Chapter 5: The Village That Stopped Sleeping

Meera didn't remember walking back to camp.

One moment she was staring into the stairway.

The next, she was sitting on a folding chair outside her tend, a steel tumbler of water trembling in her hands.

"Madam, drink," one of the workers urged.

She tried. The water tasted like dust.

"How long was I down there?" she asked.

The men exchanged looks.

"You went in after sunrise," one said carefully.

"You came out when the sun was almost overhead."

Her stomach dropped.

She had been below for barely twenty minutes.

At least, that's what it felt like.

"I need to call my supervisor," she said, reaching for her phone.

No signal.

She walked a few steps away. Still nothing.

Another few steps.

The signal bars flickered for half a second....

....and vanished again.

"Network is gone since morning," a worker said. "Not just here. In the village also."

Meera looked up sharply. "All phones?"

He nodded.

A chill crept through her, slow and deep.

...----------------...

By evening, the unease had spread.

The air felt heavier, like before a storm, but the sky was painfully clear.

No birds crossed overhead.

No insects buzzed near the lanterns.

Even the usual village sound _ distant chatter, utensils clanging, a radio playing somewhere _ were missing.

It was as if the world had lowered its volume.

Meera walked toward the village at sunset despite the workers' protests.

She needed to see herself.

The path that had felt merely remote yesterday now felt abandoned.

Doors were shut.

Windows covered.

Smoke did not rise from cooking fires.

She knocked at the first house.

No answer.

On the second knock, the door opened just a crack.

An elderly woman peered out, eyes wide.

"You went there," she whispered.

Meera swallowed,"Yes. It's an archaeological site. Nothing dangerous."

The woman's gaze drifted past her....toward the open land behind.

"You opened the breathing place," she said.

Meera's pulse thudded in her ears. "What does that mean?"

The woman shook her head violently and shut the door.

A bolt slid into place.

Further down the lane, a child began crying inside a house.

The sound stopped suddenly.

Too suddenly.

As if someone had covered his mouth.

...----------------...

That night, no one in Durgapur slept.

They tired.

Lights went out.

Doors stayed locked.

Families lay still under thin sheets.

But every time someone drifted toward sleep....

They heard it.

A long, slow inhale.

Not from outside.

Not from the sky.

From beneath the ground.

Dogs howled for hours, then fell silent all at once.

Around midnight, Meera set upright in her tent, eyes wide open.

She hadn't slept either.

Because each time she closed her eyes, she felt soil under her fingers.

Warm.

Shifting.

Breathing.

Her phone, lying beside her, lit up again.

No signal.

No notification.

Just the recording app.

Running.

00:03

00:04

00:05

She held her breath and listened.

At first, there were nothing.

Then _

A new sound.

Not breathing.

Not whispering.

A voice.

Soft.

Dry.

Right against the microphone.

"Closer now."

Meera dropped the phone.

Outside her tent, something moved across the dirt.

Slow steps.

Dragging slightly.

Circling.

And stopping.....

..... right outside the thin fabric wall near her head.

She didn't scream.

She didn't move.

Because she knew _ with a certainty colder than fear _

If she made a sound,

it would answer from the outside.

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