The Knocking of Nepali Doll

In the quiet village of Mirik, nestled between the misty hills of Darjeeling, the Rai family lived in an old two-story house that creaked and whispered secrets of its own. Among the family members, young Meera and her elder sister, Priya, shared a peculiar fascination with a peculiar doll—a gift from their globetrotting uncle who had brought it from the far-off land of Nepal. This doll wasn’t like any other; it had hair that felt alive under one’s touch and eyes that seemed to flicker with a hidden awareness.

Their Aunt Lakshmi, who had treasured the doll since her own childhood, entrusted it to Priya with a solemn warning, “Treat it well, for it holds memories of many eyes that have watched over our family.” Priya adored the doll, dressing it and whispering secrets into its ear, treating it as another member of the family. But as the days turned into weeks, Priya’s fascination grew into obsession, and the doll found a permanent place in the cupboard of their ground-floor room.

One night, the air was thick with the scent of monsoon rains, and an unsettling quiet had settled over the house. Meera, who shared the room with Priya, woke to the soft but distinct sound of knocking from within the cupboard. Frightened, she nudged Priya awake, whispering frantically, “Do you hear that?” Priya, groggy and irritable, dismissed her fears, “It’s just the wind, go back to sleep.”

The knocking continued for nights, each time solely when the moon was a mere sliver in the sky. Meera’s complaints grew louder, and she refused to keep the doll in their room. Out of fear and frustration, she carried the doll upstairs and declared it would stay there. However, unable to part with her beloved toy, Priya secretly wrapped the doll in a dark cloth, bringing it back to its usual spot in the cupboard.

That night, the knocking grew louder, persistent, and urgent. It was as if the doll was trying to communicate, or escape. Priya, now scared herself, confessed to Meera she had brought the doll back. Anger and fear gripping her, Meera dragged the doll out and left it at the foot of the attic stairs, locking the door behind her.

But the peace was short-lived. At the stroke of midnight, the knocking started again, but this time, it was the sound of something striking wood from the inside of the attic door. The sisters, paralyzed with fear, watched as the doorknob turned slowly. With a courage born of desperation, Priya flung open the door. The doll, untouched and unmoving, lay exactly where she had left it—yet the knocking continued, echoing around them.

The next morning, with resolve and a heavy heart, Priya took the doll far into the woods, where she set it ablaze. The fire crackled and hissed, and as the flames consumed the doll, a chilling wail split the air, unsettling yet liberating.

Priya returned home, the weight of the doll’s presence lifted. But sometimes, in the dead of the night, when the wind howls through the hills of Mirik, the faint sound of knocking can still be heard, as if distant yet ever so near, reminding the sisters that some gifts are best left untouched.