My name is Alyssa. I am from Jharkhand. And please—listen carefully—because what I am about to share is not a story. It is someone’s life. It is someone’s pain, and I want to share it with the world.
Our teacher trusts us. He cares about us. He shares parts of their personal life with us.
What I heard gave me goosebumps—and it filled me with deep sadness.
It was our last day in college. The classroom was almost empty, and there was still a long time before dismissal. So our economics teacher decided to share some personal experiences with us.
Let me say this again—this is not a story. These are real struggles, the kind of pain that very few can truly understand unless they have lived through it themselves.
For nearly an hour and a half, he spoke about his life. And yet, I am certain that what he shared was only a fraction of what he still carries within him. I could feel—from his words—that there was much more he kept hidden.
But even what he did share was enough to make us understand how much he must have endured.

He told us that he has a younger sister—her name is Isha. And something happens to her, suddenly, at any time… moments when she no longer behaves normally. Please don’t misunderstand—she is not insane at all. She is educated, intelligent, and fully aware. But when those moments arrive, she suddenly appears far too sharp—almost unnaturally smart and intelligent.
She begins to speak on her own—revealing things, secrets—about right and wrong, about unknown truths—things no ordinary person could simply know or explain. She talks endlessly, as if knowledge is flowing through her.
She says that someone has entered her. But who that presence really is—no one knows to this day. Whatever comes over her sometimes claims to be God, sometimes a spirit, sometimes an ancestor of their family. And yet, no one in the family has ever been able to understand what—or who—it truly is.
So far, what the teacher shared might sound almost… “interesting” to you. But hidden inside these seemingly normal details are things far more sinister, far more dangerous. You will understand that only when the entire truth is revealed, because for his family, this became nothing less than a battle between life and death.
He told us that over the following days, his sister’s behaviour changed so drastically that no one could understand why it was happening. This time, she wasn’t calm or thoughtful. This time, something was disturbing—something deeply unsettling about her.
She still wasn’t insane. But at times, she would suddenly become so silent that no matter what anyone asked her, she wouldn’t utter a single word. As if the questions meant nothing. As if she had drifted into another world altogether.
Then one day, something happened that terrified everyone—because she was caught in the act.
They discovered that every night, when the entire household was in deep sleep, she would quietly go up to the rooftop at exactly midnight—completely alone. It was pitch dark there. And yet, without a torch, without the light of a phone, she would sit in a dark corner for hours… crying.
She did this every single night—without anyone knowing.
If her family hadn’t seen her that day, she might have continued breaking herself down like this, night after night. And who knows what she might have done to herself eventually—without the family ever realising, without a single warning.

Our teacher told us about an incident that happened once in their home. One morning, after all the household work was done, the family sat together calmly to have their meal. That’s when the mother’s eyes fell on Isha’s face.
She looked exhausted—clearly as if she hadn’t slept all night. There were deep, dark circles under her eyes, and her face looked slightly swollen. Seeing her like that, her mother grew instantly anxious. She asked her at once,
“What happened? Didn’t you sleep properly last night? Were you crying? Did someone say something to you?”
But Isha replied in a normal tone,
“No, Mom. I didn’t cry at all. I’m fine.”
What made this even stranger was the fact that Isha was always sensible, calm, and straightforward. Getting scolded was never even a possibility for her. In fact, if anyone in the house had ever been scolded, it was mostly her brother—not her. She had never given anyone a reason.
And there was no question of a boyfriend or heartbreak either—nothing that could explain such tears.
That was exactly why her mother couldn’t believe her words, not even a little. Because Isha’s face made one thing painfully clear—something was wrong. Something was seriously not right.

That same night, after everyone in the house had finished dinner and gone to sleep, the mother’s heart grew restless again. She thought she should check on Isha once—see how she was sleeping, whether she was truly okay. More than that, she wanted to speak to her privately… so that if there was any pain, any fear, or any hidden suffering, her daughter might open up. Seeing her child in such a state, the mother could not calm her mind. Questions kept circling in her head.
Finally, when the entire house had fallen into deep sleep, she quietly decided to go to her daughter’s room.
But the moment she opened the door—
Isha wasn’t there.
Panic struck her instantly. Dark thoughts rushed into her mind. She didn’t want to wake anyone and create an alarm, so she began searching for her alone—room by room, corner by corner. Isha was nowhere to be found.
When she finally moved toward the rooftop, she heard the faint sound of someone crying—very softly. Terrified, she ran in that direction. The terrace was engulfed in darkness; there was no moonlight that night. Her daughter was sitting curled up in a corner, her knees pressed to her chest, hair dishevelled, her face completely soaked with tears.
She was crying so quietly, as if she didn’t want anyone to know she was there at all. If the mother hadn’t reached her in time, no one might ever have known how long she had been sitting there, crying alone.
The mother gently touched her shoulder and asked softly,
“What happened, my child? Why are you sitting here? Did someone say something to you?”
But Isha didn’t even lift her head to look at her. No one knew what was happening inside her. Her breathing was rapid—perhaps she was afraid, as if someone had just terrified her, or as if she was trapped in a secret she couldn’t explain.
The mother brought her back to the room and gave her water… but the entire night, Isha didn’t speak a single word. Her silence felt more frightening than any scream.
Then, the next morning—when everyone woke up, and the mother once again spoke to her gently, comforted her, reassured her—only then did Isha begin to speak. Even while talking, her body trembled slightly.
She said,
“I can’t cry anymore. I’m exhausted. But I can’t do anything about it. My eyes hurt now because of all the crying.”
She confessed that sudden, intense anger rises inside her without any reason—an anger she has no control over. No matter how hard she tries, she cannot stay calm.
Slowly, she showed the marks on her arms and knees—deep wounds and scratches, red and black, caused by her own nails.
“Look here… and here… I scratched myself with my nails. I hurt myself so that my anger calms down a little. You may not believe it, but my anger only settles when I harm myself. It hurts terribly, my body aches—but I still have to do it. If I don’t hurt myself, my head feels like it will burst with rage.
Sometimes, in anger, I even make terrifying, ugly sounds. When I get angry, it’s not normal anger—it’s wild, uncontrollable. I know it’s wrong, but when that anger comes… this is the only way I understand.”
She continued,
“It reduces my anger a little—but it never ends. Not completely. I’ve tried many times not to hurt myself. I tried taking my anger out on things around me, but it didn’t help at all. There was only one thing that worked—crying. Whenever I cried, my anger became somewhat manageable. That’s why I used to hide and cry for hours, just to feel a little better.
You all may not have noticed, but sometimes, while washing dishes, I would slam them slightly in anger. Sometimes, while walking, if something came in my way, I would kick it so hard that it got damaged. While writing, I would stab the paper with my pen so deeply that it tore through fifteen or twenty pages at once.
I’ve released my anger many times like this—but always in a way that no one would suspect anything. I’ve pulled out my own hair in rage more times than I can count. I don’t know why, but doing that reduces my anger just enough to give me relief.
I never wanted anyone to know about this pain of mine—because what I do is strange, even disturbing. I know that very well. But I am mentally fine. It’s just that sometimes, without any reason, an overwhelming anger takes over me.”
Her words left the mother frozen—caught between fear, heartbreak, and a helpless love she didn’t know how to protect.
Hearing Isha say all this left the entire family deeply shocked. For the first time, they truly felt afraid of their own daughter’s actions. And in that very moment, they realised that this was not just about crying on the rooftop at midnight… There was something far beyond that—something impossible to understand. This was far deeper, stranger, and more terrifying than anything ordinary.
After everything that had happened, the entire family sat together and talked openly. They discussed everything that had occurred so far. Isha, however, was resting at that time, sleeping peacefully—completely unaware—because she hadn’t slept the entire night. Learning about their daughter’s condition, her parents became overwhelmed with emotion. Her mother broke down in tears, feeling as if someone had stolen all the dreams she had once imagined for her daughter’s future.
As the discussion continued, the family reached a decision—to take her to a tantric (a spiritual healer). At that moment, this felt like the only right option to them. No one wanted to waste time, and the situation was so serious that they wanted to act immediately. They decided that she would be taken to the tantric on the very same day. The circumstances were so critical that they felt they couldn’t afford to wait even a second.
By then, it was already 10 p.m. The atmosphere in the house was heavy with pressure. No one truly knew what the right thing to do was—but everyone could feel that the situation had become extremely serious.
So, without overthinking it, they made the decision and took their daughter to the tantric right away. No one dared to delay, because it felt as though time itself could no longer be wasted.
Listening to our teacher share all of this, I felt frightened myself. What his sister went through sounded terrifying. And at the same time, even knowing that this was a real incident, it was difficult to believe—how could such intense anger arise on its own, without any reason?
Yet, I had to believe it—because this was the truth. And my teacher’s emotions could never be false. From his words alone, it was clear how deeply he loved his sister.'
Our teacher told us that after visiting the tantric, his sister remained completely well for an entire year. She returned to a normal life—she no longer spoke to herself, no longer cried at night, and no longer displayed any strange behaviour. She stayed healthy, began working, and lived like any ordinary person again.
The entire family was happy. Everyone felt relieved—grateful that their daughter had finally returned to being herself.

Even a month later, the atmosphere in the house remained calm and pleasant. One day, everyone was sitting together in a room, discussing Isha’s wedding preparations and the proposals that were coming in. Her father mentioned that the groom’s family would soon visit the house to see her, so everyone needed to be prepared. Hearing this created a stir—there was happiness, but also a quiet sense of nervousness.
A week later, that day finally arrived. Everyone felt restless and slightly anxious, wondering how things would go and whether everything would turn out well.
When the groom’s family arrived, everyone became more alert. The mood turned a bit serious, yet hopeful—because this meeting was a major step toward Isha’s future.
Isha herself was nervous. It was the first time she would be meeting so many new people at once. But what happened next is enough to send chills down your spine.
When Isha picked up the tray of tea, she appeared tense. She seemed anxious, perhaps afraid, yet she tried to smile—as if forcing herself to stay composed. As she reached her future father-in-law to serve the tea, she suddenly stopped. Everyone in the house was watching her, but no one could understand why she had paused. Without saying a word, she placed the tray quietly on the table and walked straight toward the kitchen.
Her behavior changed abruptly. Her steps were fast, almost unnatural. There was something different on her face—as if her intentions had suddenly shifted.
A few seconds later, she came out of the kitchen holding a knife.
This time, there was no trace of shyness or hesitation in her expression or movements. The entire house fell silent. No one could comprehend why she was doing this—or what was about to happen.
Suddenly, she slit her future father-in-law’s throat.
Everything happened so fast that no one even had time to think. The family was in shock—they could not believe she was capable of something so extreme.
After doing this, her face and her voice changed completely. She kept repeating the same words again and again,
“My revenge is complete… my revenge is complete…”
Her voice was so eerie and unnatural that everyone present was terrified. No one could understand how—or why—this had suddenly taken over her.
The moment the knife struck, and screams filled the room, the family froze in horror. Her mother was the first to shout, “Catch her!” Immediately, three or four people rushed toward her. Someone snatched the knife from her hand, and others held her arms tightly so she couldn’t harm anyone else.
She was breathing heavily, still repeating over and over,
“My revenge is complete… my revenge is complete…”
Her future father-in-law was laid on the floor at once. Family members tried desperately to help—someone attempted to stop the bleeding, someone brought water, someone else, hands trembling, made a phone call, shouting, “Send an ambulance! Send it quickly!”
Chaos erupted in the house. Some people were crying, some stood frozen in shock, and others began to feel faint just witnessing the scene. No one could understand how something like this had happened—so suddenly, so violently.
Meanwhile, those holding Isha tightened their grip, because she kept trying to break free—as if she were in a completely different mental state. Her rapid breathing echoed clearly through the room, filling the air with fear and disbelief.

I sincerely apologize. I do not want to share my teacher’s real name, their family’s name, address, or any identifying information on the internet. I want to respect their privacy. It may hurt them if they ever find out that deeply personal matters about their family were made public online.
My intention is not to expose anyone, but only to share an experience while protecting the dignity and privacy of the people involved.

After some time, the ambulance arrived. Her future father-in-law was taken to the hospital, and Isha was kept seated in a separate room, held under control.
At the hospital, the doctors tried everything they could, but there had been too much blood loss. They declared that he had passed away.
The family was completely shattered. The mother was crying uncontrollably, the father stood with his head lowered, and everyone else was in shock. Even then, no one could truly believe that this had actually happened.
When the police arrived, Isha was still repeating the same words over and over. Her parents kept pleading with the police, saying that she was their daughter, that she had lost her sanity, and that she should not be sent to jail. Seeing her condition, the police did not arrest her.
The entire family was broken from within. Everyone understood that life in that house would never return to what it once was.
That is all I want to share for now. I cannot speak about what happened afterward.
Ten years have passed since that hellish day. After that incident, Isha slowly returned to normal. Today, she appears completely ordinary—just like before.'
Over the years, she regained the job she had lost and eventually got married. Now her life is normal and filled with happiness—home, children, everything. She has two young children, whom I have even met.
No one who sees her now could imagine that she was ever involved in something like this. She lives a normal, happy life with her family.
Yet, the death of her father-in-law remains a mystery even today. No one knows what truly happened that night—what occurred within her, or why she did what she did.
Life has moved far ahead, but the truth of that night remains an unanswered question for the family.
That day, the atmosphere in the classroom felt different. Our teacher—who was usually serious and calm—looked emotional. He shared his family’s story with the entire class: their personal struggles, his sister’s suffering, and everything he had kept buried in his heart for years. I could understand that if I were in his place, I might have done the same, because carrying that much pain and fear in silence is not easy for any normal person.
But as he spoke, some things settled deeply within me. I noticed a few boys in the class making jokes about his sister and his family. They laughed among themselves, passing comments. I even heard one boy say,
“That girl is really interesting, man—she killed her own future father-in-law? Wow!”
And then they all laughed.
It hurt me deeply. Our teacher had shared his family’s pain, and people were mocking it. I felt so angry inside that I wanted to hit those boys.
The girls in the class were silent—but their silence felt strange too, as if all of this seemed normal to them. I thought maybe for them, it was just a story. No one discussed it further, and neither did I—because I was still trying to process everything I had heard.
That one-and-a-half-hour class still echoes in my mind.

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