzy to notice the terror in their children's eyes. A mother shoved her way through the mob, her child trailing behind, forgotten, as she reached out for a bag of rice. Another man wrestled with a neighbour, the two of them clawing at a can of beans, their grunts animalistic, stripped of language, stripped of reason.
Ali swallowed hard, his mouth dry.
"Look at them.... Those freaks of nature.." Abdullah's voice was low, filled with disgust.
"They're animals now."
In the chaos, the elderly sat on the outskirts, their faces etched with a sorrow so deep it was as if they had aged a hundred years in mere hours. They watched with hollow eyes as the village—their village—was consumed by darkness. Some sat quietly, as if resigned to the fate that had befallen them. Others wept silently, their tears lost in the chaos, as they bore witness to the collapse of everything they had built.
A sharp crash ripped through the night, louder and more jarring than the chaos that had filled the air until now. Heads turned in unison, eyes snapping to the small shop on the edge of the village square. The door, barely hanging by its hinges moments before, had been ripped clean off and now lay crumpled on the ground like a broken carcass. The crowd swarmed toward the gaping entrance, surging forward as if drawn by a force far greater than hunger—something darker, more primal. The walls groaned as bodies pressed inside, elbows and fists flailing, driven by a desperation that seemed to make the very air vibrate with tension. Inside, shelves were stripped bare in seconds, the floor disappearing under a sea of discarded wrappers, broken jars, and shattered glass that crunched beneath the frantic shuffle of feet.