THE LIBERATION

The silence of the evening was shattered by the loud, thunderous boom of the ship's whistle. The sound echoed across the vast expanse of the ocean, signaling all members on deck to return to the musty cabins below. The amber hues of the setting sun bathed the water—its honeyed light reflecting off the ripples left in the ship's wake. For Smitha Pandey, the mesmerizing view was but a fleeting distraction from her recent triumph. A smile of unbridled joy stretched across her face. Months of effort and sleepless nights had finally borne fruit: her paranormal research had yielded undeniable results.

Smitha, a 22-year-old literature student with a passion for psychology, had always been drawn to the inexplicable. Raised in the rustic embrace of a village in Maharashtra by her grandmother, she grew up listening to ghost stories and folklore steeped in superstitions. Her curiosity, fueled by her grandmother's tales and a longing to uncover the truth, had evolved into an ambitious research project: proving the existence of paranormal entities.

Smitha's journey began when her close friends, Ronith and Rakshitha, both prodigies in physics, developed a unique radio device capable of capturing frequencies beyond the human auditory range. Ronith, the genius behind the invention, claimed the radio could intercept energy vibrations—both positive and negative—from unknown entities. It was Smitha's persistent urging that led him to refine the device to detect paranormal signals. Rakshitha, an experimental physicist, lent her expertise in calibrating the equipment to ensure its precision.

For weeks, Smitha had experimented with the radio in the quiet corners of her grandmother's ancestral house. She had intercepted signals from nature—birdsong, rustling leaves, and distant thunder—but nothing paranormal. Until tonight.

The moment had come. Smitha had just returned from the deck to her room. Her grandmother was away visiting relatives, leaving her alone in the sprawling house. A dim yellow bulb lit the room as Smitha set the radio on her desk. The device, a sturdy amalgamation of copper coils and a vintage transceiver, hummed faintly as it powered on. The air seemed heavy, as though it carried secrets waiting to be unveiled.

"Let's see what you have for me tonight," she muttered, her voice tinged with excitement and a hint of trepidation.

As the radio buzzed to life, Smitha carefully placed four candles at the corners of the room, a practice she'd adopted from her grandmother's rituals. The flickering flames cast long, dancing shadows on the walls. She spread her tarot cards on the desk, each one a potential conduit to the unknown.

The room fell silent except for the steady crackle of the radio. Smitha adjusted the dials with precision, searching for frequencies that had long eluded her. Suddenly, a low, guttural hum emerged from the device. It was unlike anything she'd encountered before—an eerie resonance that seemed to vibrate through her very being.

Her heart raced. "Is this it?" she whispered.

She immediately dialed Ronith and Rakshitha, urging them to come over. Within minutes, the duo arrived, their curiosity matching Smitha's excitement. Together, they huddled around the radio, their faces illuminated by its faint glow.

"This frequency..." Ronith murmured, adjusting his glasses. "It's not natural. I've never seen the device respond like this."

Rakshitha added, "It's not just a signal. It's... alive. Listen closely."

The hum grew louder, transforming into an unsettling chorus of whispers. Words in an unknown language interwove with static, creating an almost hypnotic rhythm. The temperature in the room plummeted, and the candles flickered wildly as though caught in an unseen storm.

"Let's test the cards," Smitha said, her voice trembling with anticipation. She picked up her tarot deck, shuffling it with practiced hands. Drawing three cards, she placed them on the table: The Moon, The Tower, and The High Priestess.

"This... doesn't look good," Rakshitha whispered, her voice barely audible over the radio's growing static.

The radio emitted a sudden, piercing wail. Then came the knock—a sharp, deliberate sound from the front door. The trio froze, their eyes darting toward the entrance. The knock came again, louder this time.

"Should we... open it?" Rakshitha stammered.

Ronith, mustering his courage, nodded. "We need to see this through."

As he approached the door, the candles extinguished in unison, plunging the room into darkness. The radio's hum intensified, filling the void with its oppressive sound. Ronith gripped the doorknob and pulled it open. No one was there.

A cold gust of wind swept through the doorway, brushing past them like an unseen presence. The door slammed shut on its own, and the radio's whispers turned into distinct, chilling words: Why did you call me?

"Let's test the cards," Smitha said, her voice trembling with anticipation. She picked up her tarot deck, shuffling it with practiced hands. Drawing three cards, she placed them on the table: The Moon, The Tower, and The High Priestess.

"This... doesn't look good," Rakshitha whispered, her voice barely audible over the radio's growing static.

The radio emitted a sudden, piercing wail. Then came the knock—a sharp, deliberate sound from the front door. The trio froze, their eyes darting toward the entrance. The knock came again, louder this time.

"Should we... open it?" Rakshitha stammered.

Ronith, mustering his courage, nodded. "We need to see this through."

As he approached the door, the candles extinguished in unison, plunging the room into darkness. The radio's hum intensified, filling the void with its oppressive sound. Ronith gripped the doorknob and pulled it open.

No one was there.

A cold gust of wind swept through the doorway, brushing past them like an unseen presence. The door slammed shut on its own, and the radio's whispers turned into distinct, chilling words: Why did you call me?

Smitha's breath hitched. "Who... who are you?" she asked, her voice quivering.

The radio crackled. The entity's voice was low, guttural, and laced with an almost human anguish. "You summoned me. Why?"

"I wanted to know if you exist," Smitha replied, trying to steady her shaking hands. "I'm studying the paranormal. Please, tell me... who are you? What do you want?"

The entity's response was cryptic: "The truth is not what you seek. Leave before it consumes you."

Suddenly, the room came alive with movement. The chairs scraped against the floor as though dragged by invisible hands. The table shook violently, scattering the tarot cards across the room. One card landed face-up at Smitha's feet: Death.

The candles relit themselves, their flames now a deep, unnatural blue. The air grew heavier, pressing down on their chests. Then came the footsteps—soft, deliberate, and drawing closer. The trio huddled together, their eyes darting around the room.

"We need to end this," Ronith said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Wait," Smitha interjected. "I need to know more."

Before Ronith could protest, Smitha's phone vibrated on the table. The caller ID was blank. Trembling, she answered.

The voice on the other end was barely human. "You have opened a door that should remain closed. Now, you must face the consequences."

The call ended abruptly, and the phone screen flashed a single word: Run.

As if on cue, the radio emitted a deafening screech. The windows shattered, and the room was plunged into chaos. The entity's presence was palpable now, a malevolent force that seemed to fill every corner of the house. The trio bolted for the door, their hearts pounding as they stumbled into the night.

The house fell silent behind them, its oppressive aura replaced by an eerie stillness. Smitha clutched the radio tightly, her mind racing with unanswered questions. Who was the entity? Why had it responded to her call? And most importantly, what did it mean by consequences?

As they reached the safety of the street, Smitha glanced back at the house. In the moonlight, she saw a shadowy figure standing at the window, watching them with unblinking eyes.

The next day, Smitha's grandmother returned, none the wiser about the previous night's events. Smitha, Ronith, and Rakshitha vowed to uncover the truth behind the frequency, but deep down, they knew they had crossed into dangerous territory.

The camera on Smitha's phone had recorded everything. Reviewing the footage, they saw what their eyes hadn't: the shadowy figure—a man in tattered clothing with eyes that glowed like embers. His voice echoed in the recording: "You cannot escape what has begun."

The frequency wasn't just a signal. It was a warning. And for Smitha, this was only the beginning.