Chapter 1
The first time Meera understood that the world was not silent, she was six years old.
She had been sitting behind her house, knees muddy, chin resting on her arms, watching a line of red ants carry crumbs twice their size. It was late afternoon. The sky was pale and heavy, like it was thinking about rain.
And then she heard it.
Too big. Too big. Move left. Danger shadow.
She looked around.
No one was there.
The voice came again, thin and sharp.
Move left. The giant breath is coming.
The ants suddenly shifted direction.
A second later, her uncle's boot came down exactly where the ants had been.
Meera froze.
Her uncle didn't notice her. He walked past, muttering to himself. The ants continued their careful march, safe.
She stared at them.
"You… you were talking," she whispered.
One of the ants stopped. Turned its tiny body toward her.
She hears.
Meera didn't scream.
She didn't run.
She only listened.
Years passed.
Meera grew older, but her world did not grow kinder.
She lived in a narrow house at the edge of the village, where fields met a stretch of untamed forest. The house leaned slightly to one side, as if tired of standing. Inside, the air was always tense.
Her aunt believed Meera brought bad luck.
Her cousins believed Meera was strange.
The villagers believed Meera was quiet.
Only the animals knew the truth.
They called her Listener.
Birds whispered from rooftops.
Dogs gave her news from distant streets.
Cows complained about careless hands.
Even the wind sometimes carried soft messages through the trees.
Meera never told anyone.
Because she had learned something important very early—
People fear what they cannot hear.
On the night everything changed, the sky was restless.
Clouds gathered too quickly. The air smelled metallic, sharp like iron. Dogs in the village barked without reason. Crows circled lower than usual.
Meera was sitting on the back steps when she heard paws approach.
Light. Controlled.
She didn't need to turn around.
"I know it's you," she said quietly.
A soft voice answered, smooth and amused.
You always know.
A black cat stepped into view.
Her fur was deep and dark, swallowing light instead of reflecting it. Her eyes were an unnatural shade of green—too bright, too aware.
Her name was Kitiy.
She had appeared three years ago during a storm, walking straight through the rain as if it avoided her. She had never left since.
To everyone else, Kitiy was just a cat.
To Meera, she was something else.
"You're late," Meera said softly.
Kitiy sat beside her, tail curling neatly around her paws.
I was listening, Kitiy replied. The forest is loud tonight.
Meera's fingers tightened around the edge of the step. "Loud how?"
Kitiy's ears twitched.
Something is walking where it should not walk.
Before Meera could ask more, a crow landed on the fence post nearby. Its feathers were ruffled.
Shadow in trees, the crow croaked. Tall shadow. Smells wrong.
Meera felt her stomach twist.
Animals did not fear easily.
When they did, it meant something unnatural had entered their space.
"Where?" she asked.
Near the old well, the crow replied.
That well had been abandoned for years.
Meera stood.
Kitiy watched her carefully.
You are thinking of going.
"Yes."
Good.
There was no fear in Kitiy's voice.
Only expectation.
The path to the old well cut through the edge of the forest. The deeper Meera walked, the quieter it became.
Not natural quiet.
Held quiet.
As if the forest was holding its breath.
A rabbit darted across her path, then stopped abruptly.
Don't go, it whispered urgently. Cold thing there.
Meera crouched gently.
"I won't let it hurt you."
The rabbit trembled.
It doesn't move like life. It stretches.
Meera stood slowly.
Behind her, Kitiy padded silently through the leaves.
They reached the clearing.
The old well stood in the center, stones cracked and covered in moss. The rope had long rotted away.
At first, Meera saw nothing unusual.
Then she noticed the animals.
They were watching from the trees.
Owls.
Foxes.
Even snakes coiled near roots.
All staring at the well.
Waiting.
"Tell me what you saw," Meera whispered.
A fox stepped forward cautiously.
Tall shape. No face. It listens but does not breathe.
A chill slid down Meera's spine.
Before she could speak again, a sound rose from inside the well.
Not a splash.
Not movement.
A low, scraping exhale.
Like stone dragging across stone.
Kitiy's fur lifted slightly.
It is aware of you now.
The temperature dropped.
Meera felt it—an invisible pressure pressing against her skin.
The darkness inside the well shifted.
Then something began to rise.
Not climbing.
Unfolding.
A long, thin shape stretched upward from the mouth of the well. It looked almost human, but wrong in every proportion. Its limbs were too long. Its head tilted at an impossible angle.
Where its face should have been—
There was nothing.
Just smooth shadow.
The forest erupted in whispers.
Not alive.
Not dead.
Wrong.
The creature's head turned slowly toward Meera.
It did not have eyes.
But it saw her.
Meera's heart hammered.
For the first time in years, she felt small.
The shadow took a step forward.
The ground beneath it darkened, grass wilting instantly.
Kitiy's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.
Stand.
Meera did.
The shadow leaned closer.
A thin, stretched arm reached toward her.
Now, Kitiy said softly.
Meera did not shout.
She did not run.
She simply spoke.
"Stop."
Her voice was calm.
Clear.
But it carried something deeper.
Every animal in the clearing straightened.
The fox bared its teeth.
The owls spread their wings.
The snakes lifted their heads.
The shadow paused.
Meera took one step forward.
"You are not welcome here."
The wind shifted violently.
Leaves spiraled upward.
The animals began to move—not randomly, but together.
Birds dove low, striking at the creature's head.
Foxes snapped at its legs.
Snakes coiled around its stretched arms.
It did not scream.
It only trembled.
The forest itself seemed to respond to her presence.
The shadow's body flickered, unstable.
Kitiy walked calmly past Meera, stopping directly in front of the creature.
Her green eyes glowed faintly.
Leave, Kitiy commanded.
For a split second, the shadow hesitated.
Then its body began to stretch backward, thinning, dissolving into the mouth of the well like smoke pulled into a hole.
Within seconds—
It was gone.
The clearing fell silent again.
But this time, it was natural silence.
Alive.
Meera's knees almost gave out.
She hadn't realized how much force it had taken to hold her ground.
The animals slowly relaxed.
The fox gave her a long look.
Listener protects.
One by one, they disappeared into the forest.
Only Kitiy remained.
Meera looked down at her.
"What was that?"
Kitiy's tail flicked once.
Something that does not belong to this world.
Meera swallowed.
"Will it come back?"
Kitiy's eyes softened—but only slightly.
Not tonight.
The wind brushed gently against Meera's face, no longer cold.
She stared at the old well.
She understood something clearly now.
She was not just someone who heard animals.
She was someone they trusted.
Someone they followed.
And something in the darkness had noticed.
As they walked back toward the house, Kitiy spoke again.
You did well.
Meera let out a shaky breath. "I was scared."
Good, Kitiy replied. Fear keeps you alive.
They reached the edge of the village.
Lights flickered inside houses, unaware of what had just happened beyond the trees.
Meera paused.
"Kitiy," she asked quietly, "why me?"
The cat looked up at her.
For a moment, her green eyes seemed far older than they should be.
Because the forest chose you.
Meera didn't ask what that meant.
Not yet.
Behind them, deep inside the well, something small and thin opened where the shadow had disappeared.
And from within the darkness, something else began to listen.
To be continued…