The Story of an Old Fisherman (Part 2)

We returned to the shore the next morning. Everyone’s eyes betrayed sleeplessness, their minds weighed down by dread, their bodies exhausted. But what gnawed at us most was fear—an invisible, nameless, yet palpable terror.

As soon as we stepped onto the pier, it felt like someone was following us. Someone was watching—through unseen eyes, in the chill of the air.

“Was any of that real?” Mizan Bhai whispered.

I shook my head. “I don’t know… but we all saw it!”

The others in the fishing village noticed the strangeness in our expressions. One man approached and asked,

“What happened on the boat last night?”

We stayed silent. Just then, an old man stepped forward. His eyes held depths of untold stories, his hand gripping a bamboo stick. His face was etched with decades of battling the sea’s mysteries. His name was Fazlu Majhi. Locals called him “Crazy Fazlu” because he rambled about the ocean’s secrets. But now, he seemed to have been waiting for us.

He shuffled closer and rasped,

“Did you hear her cry?”

We froze.

“Did you see her?” he pressed, his voice trembling.

I replied softly, “There was a girl… on a yacht… wearing white… sitting alone.”

Fazlu Majhi closed his eyes, as if reliving a memory. Then he sighed deeply and said,

“Her name was Saira. She’s no longer human… she’s become the sea’s lament.”

No one spoke. We stared at him, hollow-eyed.

“You’ve caught her attention now,” he continued. “That cry wasn’t just a sound—it’s her call. She vanished years ago, and since then… those who cross her path are never the same.”

A shiver crawled down our spines.

“What… what are you saying?” Faruk stammered.

Fazlu Majhi began his tale in a low, haunted voice—a story woven with fear, sorrow, and an ancient curse.

The Beginning of Saira’s Story

Twelve years ago, a poor fishing family lived on this very coast: Sadek Majhi, his wife Ayesha, and their only daughter, Saira.

Saira was radiant—beautiful, bold, and joyful despite their poverty. She often fished with her father, though her mother disapproved.

“A girl’s place is at home, not on the sea!” Ayesha would scold.

But Saira insisted, “Father works too hard. I want to help him.”

The sea was both family and foe to them—a relationship of love and dread.

One full-moon night, Saira and her father sailed out with four others.

There were no storm warnings. The sky was clear. But as midnight approached, an unnatural tempest erupted—a fury far fiercer than any they’d seen.

Their boat capsized. The next morning, three bodies washed ashore: Sadek Majhi, a crewman, and a young boy. But Saira was gone.

For three days, the Coast Guard and fishermen scoured the waters. The sea gave up nothing—no body, no shred of clothing.

Ayesha refused to believe her daughter was dead.

“She’s alive! The sea has trapped her!” she’d wail.

Months passed. Ayesha lost her mind. One day, she vanished—some say she leaped into the waves; others claim she was last seen on the jetty, smiling at the water.

Since then, that stretch of sea has been cursed.

The Birth of a Cursed Place

Fazlu Majhi’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Where Saira disappeared, the water turned darker. Cast a net there, and it tears. Fish rot in its folds. Some pull up white cloth tangled in their lines. And at night… they see a girl on a yacht, draped in soaked white, her eyes streaming tears.”

He added,

“Three years ago, a young fisherman saw her. He went mad, babbling, ‘She called me! I refused… now her eyes burn!’ Two months later, he sailed out… and never returned.”

We sat in suffocating silence.

“If you hear her cry, if you meet her gaze… beware. She knows you now. Either bring her peace… or she’ll claim you, one by one.”

None of us dared breathe.

The Shadow of Fear Returns

That night, sleep abandoned us. My room faced the sea. I lay awake, haunted by the girl—the yacht, her drenched white clothes, the hollow void in her eyes.

At 3 a.m., a noise jolted me awake. I peered through the window. The sea was a black abyss… until a flicker of light pierced the dark.

A small yacht.

A pale figure.

A shadow sitting motionless.

I couldn’t scream. That night, I ceased to feel human.

A Ominous Warning

Fazlu Majhi later told us,

“Her soul still drifts in the sea, waiting. If you don’t grant her peace, she’ll remember your names. She never forgets.”

I asked, trembling,

“What do we do? How do we free her?”

He didn’t answer directly. Instead, he muttered,

“Find the truth. Don’t you know her final wish? Don’t you know where she was lost? Where her grave should’ve been?”

Questions coiled like serpents in our minds.

“All answers lie in the sea,” he said. “If you’re brave enough, it’ll speak. But once you begin… there’s no turning back.”

[To be continued...]