Whispering Woods

The rustling of leaves filled the air as the autumn wind swirled through the narrow streets of Mussoorie, carrying with it the scent of damp earth. Sub-Inspector Asha stood at the edge of the forest, her sharp eyes scanning the crimson-hued treetops. The case that had brought her here was as twisted as the knotted roots that crept through the underbrush. Two bodies had been found in the woods, both young, both mutilated. The serene hillscape had become the stage for a macabre mystery.

„Do you really think it's some kind of ritual?“ Mohit Kishenchandani, leaning against a car, he took a sip of a bottle. His hands trembled.

„Put that away, Mohit.“ Asha snapped, her eyes never leaving the forest. „We need your head clear. If you're not going to help, then go back.“

Mohit grumbled, but shoved the bottle into his jacket.

„Vincent George,“ Asha murmured to herself, pulling out her phone. She dialed, her fingers tapping the side of her leg impatiently.

On the other end, Vinnie Sir answered in his usual calm voice, „Asha, what can I do for you?”

„I need your help! I’m in Mussoorie. Brutal murder case. Whoever did this, knew what they were doing. It doesn’t seem random. Maybe ritual.“

„Mh, Mussoorie is known for ancient myths and legends. They often have a connection to nature. Maybe the answer lies in the forest itself.“ he replied. „Look for symbols, patterns.”

Asha paused, her eyes drifting to the towering trees that seemed to lean over them, as if eavesdropping. „You may be right. Please inform Ayush to do some research at the web. Meanwhile, we will comb the crime scene one more time. Thanks for your help. Bye!“

Mohit scowled, but when Asha started walking into the forest, he followed her with heavy steps.

The undergrowth was thick, branches snapping under their feet as they delved in the forest. The trees whispered secrets that neither of them could hear. The air grew cooler, more still.

After a while, Mohit stopped. „Look!“ His voice was tensed. „The leaves... they're arranged in a circle.“

Asha knelt down, her heart racing. Sure enough, the colorful autumn leaves had been meticulously arranged into a perfect circle, a symbol scratched in the dirt at the center. It looked ancient, unfamiliar, but it seemed to radiat malice.

Suddenly Mohit’s phone rang. Ayush! He put the phone on speaker.

„Mohit! I found something...” Ayush’s voice was agitated. „There’s a legend of a local tribe that worships autumn as the season of death and rebirth. They have a death ritual. The murders… maybe they’re sacrifices.”

Mohit paled and looked at Asha. Asha’s pulse quickened when she felt the presence of something. She turned sharply, her hand instinctively reaching for her gun.

From the shadows, a figure emerged. The face painted with the same symbol, like the scratched on the ground.

„It’s not over yet,” the figure hissed.

Autumn's silence was shattered by a gunshot.