The Demon's Dance

The Demon's Dance - A Short Story

The air in the village of Ranikhet was thick with the scent of incense and marigold. It was mid October, and Dussehra was being celebrated in full swing. Children ran through the streets with sparklers, women sang songs, and the sound of temple bells filled the air. But amidst the cheerful mood, something was off.

Sub-Inspector Asha stood at the edge of the forest, her sharp eyes scanning the dense autumnal woods. The festival had brought in many people, but along with them came whispers—dark ones. Four people had vanished in the past three days, all near the ancient temple whose ruins lay deep in the forest. There were tales of a curse, of spirits that wandered in search of revenge. The locals refused to speak openly, but Asha knew there was more to the disappearances than ghost stories.

Mohit Kishenchandani leaned against a tree, his hands stuffed in his leather jacket. His uncertainty became even clearer when he took a sip from a bottle. 

"You really think there's a ghost out there, Asha?" he asked, his voice dripping with skepticism.
Asha rolled her eyes gazing at his bottle. 

"I don't believe in ghosts, Mohit. But something, someone, is behind this. And we're going to find out what."

As they made their way into the forest, the atmosphere shifted. The laughter and music from the festival seemed distant, swallowed by the eerie silence of the woods. The trees, with their colorful autumn leaves, looked like they're watching. An unsettling energy hung in the air.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream ripped through the silence. They froze. Asha's hand instinctively went for the gun at her waist.

They reached a clearing where a woman stood, her eyes wide with terror. She pointed a trembling finger towards the fort. 

"The spirits... they're awake!"

Mohit stepped forward, his voice uncharacteristically firm. 

"There are no spirits. What did you see?"

The ancient temple loomed ahead, its crumbled walls covered in vines and shadows. Before she could answer, from the entrance, a figure appeared—clothed in a bloodred dhoti. Its eyes glowed unnaturally in the dusk light.

Asha raised her weapon. 

"Who's there?"

The figure didn't respond. Instead, it raised its arm, pointing directly at Mohit and walked straight towards them.

Mohit, despite his fear, grabbed a branch from the ground and hurled it at the figure. The branch passed right through it, confirming their worst fears. "It's not human!" he yelled, pulling out a flashlight from his pocket and switched it on.

The figure screeched, recoiling from the bright light, and in that moment, Asha saw a movement! Someone hiding behind a pile of stones!

Asha charged forward, tackling the figure to the ground. The mask slipped off!

"You!" she gasped. "But why?"

The distant rhythm of festival drums drowned out the village-mayor's answer, a haunting melody that whispered of human horrors lurking beneath the surface. The case seemed to be solved, but what else was lurking in the shadows of Ranikhet's autumn woods?