On Amavasya, the night of the new moon, the vengeful spirits of slain children possess their killers aboard a yacht, exacting brutal justice.
Copyright © Priya Florence Shah
The narrow alleyways of Dharavi were dark, damp, and so tightly packed that even the city’s scorching October sun couldn’t burn off the chill that haunted its bones. Tonight, however, a different kind of chill permeated the slum.
People moved quickly through the narrow passageways, clutching talismans and whispering urgent prayers under their breath, for tonight was Amavasya — the night of the new moon when the veil thinned between the worlds of the living and the dead.
At the edge of the slum, a young boy named Jai stood beneath a single sputtering bulb. Barefoot and dressed in rags, he was eleven years old with hollow eyes that had seen too much.
Jai knew these streets well. He was a survivor, a fighter. But tonight, his resolve quivered. He’d heard stories — whispers in the wind — that children like him, the forgotten shadows of Mumbai, had been disappearing. One minute playing marbles, the next, gone without a trace.
What he didn’t know was that he’d been marked.
***
Several miles offshore, the Veiled Siren rocked gently on the dark waters. A luxurious yacht outfitted with imported leathers, chandeliers, and the finest spirits, it sailed under the guise of leisure. But tonight, the air was laced with something more than decadence; it was thick with something ancient and malevolent.
The yacht’s guests, wealthy elites who prided themselves on their exclusive tastes, moved in clusters of soft laughter and silk. To anyone watching, it would look like a high-society party, the laughter and clinking glasses a perfect mask for the horror festering within.
In the yacht’s lower decks, children, bruised and drugged, lay on straw-strewn cots. Jai was one of them, his wrists bound, his mind clouded with fear and opium. He could barely make out the shadows around him, but he sensed others were there and prayed someone might save him.
But no help came, only a soft, sinister chant from the yacht’s upper deck — a prayer to darkness, an invocation to greed and evil that would soon grow teeth.
***
A thousand eyes watched as the rituals commenced above, silent spectators from beyond the veil. Spirits of the departed — parents, grandparents, entire lineages from Mumbai’s underworld — hovered just out of reach, powerless against the mortal world.
They were bound by the invisible boundary separating the living from the dead. But tonight, something shifted. A crack appeared, a ripple in the fabric of worlds that grew wider with every dark chant.
The yacht’s guests didn’t see the pale mist seeping from the deck, but they felt a prickling sensation crawl up their spines, the sense that they were being watched. The chants grew louder, drowning out the whisper of the waves, and as the clock struck midnight, the first spirit crossed over.
***
In the yacht’s golden-lit ballroom, Lalit Bhandari, a real estate tycoon with more skeletons in his closet than he could count, lifted his glass of champagne and took a swig. A cold gust touched the back of his neck, making him shiver.
“Damn AC,” he muttered, rubbing his neck. But when he looked around, he realized something strange. His hand trembled. It wasn’t just the cold. He saw something in the reflection of the glass — a face that wasn’t his own.
It was a child from the lower deck, and yet… no. This child’s eyes held an ancient, furious gleam. Lalit staggered, gripping his chest as his breathing slowed, and looked around, panic flooding his veins.
Around him, the others were starting to twitch, their faces twisted in shock as, one by one, they felt the grip of the spirits infiltrate their minds and bodies.
The ancestors had arrived.
***
Possessed by the wrath of a dozen broken souls, the elite guests lost control. One woman, Parvati Deshmukh, a media mogul, laughed as she approached her husband, knife in hand, her voice twisted and foreign.
“For my son,” she whispered, before plunging the knife into his stomach, her eyes glistening with unearthly satisfaction.
The ballroom became a theater of chaos. Lalit watched in horror as the others turned on each other, each possessed by an ancestor, each carrying out an act of vengeance. Screams echoed through the halls as the possessed unleashed their fury, clawing, stabbing, and tearing at one another with an inhuman force.
Through it all, the spirits found no remorse, only retribution.
***
In the lower decks, Jai and the others felt a sudden rush of clarity. They blinked, realizing the ropes that bound their wrists had inexplicably loosened. A thin fog crept through the door, swirling around Jai’s feet. He instinctively knew this was more than mist; it was his mother’s spirit, protecting him one last time.
Guided by the spirits, Jai and the remaining children navigated through the carnage above, untouched by the bloodshed around them, for the ancestors shielded them.
At the top deck, Jai looked back one final time as the yacht rocked with the dying screams of its cursed guests. With a deep breath, he and the other children lifted a raft and leaped overboard, their small bodies floating in the dark waves that carried them toward the shore.
***
Weeks later, the Veiled Siren was found adrift, empty, and lifeless, its gilded halls stained with blood. The authorities found no bodies and no evidence of the guests or the children.
Stories circulated of strange sounds that echoed from the yacht, whispers of children’s laughter mingling with cries of vengeance. Those who ventured close claimed to see small, ghostly figures watching from the decks, their faces turned toward the city that had forgotten them.
Back in Dharavi, Jai stood among the shadows, his eyes still haunted but burning with something new — something ancient. He was no longer alone. The spirits had left him, but they had also left their mark.
As he walked through the alleyways, he heard the faint whispers of the ancestors, their voices a quiet promise in his ears: “We will not rest until justice is served.”
Amavasya had passed, but its spirits had found a way to stay.
***
