By the time evening shadows crept across the walls, we were completely drained. Hours of discussion had worn us down, leaving no room for further debate. At last, we reached a conclusion: we would head to the village at dawn. Until then, rest was not just needed—it was essential.
“Tea?” Peter suggested, his tone almost decisive, as if a simple cup could ease the weight pressing on all of us.
Abdul chuckled quietly. “It won’t protect us from what’s out there, but maybe it’ll clear our heads.”
“Good enough,” I said, getting up. “A little calm before everything begins.”
The rest of the afternoon slipped into a quiet lull. We sank into the sofas, some lying back, others half-sitting, staring blankly at the television. The screen flickered with news, dramas, and advertisements, but none of it held our attention. Our thoughts were far away—fixed on the unseen threat waiting for us.
Peter rotated his teacup slowly, watching the liquid swirl. “Ever think,” he said softly, “that they might already know we’re coming? That they’re waiting?”
Diljeet’s expression tightened. “I don’t like the idea of anything out there planning ahead. But we can’t dismiss it. Whatever these things are, they’ve been terrifying people for months.”
Abdul leaned back, his voice low. “Fear spreads quickly. And this isn’t baseless fear—it’s built on loss, on injustice. That makes it… something we can’t just brush aside.”
Despite all our searching, we had found nothing concrete. No clear answers, no guiding breakthrough—just more questions circling endlessly. It became obvious that the only way forward was to go directly to the source: the villagers themselves.
Abdul broke the silence. “So… what exactly do we ask them?”
We all looked at him, realizing he had spoken what we had all been thinking.
Questions flooded our minds. How long had this been happening? What started it? Were there cremation grounds nearby? Had there been accidents, violence, or disrupted rituals? What could have triggered such unrest?
Amit leaned forward, practical as always. “We should write everything down. A proper list. That way we don’t forget anything important.”
The idea immediately took hold. One by one, we began shaping our questions, speaking them aloud as if rehearsing for what lay ahead.
Peter tapped his pen against his notebook. “First—what caused the first incident? Was it a death, an accident, or something else entirely?”
“How many entities are there?” I added. “Are we dealing with a few… or something much larger?”
Diljeet spoke next, focused. “Have the villagers tried anything already? Prayers, offerings, rituals—anything to keep them away?”
Amit followed. “And is there any connection to cremation practices? Ashes, rites, anything that may have been disturbed?”
Abdul added thoughtfully, “We should confirm sightings. Not just sounds or shadows—actual descriptions. Headless forms, movements, behavior.”
Peter scribbled quickly. “And patterns. Do they appear at certain times? Specific conditions? That could tell us something important.”
I leaned back, considering. “Also interactions—have they harmed animals, attacked people, or simply frightened them? That might reveal their intent.”
The list grew longer, each question sharpening our focus. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a way to step into the unknown with purpose instead of confusion.
Peter sighed dramatically. “By the time we’re done, they’ll think we’re conducting a full investigation.”
Abdul smiled faintly. “Better that than becoming part of the story ourselves.”
Time passed faster than we realized. Soon, Amit’s mother called us to dinner, her voice warm and familiar. The aroma of spices drifted through the house, grounding us after a day filled with tension.
“And don’t think I won’t notice if anyone starts before I serve!” she called out.
Peter muttered, already reaching forward, “That’s going to be very difficult.”
Dinner was rich and comforting, every bite reminding us of the simple peace of home—a peace we knew might be absent where we were headed. We ate more quietly than usual, each of us aware of what tomorrow might bring.
Later, we returned to the drawing room. A quiet calm settled over us.
Peter dropped onto the sofa. “So… we’ve planned, we’ve eaten, and we’ve prepared. Now what? Wait for them to send us an invitation?”
Diljeet gave him a look. “Let’s hope they don’t. I doubt they knock.”
Abdul leaned forward, his tone serious. “We need to prepare ourselves mentally. Fear can take over quickly if we’re not careful.”
Amit nodded. “And remember, we’re there to listen first. The villagers’ experiences will guide us. Without that, we’re just guessing.”
I took a slow breath. “We have our questions. We know our precautions. Now we rest. Tomorrow, we face whatever truth is waiting.”
That night, we turned in early. For once, sleep came without struggle. Exhaustion pulled us under quickly. But even in rest, a quiet tension lingered.
Outside, the wind moved softly through the trees, carrying a faint chill. The distant call of an owl, the rustling leaves, even the bark of a stray dog felt louder in the stillness. My dreams were uneasy—filled with vague shapes, headless figures drifting along riverbanks, and echoes that refused to fade.
When morning came, it would not just mark another day.
It would mark the beginning of our journey into something far deeper—something unknown.
And I knew, with certainty, that the questions we had prepared would be the only thread connecting us to whatever waited between the living and the dead.
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.