Naash

A force far greater than what you could imagine drives me. It commands me to write this down as his slave and his vessel. You are about to read the contents of a package I received two days ago, copied in their entirety. Upon its reception, I signed over my identity and autonomy. Whatever little of myself remains inside my body implores you to turn back. Stop reading before it’s too late. I accepted servitude to Him when I opened the package, and you shall do so too if you continue reading.

The package I speak of contained three notebooks, each detailing a harrowing tale based in a small village in Central India. A humble settlement with no more than a thousand residents, this place has been on the radar of investigators and experts for a long time. It would appear that the happenings of this village, Naash, manage to confound every outsider. Before you begin, though, it is imperative that you understand a few things about Naash.

Rural India is rich in folklore and culture. The myths they tell of gods, monsters, killers, and ghosts carry faith and fear in them. In their hearts, they know that the stories they heard as children may be false, and it still makes no difference. They will make sure to do everything they learned from their elders. Hardly ever would you see someone openly disregard the legends they heard. Never will you see a broom placed vertically in an Indian village. Not once will someone put on perfume at night, fearing the scent might attract spirits. Countless other actions – mundane, subconscious, reflexive – reflect in them the folktales that have lived on for millennia.

While every folktale goes through an evolution of sorts, changing to suit the needs of the time and mirroring the beliefs of the people that whisper them, the tales of one village stand out. For centuries, they have remained unaltered and consistent in their details, beginnings, and endings. The inability of this underdeveloped village to change has led an amount of credibility to its stories that can hardly be replicated. The credibility, in turn, has helped isolate the village even more.

There are theories as to why the village is the way it is. Ranging from cursed pieces of land and angry gods to poisoned water and mass hysteria, everything has been postulated. Yet, only one theory has ever come even close to the truth: darkness rules the village. He resides there. He has fed Himself with the villagers’ fear and superstition for years. But He grows greedy now, seeking more victims to feed off of. In this Unholy Crusade, I stand as an unwilling soldier, wielding but my pen and this diary.

Naash plays host to a wide array of things. An uncountable amount of spirits rule the nighttime, old entities play tricks on unsuspecting and careless victims, every few years, a wave of resurrections sweeps the village, and once in a blue moon, one villager snaps, going on a deathly rampage until put down by the others. Still, for all that happens, there is always a single being behind it. No matter what it is, a haunting, a killing, or black magic, it always traces back to Him, just as this diary can be.

Stop now, for this may be your last chance.