Beauty of the Nights

They rushed back to the village. It was evening by the time they reached their inn.

Arti’s hands trembled as she unzipped her bag with urgency, flinging clothes and notebooks aside in a frantic search. Her breath grew shallow, panicked, as she rummaged through every pocket, every corner—twice, thrice—desperation tightening in her chest.

“There has to be something… something gold,” she whispered to herself, almost like a prayer.

The others watched in silence as she knelt there on the wooden floor of the inn, her shoulders rising and falling unevenly. Her fingers fumbled with a small jewellery pouch, only to spill out a few silver earrings and a broken chain. No gold.

Her heart sank.

“No… no, please...” Her voice cracked, and her hands froze mid-air. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over as she shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t have anything... nothing...”

She clutched her bag to her chest as her body curled in on itself, sobbing softly.

Rajeev stepped forward quietly. He didn’t say a word at first. He knelt beside her and gently wrapped his arms around her trembling frame.

She clung to him instantly, burying her face in his shoulder.

“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry,” she whispered through tears.

“Hey, hey... it’s okay,” Rajeev said softly, his voice warm despite the pain behind it. He gently brushed her hair back. “Don’t cry. I’m not going anywhere, alright?”

His own throat tightened as he said it, but he kept his smile steady—for her.

Veeru looked away for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought. Then, with quiet resolve, he said, “We should ask the village people. Someone might have something made of gold. It’s our best shot.”

Sameer nodded silently; the usual playfulness gone from his face. They all knew—this wasn’t just bad luck anymore. Something was coming for Rajeev.

But right now, all they had was each other.

They visited several villagers. Some did have gold, but it was all far too expensive. Arti wept quietly as they returned to the inn, defeated.

Then, a flicker of hope.

The lady who ran the inn, seeing their distress, softened her heart. Though she initially asked for a large sum, she finally offered her own golden ring at a much lower price, just for them.

They pooled their money together. Arti’s contribution was the largest.

Rajeev slipped the ring onto his finger. It felt like nothing—no spark, no warmth. But he trusted it.

That night, nothing strange happened.

No stomach ache.
No headache.
No slipping, no stings, no accidents.

Just silence.

Rajeev lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wide awake.
I guess… this really does work.

4.1

The Next Day

Rajeev felt no unease. No strange patterns. His wounds from earlier had started fading, like normal. The golden ring sat quietly on his finger, just another ornament now. Whatever curse or horror had once followed him… it seemed to have vanished. He believed it was over.

He spent the day with his friends, wandering through familiar paths and hidden spots in the jungle. No accidents. No omens. Just laughter. By evening, they returned safely.

“I guess we won,” Sameer grinned, stretching. “Dullahan’s gone for good.”

Arti smiled, visibly lighter than she'd been in days. “We actually changed our fate.”

“I’m glad,” Veeru said, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “It’s finally over.”

“Maybe we should go stargazing tonight,” Rajeev suggested. “Celebrate a little?”

Sameer yawned and waved him off. “You go ahead, man. I’m dead tired.”

“Same here,” Veeru added, already heading inside.

Rajeev watched them disappear with a sigh, disappointed. Just as he turned away—

“Uhm… maybe we could go?” Arti offered, her voice soft, her smile awkward. “If you want, that is.”

Veeru, catching the moment, gave her an exaggerated thumbs-up and a grin that said good luck.

Rajeev blinked, then smiled. “Sure. Why not?”

They set out under the starlit sky, carrying a telescope and Rajeev’s old DSLR. This time, they picked a higher spot— unlike last time in the open grass fields. Maybe because Rajeev was scared? or maybe because he felt the pictures would be better if he was on higher plane? Or maybe both?

The air was crisp. Quiet.

They walked slowly. Arti stayed quiet, clearly trying to gather the courage to say something. He noticed, but didn’t push. He gave her time.

“Uhh... I…” she finally began, her eyes locking with his for a moment.

Rajeev turned toward her, curious, waiting.

But under the weight of the moment, Arti flushed red. “I—I need to use the woods! Emergency! Nature calls!” she blurted, then practically sprinted away, her face burning.

Rajeev blinked, then laughed to himself. “Smooth…”

He turned his attention back to the sky, angled the lens, adjusted the focus, and began taking pictures. Click. Click. His fingers worked out of instinct. His mind was elsewhere. He peered through the telescope, watching the constellations slowly shift above him. The Milky Way spilled across the sky like liquid light. He could trace each pattern, feel their presence above him, like the universe itself was leaning down to speak. he walked and walked and walked and the next step he took, his foot hit something soft—earth that gave way too easily.

Before he could react, the ground collapsed beneath him.

He fell.

Down into a hole.

A deep one.

He landed hard. On something that moved.

He looked down—his heart froze.

Ants.

Thousands of them.

Not crawling, not invading—but flowing, like liquid shadow over his skin. His legs first, then his arms, his chest. Their tiny feet beat in perfect rhythm, a collective pulse. The first bite was sharp—surgical. A signal.

“Ouch!” Rajeev cried out, instinctively—but even his voice felt swallowed by the vast stillness around him.

Pain flared, but it wasn’t chaotic. It came in waves, structured and precise. He looked down—and what he saw wasn’t mere horror. It was orchestration. The ants weren’t panicked scavengers. They were purposeful. Coordinated. Beautiful in their brutality.

He screamed as hard as he could, but no one came as if he was alone.

They didn’t just bite.

They consumed.

Each movement was deliberate: peeling, burrowing, dismantling. They moved like artists sculpting away his flesh, layer by layer. His skin was not just food—it was canvas.

Rajeev trembled, falling back as the swarm grew bolder, diving into his wounds, burrowing deep into muscle, into sinew. He somehow managed to get out of the pit, but they didn’t stop; they moved with chilling grace, as if guided by an ancient choreography. And beneath the pain—piercing, constant—he felt something else.

Awe.

The ants were one being. Thousands of lives pulsing with one mind. They crawled inside him like a melody, threading into nerves and veins, syncing with his heartbeat. Nature, raw and unfiltered, had claimed him. Not with rage. Not with cruelty. But with inevitability.

His struggles grew feeble. The more he resisted, the more the forest responded.

The blood called to them.

From the trees, the underbrush—eyes glinted. Creatures emerged. First insects, then rodents, then larger shapes. All drawn by the scent. But none fought. None competed. They fed with a quiet reverence, taking their place in the grand procession. A ceremony of decay.

Rajeev was no longer a person. He was a part of the ecosystem now. The centerpiece of a symphony. Every bite, every tear, every crunch of bone and squelch of tissue was a note in a macabre composition.

Above him, the stars blinked indifferently.

Around him, the grass swayed softly.

Within him, life retreated—slowly, peacefully—devoured not by malice, but by harmony.

He listened to the sound of it all: the rustle of leaves, the steady hum of wings, the soft whisper of teeth against bone.

It was terrifying.

It was perfect.

It was beautiful.

And above that…was the Beauty of the Nights, that Rajeev loved.

The sky above him, so vast, so filled with stars, was as beautiful as ever. His eyes flickered upward, desperate for some relief, some escape. But there was none. All he could do was feel the death creeping into him, gnawing at his very core.

Then, as his vision faded and the world grew silent,

Moments later, a voice broke through the chaos.

"Rajeev?!" She called upon, trying to find him.

It was a soft whisper at first, barely audible over the sounds of the jungle. But it called to him again, louder this time, the voice full of urgency, of concern.

“Rajeev!!”

“Raje—” The voice stopped abruptly, as if frozen in place, leaving only the sound of the jungle and the gnawing of the insects.