The old wooden swing set creaked in the still night air, its rusty chains groaning a mournful song. Ten-year-old Priya shivered, pulling her thin shawl tighter around her. The power had gone out an hour ago, plunging their small village outside Chennai into an inky blackness punctuated only by the faint glow of distant fireflies.

Her grandmother had warned her never to go near the banyan tree at the edge of their property after dark. "Something watches from its branches, child," she'd rasped, her eyes wide with a fear Priya had never understood. But now, huddled on the porch steps while her parents tried to find candles, Priya couldn't shake a prickling sense of unease that seemed to emanate from the ancient tree.

A soft rustling came from the direction of the banyan. Priya held her breath. It sounded like dry leaves skittering across the ground, but there was a rhythm to it, an almost deliberate pattern. Then, a low, guttural sigh drifted through the darkness, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cool night air.

Curiosity, that relentless childhood companion, tugged at her. She told herself it was probably just a stray dog or a night bird. Slowly, hesitantly, she stood up and took a few tentative steps towards the edge of the porch.

The rustling stopped. The sigh was gone. Only the rhythmic creaking of the swing set filled the silence. Priya almost turned back, relief washing over her.

Then, she saw it.

Perched on the thickest branch of the banyan tree, just beyond the reach of the faint starlight, were two luminous eyes. They weren't the reflective eyes of an animal; these glowed with an inner, malevolent light, like embers burning in the darkness. They were fixed on her.

A cold dread seeped into Priya's bones. She couldn't move, couldn't scream. The air around her seemed to thicken, pressing down on her chest. The glowing eyes didn't blink, didn't waver. They simply watched, a silent, predatory gaze that seemed to pierce through her very soul.

Suddenly, a twig snapped beneath the banyan tree. Priya flinched, and the glowing eyes vanished. The silence that followed was even more terrifying than the sounds before. It was a heavy, expectant silence, as if something was waiting.

Priya finally found her voice, a choked whisper that was swallowed by the darkness. She stumbled backward, her legs heavy and unresponsive. She didn't dare take her eyes off the banyan tree, even though the glowing eyes were gone.

Just as she reached the safety of the porch steps, a long, skeletal finger brushed against her ankle.

Priya screamed. The sound tore through the stillness of the night as her parents rushed out, their faces etched with worry. They found her huddled on the steps, pointing a trembling finger towards the banyan tree, her eyes wide with terror.

They searched the area with their phone flashlights, finding nothing. "Just a bad dream, dear," her mother murmured, pulling her into a comforting embrace.

But Priya knew what she had seen. And every night, when the power flickered and the shadows danced in her room, she couldn't help but glance towards the window, half-expecting to see those two luminous eyes watching her from the darkness of the banyan tree. The swing set outside would often creak in the still night air, a constant, chilling reminder of what lurked just beyond the edge of the light.