A biting chill greeted us as we stepped out of Diljeet’s house at first light. The city hadn’t fully awakened yet—its streets damp with dew, its silence broken only by the distant hum of a passing rickshaw and the soft rhythm of our own footsteps. Each of us carried a compact bag, stocked with only what we deemed necessary—torches, rope, and a handful of tools that had already proven their worth in past encounters.
Ahead, the grand structure of Lahore Railway Station rose into view, its curved arches glowing faintly under the amber hue of dawn. The air carried a mixture of coal fumes, diesel exhaust, and the inviting scent of food from early vendors. Down along the platform, the Karakoram Express idled, releasing a long hiss that reminded me of a living creature waiting to depart.
As we climbed aboard, a strange unease settled in my chest—an irrational sense that the train itself was aware of our destination… and disapproved.
Inside, the compartment felt dimmer than it should have been at that hour. Shadows gathered unnaturally in the corners, and the steady clanking of the train seemed to echo through the floor like a heartbeat. We took our seats, the old leather sighing beneath us. Around us, the other passengers were unnervingly quiet. A woman sat across from us, staring downward as if afraid to look up. Nearby, a man gripped his rosary tightly, his lips moving in silent devotion.
The whistle pierced the air, and with a sudden jolt, the train began to move—pulling us away from Lahore and into something far less certain.
Not long into the journey, the world outside began to feel… off. The sun should have been rising higher, yet the light seemed dulled, as though something unseen filtered it.
Peter leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Can you feel it? The atmosphere… it’s getting heavier.”
I gave a slight nod but remained silent. From the corridor behind us came the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate, and strangely out of sync with the train’s rhythm. When I turned to look, nothing was there.
Amit’s voice trembled slightly. “I just heard someone whisper my name.”
“Relax,” I muttered. “We haven’t even left the plains yet.”
But the train pressed on.
Its gentle rocking should have been soothing, yet it felt unsettling—like something being lulled into wakefulness rather than rest.
We attempted casual conversation, but every word seemed swallowed by the metallic groans of the carriage, as if the train itself responded to us.
From somewhere down the aisle, a baby’s cry pierced the silence—sharp and unsettling. Its mother tried to soothe it, murmuring repeatedly under her breath. When her gaze met mine, her eyes appeared hollow, devoid of warmth or life.
Amit forced a nervous laugh. “Probably just our imagination. Early start, long trip…”
“Imagination?” I replied under my breath. “Does that include seeing the dead staring at us from the fields?”
Peter stiffened beside the window. “Look.”
I followed his line of sight. The land outside had turned barren—no crops, no animals—only uneven ground marked by dark, mound-like shapes resembling shallow graves. And then, just for a fleeting second, I saw it—a tall, pale figure standing motionless among them, watching us.
The image vanished as quickly as it appeared, but its gaze lingered in my mind.
Abdul leaned forward. “That’s not possible—”
A violent jolt interrupted him. The train shuddered, lights flickering wildly. For a brief, chilling moment, everything fell silent—no engine, no wheels, no voices. Just an oppressive stillness.
Then, just as suddenly, everything resumed.
The passengers looked disturbed but remained silent, as though acknowledging it would make it worse.
Peter shifted uneasily. “We haven’t even reached the valley… so how is this happening already?”
Amit swallowed hard. “Maybe it’s not about where we’re going. Maybe… whatever’s there already knows about us.”
I exhaled slowly. “Fantastic. A one-way trip into something that’s been expecting us.”
“Great,” Peter muttered weakly. “Always wanted to greet spirits before breakfast.”
Abdul didn’t share the humor. “The temperature just dropped,” he said quietly. “That wasn’t natural.”
Diljeet placed his hand against the window, his voice tense. “No… it’s not the weather. Something is trailing us.”
Suddenly, a loud clatter erupted from above. A bag shifted violently in the overhead rack without anyone touching it. We all flinched, the tension snapping tighter.
Amit leaned in, whispering urgently. “Stay focused. No distractions. This feels like a test.”
I gripped the talisman in my pocket. “And here I thought city traffic was the worst stress imaginable.”
Peter muttered dryly, “Next trip, let’s pick somewhere haunted but warm.”
Abdul kept his eyes on the passing landscape. “Those mounds… they’re too uniform. Someone placed them deliberately.”
The train thundered across a bridge, its echo resonating deep below. I caught my reflection in the glass—pale, tense, and filled with unease. Every instinct told me we weren’t alone.
“Stay steady,” Diljeet said firmly. “We’ve handled worse. Remember Nawabshah?”
Peter groaned. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Abdul resumed his quiet prayers, while Amit attempted to jot notes, his trembling hand barely steady enough to write.
Hours passed. The terrain grew harsher, shadows stretching longer with each passing mile. The mounds persisted, along with fleeting silhouettes that seemed to move just out of sight.
As evening approached, staining the sky with deep purples, Diljeet leaned back. “We’ll reach Rawalpindi soon. We rest, then head for the mountains.”
Peter sighed. “Mountains. Because this isn’t terrifying enough already.”
Amit muttered under his breath, “I should’ve listened when I was told not to wander.”
I looked at my friends—their faces strained, yet determined. Fear was there, unmistakable, but so was resolve. None of us would turn back.
The train groaned and swayed like an ancient creature, carrying us forward. In the distance, I thought I saw something rise from the earth—a silent watcher keeping pace with us.
No one mentioned it.
There was no need.
The valley was drawing us in—and it didn’t feel like an invitation. Something buried deep within it was already aware of us… perhaps had been all along.
And with every mile, it felt less like we were approaching it—
and more like it was closing in around us.
ns216.73.216.98da2This work is my own concept and I have done enormous amount of hardwork on it. However the grammar is corrected with AI because it is not my native language.
and then Add to home screen.