The Girl from the Gufa

We used to live in a single room for a few years. Eventually, we moved into a flat. At first, everything felt new and exciting. I live in Nepal—Kathmandu, to be specific—where a large part of the population belongs to the Newar community. In their culture, there’s a ritual called gufa, where a girl is kept in isolation for several days after her first menstruation. During that time, they’re not allowed to see sunlight or interact with others.

There’s also a terrifying belief tied to this ritual. They say a khyak—a spirit—visits the girl during her isolation. It can be either black or white. The white khyak is said to be harmless and even decorates the girl with ornaments and makeup. But the black one… it brings death.

I'm sharing this because the landlord of the flat we moved into was also from the Newar community.

About a week after we moved in, I woke up late at night and saw something outside our window. A white figure—a girl—was walking around the compound, laughing softly. I ignored it, thinking maybe my mind was playing tricks on me.

The house only had two floors. There were no children living there—certainly not in our flat.

One night, I was sleeping beside my mom when I heard the sound of a child giggling. I brushed it off at first, assuming it came from outside. But the laughter continued… soft, persistent, almost playful. Then it turned into humming—a tune I didn’t recognize. A cold chill ran through my chest.

We locked our room and tried to sleep. But the sounds didn’t stop. At one point, I could feel it right next to my head, like someone whispering directly into my ear.

That night was the longest of my life.

After that, the dreams began.

I started seeing the same child in my sleep—clear as day. She was dressed in the traditional gufa attire, her face pale and still. For three nights in a row, she appeared in my dreams, asking me to play with her. She begged me to buy her shoes and new clothes. I was terrified. Her face haunted me even when I was awake—I could remember every detail of it.

I stopped thinking about it during the day, but every night, fear returned. She would come again—smiling, laughing, calling me didi, asking me to come play with her.

One night, I finally asked her in my mind: “What do you want?”

She answered clearly: “Play with me. I want new clothes… bangles… shoes.”

The next day, I bought a doll. Even though I’m Chhetri and I don’t usually believe in these things, especially the spiritual rituals of other communities, something told me to do it.

I put bangles on the doll. I told her, “These clothes are yours now. These shoes… they’re yours.”

After that day, she never came back. The dreams stopped. The whispers ended. The fear left.