CHAPTER 1 : The Shadow of the Cherry Tree
The night carried a heavy, suffocating mystery. A skeletal wind began to moan through the cracks of the house as fifteen-year-old Ramya sat deathly still in her rocking chair. Her gaze was paralyzed by the cherry tree outside. Its leaves, which appeared so vibrant by day, now danced with a slow, horrific rhythm in the shadows.
Suddenly, her breath hitched. The bushes at the base of the gnarled trunk began to rustle—a low, predatory sound. Without warning, a void-black shadow darted from the foliage. Panic surged through her; she lunged forward to draw the curtains, retreated to her bed, and buried herself beneath the blankets. She was utterly alone. The house stood isolated from the village, surrounded only by dense thickets and that looming, sinister tree.
As she lay trembling, a rhythmic creak echoed through the hallway—the unmistakable sound of a door swinging open. She glanced at her bedroom door; it was firmly locked. She tried to convince herself it was the wind, unaware that an uninvited entity had already breached the sanctuary of her home.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound was slow and deliberate. Her heart hammered against her ribs—loud, frantic, and relentless. Sweat drenched her skin as she whispered prayers into the dark. But when she paused to listen, a graveyard silence swallowed the room. Then, a sudden, unnatural chill swept across the floor. As the icy breeze brushed against her skin, it felt like the cold, phantom touch of a hand.
Suddenly, her alarm blared. 5:00 AM. As the sound rang out, the oppressive atmosphere vanished. Summoning a flicker of courage, Ramya sprinted to the window and flung back the curtains. The sun was rising, painting the horizon in gold. The horrific tree now looked once again like a pleasing, harmless plant. Relieved, she ran through the house, throwing open every door and window to let the holy sunlight purge the shadows.
However, the room adjacent to hers remained stubbornly dark. No light could penetrate its gloom. Stepping inside to reach the window, Ramya was hit by that same bone-chilling draft. Terror seized her. She scrambled out, slamming and locking the door behind her. What she didn’t know was that a creature—neither human nor ghost—was watching her every move through the keyhole, its eyes fixed on her retreating figure.
In the evening, her parents finally returned. Ramya felt a wave of calm, but it was short-lived. Within half an hour, they explained that their work remained unfinished and they had to leave once more.
“This house is wrong,” Ramya pleaded, describing the shadow and the cold touch.
Her parents sighed, dismissing her fears as mere hallucinations. “The cherry tree is known for its soothing beauty, Ramya. It’s foolish to call it scary.”
With those words, they vanished into the twilight. Neither Ramya nor her parents understood the dark truth: that at night, the tree becomes a vessel. In its shadow stays a creature of pure essence—a faceless, soundless, suffocating cold. As the midnight hour approaches, the silence begins to fade, and something unseen inches closer until you realize you are no longer alone.
After a lonely dinner, Ramya locked every entrance with trembling hands and climbed into bed. The house was quiet for now, but she had no idea what was already waiting for her in the dark.
