The Costume
Lost in dark thoughts, Zayan realised his thoughts were fractured as he staggered back.
*What the—?*
He stood beside Daniyal, Ayan, Saad, and Adil. All four of them looked ruffled too—as if they, **themselves,** had walked straight into Khan Sahib.
“I-I’m s-sorry, b-boys. I-I s-should have warned **you,** ” Khan Sahib breathed.
He broke off as if he had heard something.
His tall, dark form loomed against the trees like something that had stepped out of a story—the kind of story their mothers never told them, the kind that kept you awake with the lights on.
Shivering slightly, Zayan, his brothers, and friends stood peering about the forest. It was so dense that even early afternoon sunshine could not illuminate the forest floor.
Then, a voice—barely more than whisper made them whip their heads around.
“The policeman isn’t following us anymore.”
A collective sigh of relief escaped them.
Ahsaan was creeping toward them slowly, a dart gun clutched in one hand, a shuriken star protruding from the fist of the other.
“They aren’t following us anymore.”
“G-good,” Saad gasped. His voice was too high. He knew it. He did not care.
“Hush, not so loud,” **Ahsaan** breathed, going utterly still, as if readying himself to lunge and strike. *Hopefully I broke his wrist.*
After a moment’s pause, Khan Sahib began to creep forward. The boys followed, ears pricked for any sound beyond the crunch of dead leaves and twigs beneath their boots. Every snap was a footstep. Every rustle, a hand reaching.
“You came in that, Khan Sahib?” Zayan asked, staring at the 1973 Toyota Corona.
“Yes, dear… Zayan, what is wrong?”
Zayan was staring at the dark car as if it were a monster. His chest rose and fell too fast. His skin prickled. *Ya Allah… it is… grinning.*
“Z-Zayan…?” Khan Sahib’s voice was gentle, but it came from far away.
Slowly, Zayan pointed.
Feeling uncertainty crawl up his spine, Khan Sahib followed Zayan’s arm. So did Ayan, Saad, Adil, Daniyal, and Ahsaan.
In the murkiness, the grille—with its protruding monogram centered between two headlights on each side—gave the car the look of large lips smiling unpleasantly.
“The policeman had an Audi V8, my boy. No need to feel anxious.” Khan Sahib unlocked the car, but his hand shook. Zayan saw it. They all saw it.
He drove through side roads. Ayan understood why: he was ensuring no one followed. *Even if they did, they would feel confused.*
*Unless they already knew we would go zigzagging,* Ayan thought, looking wildly out the window. Tall, dense silhouettes passed by slowly. *Phew, I think I need a rest...,* his thoughts broke then.
“I’m sorry to drop you all at Ahsaan’s, but I must inform the lorry drivers about that officer,” Khan Sahib said, glancing warily around the car. His eyes moved like a hunted animal’s.
*Hm. He holds his arm as if… as if… how…! Blimey, **my** Pa’s friend… **The** fathers kid with **the** vial…* thought Ahsaan.
Then Adil’s voice broke his thoughts.
“That’s all right, Khan Sahib. Our father is on his way.”
With a low growl, a large black dog bounded from the Zafar mansion gates and skidded to a halt beside the boys.
“Well… *FeeamanAllah*, boys,” Khan Sahib muttered. He pressed the clutch. The old car’s body rattled as its engine groaned and pushed it forward into the dark.
As one, the boys hurried through the main gates. The dog followed—ever watchful, ever silent. The gates clanged shut behind them like a cell door closing.
“Who was that man, Ayan?” Ahsaan asked, striding towards the front door.
Ayan, deep in thought, did not answer. *Why would Rayan tell his mother one thing, and then do another thing?*
But it was Zayan who replied. “Grandpa’s friend.”
“I know that.” He paused, and then added, “What is his name?” Ahsaan’s voice was carefully calm, but beneath it—something else. Something coiled.
“Er… Asgh… no, Asfar,” Daniyal answered after a thoughtful pause.
Colour drained from Ahsaan’s face. It was like watching someone die standing up.
“A-Ahsaan…” Zayan began.
He broke off as Ahsaan’s expression shifted—a door slamming shut behind his eyes. The boy who stood before them now was not the same boy who had asked the question.
“Well… see you tomorrow, then. Hopefully.”
Taken aback by the abrupt change, Zayan, Daniyal, Ayan, Saad, and Adil exchanged glances. The same thought passed between them, unspoken: *What just happened?*
“Don’t worry. I’m fine. Would you like Amin—?” Ahsaan stopped as Saad and Adil exchanged a tense look.
“What?” asked Ahsaan.
Before either could answer, a white Rolls-Royce pulled into the mansion’s driveway. Saad and Adil’s car.
“*FeeamanAllah*, then,” said Ahsaan.
“Are you sure you’re all right? You’re still panting, and you look pale,” Adil began, his genius’s eye critical. But his voice trembled. He was scared too. They all were.
Ahsaan hugged him, holding on a beat too long. “We just got away from a corrupt policeman, didn’t we?” His voice was muffled against Adil’s shoulder.
Colour drained from Zayan’s face.
“W-would you like to stay here tonight?” Ahsaan asked.
For a moment, Zayan looked tempted. His eyes flicked to the warm light spilling from the mansion’s windows. Then he muttered, “N-no. I don’t like the second floor.”
Privately, Ahsaan agreed. His mind recalled two watchful pinpricks of eyes from the far end of the corridor. Something up there watched.
Daniyal’s voice filled his head: “W-what d-did y-you s-see?”
Ahsaan stared at him. He was watching him closely.
“What do you mean?” Ahsaan answered promptly, his face expressionless, his dark eyes unblinking.
“Ahsaan… we are your friends… and friends help each other,” Daniyal said, taking hold of Ahsaan’s hands.
Ahsaan melted.
“I-I d-don’t k-know… I mean, I nearly went up, and then turned away... But not before I saw something... or felt it... or maybe both...” He paused, looking as if trying hard to remember. “I am not sure now, but it is very...” He paused again, looking as if struggling to voice his feelings. “Yes, unusually m-murky, and protectively watchful.”
He broke off, as if whatever he had seen still disturbed him.
“D-did you see eyes?” Daniyal added helpfully.
“Sorry,” choked Saad and Adil.
Ahsaan looked at Daniyal, whose young face looked exactly as Ahsaan had felt the night his gaze had locked on the end of the corridor.
“Eyes?” Zayan asked, looking between Ahsaan and Daniyal.
“Come on—are you saying Mr. and Mrs. Zafar are hiding something ghastly?” Adil asked, trying to sound reasonable.
“You haven’t been there yet, have you?” Daniyal asked, looking at Saad and Adil.
“You haven’t been there either, Daniyal. Besides, everyone is possessive about something. For you, it is make-up **,** Daniyal. For Grandma, it is the second floor. I mean **,** it is not unusual for her to pull me away when I pulled on the robes...”
“R-robes?” Zayan interjected in a hushed voice.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
“What **?** I did not…” Ayan looked horrified.
“All five of us heard you say robes,” interrupted Zayan.
Ayan did not answer, but his terrified eyes answered it all.
“Crap, I shouldn’t have said it….”
“I know that, but you did. Why?” Ahsaan asked, quickly looking interested.
“Oh, come on,” Ahsaan pressed, as Ayan stood with his hands over his mouth.
“I-I d-don’t w-want to t-talk a-about it….”
“Why?” Zayan asked.
“Because a tired mind can spice things up,” Ayan answered, sounding like his natural self now.
Ahsaan smiled and said softly, “The cover has been set up well, my friend….”
“Yes, I am trying to emulate you,” Ayan explained.
“I see.” Ahsaan paused, and then added, “In that case, you are going to tell me why you **’re** looking as white as **a** sheet.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ayan answered truthfully.
“Fine, don’t tell me. I can **figure out** the story. The eyes belong to something that is either very dangerous or an intricately woven secret that hides a dark past.”
A heavy silence fell between them.
A wide-eyed Zayan broke it.
“Y-you mean… the place is wearing a mask.”
There was a pause before Ahsaan answered. “Yes… ironically, it is a religious mask.”
Saad and Adil felt their jaws drop.
Ayan stepped forward. “Look… I believe we are tired… our minds are playing tricks….”
“But the costume,” Daniyal interjected thoughtfully. He was staring at Ahsaan. “Means a show... are they all part of it?”
Ahsaan shrugged. “Not everyone… only some people.” His eyes rested on the LS 400 now.
“What are you going to do?” Zayan asked.
“Talk to them….”
“And if they do you in?” Zayan asked fearfully.
Before Ahsaan could answer, Ayan said sharply, “Would you stop that, please? The driver is waiting, and we’re running late.”
Ahsaan stepped back as Ayan, Daniyal, Zayan, Saad, and Adil opened the car doors and climbed in.
As the vehicle departed, Ahsaan sighed, frowned slightly, and walked up the front steps. He stopped short.
*The policeman was wearing a three-star badge… Sheriff. That’s why Khan Sahib looked so worried—*
The door flew open. A hysterical voice crashed against his eardrums.
“Ahsaan!”
Reeling, the shrill cry ringing in his ears, Ahsaan looked up.
A white-faced Mrs. Zafar stood before **him**. “Come in, my boy.”
Uneasy, Ahsaan stepped over the threshold. The foyer felt different now. Larger. Darker at the edges.
“I was so worried,” she said, seeming to hold herself back. Then suddenly, “Ahsaan… honey… what’s wrong? You look pale.”
“Let the boy breathe, Amina,” Mr. Zafar called from within.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ahsaan,” Mrs. Zafar gasped.
“M-may I go upstairs, please?” Ahsaan asked. His skin crawled. *If I don’t get away from Pa, I might attack him.* The thought was cold, clinical, true.
To his relief, Mrs. Zafar nodded.
Trying to remain calm, he hurried upstairs, closed his door, and leaned against it. His heart slammed against his ribs.
*Think, Ahsaan. Ma got the ticket fifty years ago. But the ritual… You didn’t see her. Asfar and Pa… wait. A day later, Rayan asked me about Khan Sahib. Did Rayan work for Asfar and Pa **?** But no **,** that is impossible **;** I would have seen him here... Not if Rayan knew about shortcuts. Crap! I hate this place… not the place—the man. Go. Dive reflex. Calm yourself—*
A soft knock drifted in.
“Ahsaan,” said a gentle voice.
He closed his eyes, summoning patience. “Yes, Ma.”
“I’ve brought you dinner, honey.”
Ahsaan gnashed his teeth. *Honey.* The word scraped. But for the life of him, he couldn’t make her understand.
Straightening his face, he opened the door—and stiffened. *Crap, what did I do now?*
Mrs. Zafar’s jaw had dropped. A pink glow crept up her neck.
“M-Ma?”
“Oh… sorry, dear—” Mrs. Zafar’s voice caught, breathless and flustered.
“Well. I-I cooked your favourite.”
She recovered herself with visible effort and held out the tray.
With a pang, Ahsaan saw what she carried: a sizeable tray laden with mutton kebab, paratha, juice, and a chocolate date-palm fruit. *A peace offering. A love letter in food.*
“T-thank you, Ma.” The words came out thick. He was fighting tears now, and losing.
“Are you sure you’re all right, honey?” Mrs. Zafar’s voice was soft, searching.
“I-I’m just tired.” The words came out firmer than he felt. Beneath his skin, he could feel his nerves finally, blessedly, beginning to settle. *Good. Keep it together.*
“Oh… well, then you probably want to be alone.”
Ahsaan didn’t answer.
“I-I understand. Well, eat this, please.”
He extended his arms.
“How did you get that?” Mrs. Zafar gasped, staring at his forearm. Beneath the soft hair, a livid mark shaped like a handprint—as if someone had gripped him and he’d wrenched free.
“Ma, I’m a child. I run about, fall over, get up,” Ahsaan said softly, his face expressionless.
*Don’t push it, Amina. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.*
“Of course. Sorry, dear.”
---
Miles away, inside the dark Rolls, the boys spoke little. Soon the vehicle pulled up near Ayan, Zayan, and Daniyal’s house, just one door from Saad and Adil’s larger home.
“Er…” Saad stepped out behind Ayan. “Could you sleep over at ours, please?”
Ayan was still analysing: Khan Sahib cradling his arm, that second call, Ahsaan’s white face. He shook his head. “No, I can’t.”
Saad paused, checking for eavesdroppers. “I need to make the glove. And I need your measurements—hair and skin texture too.”
“We can’t. Daddy is wait—” Ayan broke off.
Adil understood why. The house was dark. Their father wasn’t home yet.
“Ayan,” said Daniyal uneasily.
Zayan, Ayan, Saad, and Adil looked. Daniyal was pale, his face the colour of old parchment.
“What is that on the door?”
The five of them hurried up to the house, staring at the paper that seemed to pulse with an ominous aura. It shouldn’t pulse. Paper didn’t pulse. But it did.
“I think Dad left this note, but why is the sign… all wrong **?** ” Daniyal’s voice was hollow. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”
Ayan took the paper. His blood chilled slowly, like water turning to ice.
The signature was his father’s—every loop, every flourish identical. Except for one thing.
A mark. Small. Intricate. Pressed into the paper beside the ink, as if someone had stamped it there with a seal they shouldn’t possess.
Ayan’s mind flashed to the symbol on the police officer’s car. His badge. To Ahsaan’s white face when he’d heard Asfar’s name.
“Ayan?” Zayan’s voice seemed very far away.
Ayan looked up. His brothers, and friends were watching him, their faces pale and waiting.
“We’re not staying here tonight,” he said. His voice was calm. That frightened him more than anything.
The terrified boys hurried back into the Rolls, which drove through the ornate gates of the large Akhtar house.
Trying to remain calm, they climbed the front steps—and the door flew open.
“Oh, my sweetie pies! You’re here!”
A tall man wrapped his arms around Saad and Adil, kissing their cheeks. Heat rose in the twins’ faces. Their eyes stayed fixed on Ayan **and** Daniyal, who was watching Mr. Akhtar critically, and Zayan, who looked too nervous to smile.
“Oh,” said Mr. Akhtar, his gaze finding the three brothers. He looked at his sons. “So I finally get to meet Ayan, Daniyal, and Zayan.”
Taken aback, the trio found themselves wrapped in a tight hug.
“Oh… what’s wrong, sweetie pies? Crap, silly me. Of course you’re tense. New place, new people, tiring day.” The frankness, sharp observation, and generous tone took Ayan by surprise.
“Come in,” said the man graciously. “By the way,” he said to Daniyal. “What **do** you not like about my outfit?”
“The colours do not go well with your hair **,** sir,” answered Daniyal truthfully, after a pause.
The five stepped over the threshold. The house was bright.
Not the faint, jaundiced glow of the Zafar mansion’s chandeliers, but a warm, lived-in glow. Colours that didn’t judge. Proportions that didn’t loom.
For one dizzying moment, Ayan forgot to be afraid. The warmth seeped into him, loosening muscles he hadn’t realised were clenched.
Then he remembered: the note. The mark. The fact that his father was not home.
Even here, in this warm place, the cold followed. It sat at the back of his throat. It waited behind his eyes.
He looked at his brothers, saw the same thought in their faces. There was no escape. Only pauses between horrors.
“Would you like dinner now or later?”
“Dad, can we please bathe first?” Adil asked.
“A bath? At this hour?” Mr. Akhtar repeated.
“Yes, Dad. Rough day,” Saad answered.
“All right.”
Inside the kids’ room—a cross between a study, library, luxurious lounge, and research lab—Saad and Adil quickly stripped to their underwear and hurried into the bathroom.
Ayan turned to his brothers. “Are you saying someone else signed that note?”
