Morning came, and I had already decided one thing—I would keep the nightmare to myself.
As we sat around the dining table, with plates half-finished and glasses dotted with condensation, the conversation slowly drifted away from food to something far more familiar—that restless urge that always followed our reunions. We were never satisfied with ordinary trips or staged memories. We sought depth. We chased mysteries. Time and again, we found ourselves pulled toward stories that demanded to be tested.
Peter tried to speak, then stopped. Diljeet’s fingers tapped lightly against his glass. Their eyes met briefly—once, then again—before both looked away. A silent conversation. Something unspoken hanging in the air.
Amit noticed it.
So did I.
We had grown up side by side. Reading each other was second nature.
“What are you two hiding?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.
Peter shrugged, a little too quickly. Diljeet’s jaw stiffened for just a second.
The mood shifted.
I leaned back, letting the silence linger just long enough to make it uncomfortable.
“What about ghost hunting here in Nawabshah?” I said, lowering my voice slightly. “This area is surrounded by old cremation grounds and abandoned graveyards… especially near that ruined hotel.”
Amit’s curiosity sparked instantly. “The one near the outskirts?”
I nodded.
As the idea took shape, our voices dropped even further, as if the walls themselves might overhear. The once-cozy common room felt subtly darker.
“The Reaper of Midnight,” Amit murmured.
The name alone carried a strange weight—and it struck me deeply, matching exactly what I had seen in my dream.
According to local tales—whispers passed between people, fragments from online discussions, and fading pages of old accounts—she appeared at midnight. Dressed in white. Face unseen. Holding a massive, rusted reaping blade. She haunted the nearby crematorium, targeting anyone reckless enough to wander into her territory.
That blade—the long, curved weapon—was how she earned her name.
The Reaper.
A chill ran through me. Fear and excitement blurred together, indistinguishable.
“But where do we even get equipment for something like this?” Amit asked, glancing around as if expecting it to appear.
That was when Peter and Diljeet finally dropped the act.
Their expressions changed instantly.
Peter reached into his bag and placed an EMF detector on the table. Then came an EVP recorder, its faint red light blinking steadily.
Silence fell over the room.
Diljeet leaned back, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face as he pulled out a thermal vision camera from his own bag.
Amit stared, stunned. “Where did you get all that?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Diljeet said calmly. “I brought it along just in case we decided to hunt something… and looks like we did.”
The air grew heavier with anticipation.
There was no backing out now.
Peter and Amit, though inexperienced in anything paranormal, leaned forward with excitement that outweighed caution.
“This isn’t something to take lightly,” I said quietly. “If things go wrong… this won’t just be a story anymore.”
Diljeet nodded. “Encounters leave consequences.”
But Peter only smiled. “That’s why we have you two.”
Confidence.
The kind that often leads straight into trouble.
They were certain nothing would happen.
They were mistaken.
The only thing left was getting permission.
The entire day passed in planning, discussing every detail.
When night finally arrived, we approached the hotel manager. The moment we mentioned going out to investigate at night, hesitation filled his face. Suspicion followed quickly.
That’s when we showed our IDs.
Detective. Police officer.
We spoke carefully, claiming we had information about a dangerous gang possibly planning a robbery near the crematorium.
After a long pause, he agreed—but reluctantly.
Then we turned to Abdul.
He stood near the entrance, visibly tired from his shift. When we asked him to guide us to the crematorium, unease immediately crossed his face.
But the moment we mentioned the Reaper—
His expression changed completely.
The color drained from his face. His eyes filled with tears he struggled to hide.
“Please,” he said, his voice shaking. “I have a wife… three children. Don’t make me go there.”
This wasn’t fear for show.
It was real.
We reassured him—calmly—that we were armed, trained, and ready.
He hesitated for a long moment.
Then slowly nodded.
“After 2:00 a.m.,” he whispered. “That’s when she appears.”
The way he said it made the time feel cursed.
According to him, the hotel would fall completely silent at that hour. Guests asleep. Lights off. Everything unnaturally still.
“I’ve heard sounds,” he added quietly. “Soft crying… like a woman begging. Like she’s trapped somewhere.”
A cold shiver ran through me.
“She doesn’t just appear,” he continued. “She hunts. And if she sees you… she comes after you. That blade… a sickle. No one who has seen her closely has ever dared return.”
We waited.
Time crawled toward 2:00 a.m., each second heavier than the last.
When the hour finally came, we stepped outside.
The night felt suffocating.
No wind. No insects. No distant sounds.
Only silence.
Then—
A faint whisper.
So faint it could have been imagined.
Then another.
Longer this time.
A distant cry.
Abdul’s hand shook as he turned on the torch. Its beam cut through the darkness like something fragile.
Diljeet and I readied our guns, our hands steady.
The sounds grew clearer. Closer. The crying twisted into something unnatural—something not entirely human.
And then—
We saw her.
A figure emerged from the darkness.
White.
Distorted.
A shawl moving unnaturally despite the still air.
In her hands—a massive reaping blade. Rusted. Curved. Catching faint light.
Her movements were wrong.
Too fast. Too uneven.
Then she screamed.
A piercing, unnatural sound that didn’t just echo—it felt like it burrowed into the mind itself.
Our bodies reacted instantly.
Skin tightening. Hearts racing so loudly it drowned everything else.
For a single frozen moment, we stood there—staring at something beyond reason.
Then instinct took over.
We ran.
Not as a team. Not bravely.
We ran in pure fear—like men escaping something that shouldn’t exist.
No words. No looking back.
We burst into the hotel. Doors slammed. Hallways blurred. Keys fumbled. Locks snapped shut.
Lights off.
Silence.
We fell onto our beds, breathing heavily, staring into darkness that no longer felt empty.
Sleep never came.
We lay still, listening… waiting… for footsteps that never followed.
Tomorrow, we told ourselves, we would investigate again.
Tomorrow, we would find answers. Logic. Proof.
But tonight—
We had seen her.
The Reaper of Midnight.
And whether she was legend or nightmare—
She was real.
Now… what comes next?
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.This 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.
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