Iske jaisa inventor koi, thoda sa hai genius, thoda ladka seedha saada... I still remember these lyrics perfectly. Kiteretsu was like Doraemon if you switched the roles a bit, the characters were similar, but the vibe of the show was very different. Whenever it came on TV, I made sure to watch it.
Iske jaisa inventor koi, thoda sa hai genius, thoda ladka seedha saada... I still remember these lyrics perfectly. Kiteretsu was like Doraemon if you switched the roles a bit, the characters were similar, but the vibe of the show was very different. Whenever it came on TV, I made sure to watch it.
Since my grandfather died, I have been getting nightmares.
It was the first time I had ever seen a burial—the first time I went deep into a graveyard. It felt like a forest of graves, bats hanging from trees, screaming into the dark. That image stayed with me.
My mother told me she heard screams coming from my room last night.
Usually, I don’t remember my dreams. Only the ones that leave a deep mark remain, and even then they stay blurred. Still, I feel the need to spill this out.
That night, I was extremely tired. I usually sleep late, but that day I went to bed early. Everyone else in the house was still awake.
The first nightmare began.
The lights were gone.
Everyone was gathered in the hall.
My grandmother stood on the balcony, staring outside. In the dream, I was a child. I called her name, but she didn’t hear me. I walked closer and shouted again.
She turned.
A candle was in her hand, its flame lighting her face from below.
She screamed—and suddenly grabbed me.
Everything went dark.
Later that same night, the second nightmare appeared.
My father was trapped under a huge loan. When my grandfather died, his loan shifted onto my father. Loan collectors kept coming to our house. I remembered this from my childhood, but in the dream it was worse. They were threatening us.
I stopped going to school. I didn’t even go outside. The entire house felt tense and suffocating.
My grandmother sat on a high post of authority. She had money—enough to clear everything instantly—but she refused to help. The loan collectors said that if she wanted, she could end it all in a moment, but she didn’t.
Her money only came out when her daughters needed help.
Night fell.
My mother was closing the doors when she suddenly screamed.
My father and I ran to her.
At the gate, someone lay on the ground, covered with a blanket.
We already knew who it was.
It was my grandmother.
They had killed her.
We slowly pulled the blanket away. Her body was there—but her head was missing.
I started crying. My father collapsed onto the floor in shock.
What disturbed me most was the silence. No one came, even after hearing our screams. But dreams don’t need to make sense.
Then the third nightmare formed.
I was sitting in my grandfather’s chair, watching TV in what used to be his room. I rocked gently back and forth.
Suddenly, I heard a scream.
It was unlike anything I had ever heard—something monstrous, like a dragon roaring, or like my grandfather screaming from his grave.
I fell from the chair.
The room vanished.
The chair vanished.
Everything turned blank.
I was falling into a void, growing smaller as I fell—until I disappeared completely.
I woke up screaming.
The awakening was worse than the dream.
I couldn’t move.
It felt like something was sitting on my chest. My body was frozen. My eyes were fixed on the door leading to the balcony.
It looked like my grandfather was standing there—just as I had seen him when he was dead. His eyelids were lifted. A disturbing smile stretched across his face, the kind you sometimes see on corpses.
I closed my eyes and began to pray.
Then the Fajr azaan started.
Slowly, the weight on my chest lifted.
I heard my grandmother crying.
I rushed to her. She cried and said that my grandfather used to wake at this hour for prayer. I watched her cry for a man I had never seen her speak kindly to. She had hated him, abused him—and now tears fell from her eyes, heavy with fresh guilt and sudden sadness.
I returned home after another bad day,
but something felt wrong.
My door was locked from the inside.
I asked my neighbors.
They said I was the one
who had gone in.
I knocked.
A familiar voice answered.
My ears went cold.
My mind screamed—
run, run.
But my body didn’t listen.
The door opened.
It was me.
But not me.
He was taller.
His skin was clear.
His teeth straight.
His body fit.
In short—
a handsome version of myself.
“Come inside,” he said.
“Who are you?” I asked.
He grabbed my arm
and dragged me in
while I screamed.
He threw me to the floor,
tied me to the bed,
then sat calmly in front of me.
“I am you,” he said,
“but better.”
“You could have been me
if you had tried.
But you chose to be a loser.”
“Look at me.
I’m perfect.”
“It’s not just about looks.
Academics.
Sports.
Friendships.
Social life.”
“I succeed at everything.”
“I have confidence.
I have patience.”
“I’m not stupid like you.”
He leaned closer.
“Soon,
I’m going to replace you.”