Chapter 1: The crying woods
The full moon hung in the sky like a pale, watchful eye. Its silver glow turned the most twisted corners of the forest into a haunting masterpiece. It’s a strange trick of nature darkness can turn a paradise into a graveyard, but the moonlight can make even a graveyard look like a dream.
A narrow, cracked road cut through the heart of the thick forest. Dead, withered leaves covered the ground like a shroud. The wind didn't just blow; it hissed, dragging the leaves across the asphalt in a ghostly dance. Beyond the groaning trees, the deep jungle breathed with strange, unsettling sounds heavy thuds and sharp cracks that didn't sound like any ordinary animal.
Cars were a rare sight here after sunset. Only a small tea stall, a humble hut with a thatched roof, stood as a lonely outpost. A single, oversized red bulb swayed from its porch, casting a blood-red light on the dark road.
A young woman sat on a weathered bench in front of the stall, scribbling intensely in her diary. She paused, looking at the lean boy working inside. "Bhaiya, a cup of tea, please. Make it strong."
The boy, barely twenty, nodded with a polite smile. "Right away, Didi!"
The girl went back to her writing. Her long, golden hair flowed down to her waist, held back by a simple clip. She was naturally beautiful, needing no jewelry or makeup to stand out in the eerie red light.
Suddenly, she looked at the dark tree line and felt a chill. "Bhaiya... tell me something. Is this place as dangerous as it looks? I’ve heard whispers about this forest... things that aren't just animals."
The boy brought the steaming cup. "You must be new. Staying at the Sunrise Hotel?"
Momal smiled, taking the cup. "Yes, I'm Momal. It’s my first night here. I guess my curiosity is bigger than my fear."
The boy lowered his voice. "The locals call these the 'Crying Woods'. Many come for the wildlife, but few stay out this late. Aren't you afraid, sitting here all alone?"
Momal took a slow sip. "Fear is just a feeling, Bhaiya. I came here for the tea everyone was talking about, and it’s perfect. But I should get back now."
She tucked her diary and pen into her bag and stood up.
As she turned to leave, a sound cut through the silence. It was the sharp, agonizing cry of a child. It sounded close just behind the thick bushes. Momal froze. "Did you hear that? There’s a child out there!"
The boy didn't move. His face went pale. "Don't look, Didi. Just walk away. Sometimes the forest mimics what you want to save. It’s just an animal... or something worse. Don't go into the dark."
But Momal’s heart was too kind. What if a life is at stake? she thought. If I walk away now, my soul will never be at peace.
She stepped off the road and into the shadows. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Crunch. Crunch. She heard footsteps behind her, perfectly matching her own. She stopped; the footsteps stopped. She breathed; she heard a heavy, raspy breath right behind her ear.
The child’s cry turned into a high-pitched scream. Momal couldn't take it anymore. She pulled a small, sharp knife from her bag and spun around with a scream of her own, ready to strike.
A strong, cold hand gripped her wrist like a steel trap.
"Do you have a death wish?" a deep, commanding voice growled.
Momal stared into the eyes of a stranger. She was trembling but didn't back down. "Who are you? A ghost or a hunter?"
The man didn't let go. "I am the person saving you from your own stupidity. That 'child' you hear? It’s a predator that lures its prey by mimicking human pain. One more step, and you would have been its dinner."
He released her hand with a flick and walked toward the tea stall, his hands buried in his hoodie pockets. Momal, her fear turning into a strange spark of defiance, followed him. "Wait! You live here? I've never seen a predator like that!"
The man sat on the bench, ignoring her. He was strikingly handsome but cold—light brown hair, deep brown eyes, and a sharp jawline covered in stubble. He stood at six feet, his presence filling the small stall.
"Max! Tea," he said shortly.
"Abraham Sir! You’re still here?" Max exclaimed. "And Didi, I thought you left!"
Abraham, Momal noted the name. "I decided I needed another cup. Your tea is addictive, Max," she said, sitting right next to Abraham.
Max turned to Abraham. "Sir, you were leaving for the city today, right?"
Abraham glanced at his watch. "There was a change of plans. I'll leave tomorrow."
After finishing their tea, Abraham stood up to walk back. Momal followed him closely. He stopped and turned sharply. "Why are you stalking me?"
Momal crossed her arms. "Stalking? This is the only road to the hotel! You’re not exactly a celebrity, Mr. Abraham." She brushed past him, her hair catching the wind.
But as she walked, she kept glancing back. "Wait... why are you following me now?"
Abraham sighed, sounding exhausted. "There is only one hotel in this godforsaken place, and I am staying there too. Now, be quiet and walk. The forest is listening."
The Next Day: Greenwood Heritage University
The next morning, Momal arrived at Greenwood Heritage University with her brother, Rain. The campus was breathtaking—ancient stone buildings covered in ivy, surrounded by endless green fields. But even in the sunlight, the old buildings felt like they were watching her.
After a nerve-wracking interview for the Assistant Librarian position, Momal came out beaming. "Rain! I think I got it! The HR said I should start looking for a place to stay."
They sat on a stone bench to celebrate with some tea. But in the excitement of her new life, Momal forgot her most precious possession. Her diary remained on the cold stone bench as they drove away.
Later that afternoon, a group of students found it. They were whispering and fighting over the leather-bound book when a sharp voice echoed through the hallway.
"Is this how you spend your research hours?"
The students jumped. Doctor Abraham, the university’s most feared Assistant Professor, stood there with a dark gaze.
"Sir, we found this... it belongs to a 'Momal Marry'. Is she in your department?"
Abraham took the diary. He knew every student's name, and 'Momal' wasn't on any list. He checked with the registrar, but the answer was the same: No such student existed.
That night, in his secluded cottage by the lake, Abraham sat by the window. The water splashed against the rocks with a rhythmic, haunting thud. He looked at the diary in his hand. Who are you, Momal? And why were you in those woods alone?
He opened the cover. The first page read: "This diary belongs to Momal Marry."
As he turned to the first entry, the wind outside began to howl, and the ink on the pages seemed to shimmer under his lamp.
(To be continued...)
