Arjun could not breathe.
Rain blurred his vision as the woman stood waist-deep in the black water, holding the dead child against her chest.
His mother.
Or something wearing her face.
The same gentle eyes.
The same mole near her chin.
But her skin looked swollen and pale, like she had been underwater for years.
“Amma…” the word escaped his lips before he realized it.
Kuttappan grabbed him immediately.
“Don’t call her that!”
The figure slowly smiled.
Water poured from her mouth.
Beside Arjun, Meenu suddenly became calm.
Too calm.
“She waited for you, Achaa,” she whispered softly.
The drowned woman lifted one trembling hand toward Arjun.
Come.
That single gesture carried unbearable sadness.
Like a mother calling her lost child home.
Arjun took one step forward without thinking.
Then another.
The water near the shore began moving around his feet.
Warm.
Not cold.
Warm like living skin.
“Arjun!” Devika screamed.
He stopped.
The drowned woman’s expression changed instantly.
The sadness vanished.
Now she looked angry.
Her neck cracked slowly to one side.
The dead child in her arms opened its eyes.
Black.
Completely black.
Then the corpse smiled.
A horrible bubbling laugh escaped from the water all around them.
Kuttappan shouted prayers louder and threw sacred ash toward the shore.
The figures beneath the water began sinking again one by one.
But Arjun’s mother remained.
Watching him.
Before disappearing beneath the surface, she whispered—
“You left me here.”
The water became still.
Only rain remained.
Meenu collapsed unconscious.
Back inside the house, Devika wrapped Meenu in blankets while Arjun paced restlessly.
“She looked exactly like my mother,” he whispered.
Kuttappan sat silently near the lamp.
Finally he spoke.
“Because maybe it was her.”
Devika stared at him in disbelief.
“You’re encouraging this madness?”
The old servant looked exhausted.
“There are truths this family buried long ago.”
Arjun turned sharply.
“What truth?”
Kuttappan hesitated.
Then his eyes shifted toward the staircase.
“Your mother never died the way they told you.”
The room fell silent.
Arjun’s chest tightened.
As a child, he was told his mother slipped into the backwaters during heavy rain.
Accident.
That was the story.
But now…
“What are you hiding from me?” Arjun asked.
Before Kuttappan could answer—
THUD.
Something heavy fell upstairs.
Then came dragging sounds.
Across the corridor.
Slow.
Violent.
Devika whispered, “Please tell me that’s just the wind…”
Another THUD.
This time directly above them.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
Meenu suddenly opened her eyes.
Wide.
Terrified.
“She’s angry,” the little girl whispered.
All the oil lamps in the hall blew out together.
Darkness swallowed the house.
Then came a voice from upstairs.
An old man crying.
Weak.
Broken.
“Open the door…”
Arjun froze.
His father’s voice.
Again.
“Please… let me out…”
Kuttappan looked horrified.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
The old servant slowly whispered—
“Because your father died three days ago.”