The Forgotten Ritual - Chapter 2

27th June 2019

A sharp knock echoed through the silence, jolting Riya awake.

Her heart pounded as she shot up, gasping for air. For a moment, she was back in that dimly lit hallway—the shadow stretching toward her, the whisper of her name curling in the air like smoke. But as she blinked, reality settled in.

Her bedroom. Her apartment. Safe.

She exhaled, pressing a hand to her chest. Just a dream. Or was it? The knocking had felt too real.

“Riya?” a voice called from outside. Preeti.

Riya sighed in relief. “Yeah, I’m up,” she mumbled, rubbing her face.

Preeti peeked in, already dressed, her hair in a messy ponytail. “You okay? I heard you mumbling in your sleep.”

Riya forced a small smile. “Just a weird dream.”

“Lemme guess—ghosts again?” Preeti smirked.

Riya rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she threw off the blanket and got up. “I need coffee.”

Preeti chuckled. “Already made some. Thought you’d need it.”

As Riya followed her to the kitchen, her phone, lying on the nightstand, buzzed relentlessly. Emails. WhatsApp messages. One after another, notifications flooded her screen.

She groaned, picked up the phone, and swiped through the endless stream of unread messages. Work emails. Some forwarded horror stories from friends. A news alert.

Not today.

With a sigh, she turned off the WiFi and tossed the phone onto the couch. The world could wait.

She took her coffee and got to cleaning her room—folding clothes, dusting shelves, tossing out random scraps of paper that had piled up. It was a routine she followed whenever she felt restless, a way to clear her mind along with the mess.

Three years had passed since she left home after graduation, choosing to carve out her own path instead of staying under her family's watchful eye. Landing a job as a content writer for Spectra Media, a growing digital news and entertainment company, had been a turning point. But while writing about trending topics paid the bills, her real passion lay elsewhere—deep in the shadows of the unknown.

By day, Riya Jain was a content writer, crafting trending articles for Spectra Media, a growing digital news and entertainment company. But outside of work, her interests wandered into the eerie and unexplained.

She wasn’t a paranormal investigator—she had never set out to chase ghosts or solve mysteries. But the unknown fascinated her. The shadow figure in her grandmother’s room years after her passing—she had done nothing about it, brushing it off as a trick of the mind. The unsettling presence in her new home had faded after rituals performed by her family, but the experience lingered in her thoughts. While she never actively sought answers, she was drawn to the world of the supernatural, spending hours watching paranormal investigations on YouTube and diving into horror movies that blurred the line between reality and fiction. There were mistakes, regrets, and people who had drifted away. But just like the paranormal, some things were better left unexplored.

Lost in thought, she settled onto the couch, flipping on the TV. A lazy Sunday deserved a good movie. Something light. Maybe a comedy.

But as soon as she turned on the TV, the screen flashed red—BREAKING NEWS.

“The town of Chitkin is gripped by fear as reports of another tragic incident emerge. A 13-year-old boy was found dead under mysterious circumstances in an abandoned house, the same location whispered to be haunted for decades…”

Riya froze.

She had heard of the Chitkin house before. Everyone had.

The house had belonged to an old woman who had passed away years ago—nothing unnatural, just old age. But after her death, strange rumors had spread. Flickering lights, shifting shadows, eerie whispers at night. Yet, for over twenty years, there had been no real incidents.

Until now.

The coffee in her hand suddenly felt cold.

Had something finally awakened?

Riya’s grip on the remote tightened as she turned up the volume. The news anchor’s voice, laced with urgency, filled the room.

"Authorities are investigating the mysterious death of 13-year-old boy, whose body was discovered inside the abandoned Chitkin house early this morning. Locals claim the house has been haunted for decades, but police are looking into more practical explanations."

The screen cut to shaky footage of the crumbling mansion—its windows shattered, vines creeping over its walls, an eerie silence hanging over it like a dark cloud.

"At the moment, major suspects have emerged," the anchor continued. "A group of teenagers were reportedly seen entering the premises last night, and a local beggar, known to take shelter near the house, has also been questioned by authorities. Among them was the victim, a 13-year-old boy, who had ventured into the house with his friends. While his lifeless body was discovered early this morning, his friends remain in police custody for questioning. Authorities are trying to piece together the sequence of events that led to his tragic death, as fear and speculation grip the town."

A grainy clip played next—five silhouettes slipping past the rusted gates, their movements quick, as if sneaking in.

Riya leaned forward, her breath caught in her throat.

"Meanwhile, a homeless man, often spotted near the house, was also brought in for questioning. Sources say he may have witnessed something—or someone—on the night of the incident."

The screen cut to a brief clip of an older man being led into a police jeep, his face hidden under a hood.

Riya’s mind raced. She had read about the house before—had even been tempted to write a piece on its history, but she never thought an actual tragedy would happen there.

She set down her coffee.

What really happened in that house last night?

And why did it feel like this was just the beginning?

She flipped through the channels, half-expecting more talk about politics or celebrity gossip. But then—another news station caught her attention.

"New details have emerged in the Chitkin House case," the reporter announced, standing in front of the same abandoned mansion. "Police sources confirm that ritualistic objects were found inside the house, raising more questions about the nature of last night’s events."

A chill crawled up Riya’s spine. Ritualistic?

The screen switched to grainy footage from inside the house. The dimly lit room was littered with melted candles, their wax pooled in uneven circles on the cracked wooden floor. A large five-pointed star was scrawled in the center, its edges jagged as if drawn in a hurry.

And right beside it—a Ouija board, its planchette resting eerily in the middle.

Riya swallowed hard.

Was it just a coincidence? A cruel prank gone wrong?

Or had someone—or something—stirred after all these years?