Whispers Beneath the Backwaters - The Dead Man’s Voice - Part 6

 Nobody moved.

Rain crashed outside while the dead man’s voice echoed from upstairs again.

“Arjun…”

Weak.

Shaking.

Exactly like his father.

Devika backed away slowly, holding Meenu close.

“You said he was alive,” she whispered to Kuttappan.

The old servant looked close to tears.

“He was… until three nights ago.”

Arjun grabbed him by the collar.

“Then whose voice is that?!”

Before Kuttappan could answer, a loud coughing sound came from above.

Wet.

Painful.

Then—

BANG.

Something slammed against the locked room door.

“Help me…”

Meenu buried her face into Devika’s shoulder.

But then she whispered softly—

“That’s not grandfather.”

The house suddenly smelled foul.

Like stagnant water left in darkness for years.

Arjun released Kuttappan and grabbed the lantern.

“I’m ending this tonight.”

“No!” Kuttappan blocked his way instantly. “You must not open that room after midnight.”

“Enough stories!”

Another bang shook the ceiling.

This time followed by scratching.

Long nails dragging across wood.

Arjun pushed past him and climbed the staircase.

Every step groaned beneath his weight.

The corridor upstairs looked different now.

Longer.

Darker.

As though the house itself had stretched.

The locked room waited at the far end.

Door trembling softly.

Something moved behind it.

Devika stood below, crying quietly.

“Please come back…”

But Arjun kept walking.

The scratching inside stopped the moment he touched the handle.

Silence.

Then his father’s voice whispered from the other side—

“Moné… don’t let her inside.”

Arjun’s hands shook violently.

It sounded real.

Too real.

“Appa?” he whispered.

A weak sob answered him.

“She killed them…”

Meenu suddenly screamed from downstairs.

“DON’T OPEN IT!”

Her voice sounded older again.

Not like a child.

At that exact moment the corridor lights flickered on.

And Arjun saw them.

Finger marks.

Hundreds of wet handprints covering the walls around the room.

Large hands.

Tiny child hands.

Some looked burned into the wood itself.

The door handle slowly turned on its own.

Click.

The door opened slightly.

Darkness breathed from inside.

Cold.

Heavy.

Alive.

Arjun lifted the lantern carefully.

Inside the room sat an old wooden bed.

A wheelchair.

Medicine bottles.

Rotting flowers.

And someone sitting near the window.

Facing away from him.

An old man.

Thin shoulders shaking softly.

His father.

“Appa…” Arjun stepped inside carefully.

The old man spoke without turning around.

“She’s standing behind you.”

Arjun froze.

The lantern flame flickered wildly.

Slowly…

Very slowly…

He turned around.

At the doorway stood the woman from the backwaters.

Wet white saree.

Long black hair hanging over her face.

But now Arjun noticed something worse.

Her feet were twisted backward.

The old man near the window began laughing suddenly.

Not weak laughter.

A deep horrible laugh.

Arjun turned back instantly.

The figure in the chair was no longer his father.

It was a corpse.

Skin blackened.

Jaw hanging unnaturally loose.

Dead for days.

Its cloudy eyes rolled toward him.

And smiled.

Behind Arjun, the drowned woman whispered lovingly—

“You finally came home.”