We assured Vikram Baba that we would bring calm back to his village and end the fear that had taken hold of his people. We arrived equipped for the task—EMF detectors, EVP devices, night-vision cameras, and thermal scanners. Alongside the equipment, we carried something heavier: the responsibility to face whatever lurked beyond sunset—and the resolve to see it through.
By midday, Baba invited us for a meal at his home. The spread was simple but deeply satisfying—fragrant bagara rice, fiery mirchi ka salan, slow-cooked lentils tempered with curry leaves, and soft, freshly made rotis. The comforting aroma of spices and ghee filled the air, easing our fatigue. He even prepared a small room for us to rest in, laying out clean cotton sheets over woven mats. The space was modest, but peaceful, lit softly by brass lamps that seemed to flicker with quiet reassurance.
Though we were urged to rest, none of us truly could. Instead, we gathered in that room—Amit, Peter, Diljeet, Abdul, and I—reviewing our plan for the night. Our voices were low, almost cautious, as if something unseen might already be aware of our presence.
Baba offered to send a few of his strongest men with us, but we declined. “If we go in a group,” I explained, “whatever we’re dealing with may retreat. We need to approach carefully—just us.” He accepted our decision, though concern lingered in his eyes.
Time moved slowly, yet somehow slipped away all the same. As evening crept closer, Baba’s wife brought us tea—rich masala chai—along with hot pakoras and samosas. The warmth of it all contrasted sharply with the unease settling inside us. Each sip felt like borrowed courage; each bite, a quiet reminder that we were about to step into something unknown—and possibly dangerous.
An hour before sunset, silence took over. The kind that presses against your chest. Every passing second felt stretched, heavy with anticipation.
Then it was time.
We gathered our gear and headed toward the site. With every step, the air grew denser, colder. A strange wind moved through the trees, carrying a warning we could almost feel. Shadows lengthened unnaturally, and faint sounds—rustling leaves, distant creaks—began to unsettle us.
And then, without warning, it started.
A deep, guttural sound tore through the stillness. It didn’t belong to any living creature—it was raw, unnatural, something that seemed to echo from all directions at once. It felt like a warning… or a challenge.
I switched on the EMF meter. Instantly, it flared to life—lights flashing wildly, indicating an intense surge of unseen energy. Diljeet activated the thermal camera. On its screen, shapes moved—faint, shifting forms darting through the darkness—yet to our eyes, nothing was there.
Peter and Abdul stood firm, gripping their torches and the EVP recorder. Their faces had gone pale, but neither stepped back.
“Stay together,” I said quietly. “No matter what happens.”
Abdul nodded. “They’re not just threats… they’re in pain. Don’t forget that.”
We placed the recorders at different spots, hoping to capture something—anything. The tension became unbearable. Time stretched endlessly, the silence thick with an unseen presence pressing in on us.
Finally, Diljeet spoke into the darkness. “Why are you doing this? What do you want?”
The response came instantly—and violently.
A deafening roar erupted, so powerful it seemed to shake the ground beneath us. Then came the stones—first small, then larger ones—flying toward us from nowhere. The wind carried cries—agonized, broken sounds that filled the night with terror.
“Run!” Peter shouted.
We didn’t hesitate. We sprinted back, our flashlights slicing through the darkness. Stones crashed around us, striking the ground and trees. Behind us, something moved—fast, unseen, relentless.
We burst into Baba’s home, breathless and shaken to the core.
“It’s too much,” Abdul said, struggling to steady his voice. “We can’t face them like that.”
Baba listened quietly, his expression grave. “The night is testing you,” he said. “You must not fight blindly. Watch, listen, understand—that is how you will help them.”
Later, after returning to Amit’s house, we cleaned up and sat in silence. No one spoke much. The weight of the encounter lingered.
I connected the EVP devices to my laptop. The room filled with a low hum as the software processed the recordings. We leaned in, watching the audio patterns carefully.
The first recording played—the same horrifying roar echoed through the speakers, making our skin crawl all over again.
Then came the second file.
A sudden spike appeared on the screen.
And then… a voice.
Faint. Distorted. But unmistakably there.
“Please… release us…”
We all froze.
Peter whispered, “You heard that… right?”
Abdul leaned closer, his face drained of color. “They’re not attacking us… they’re asking for help.”
We replayed it—slower this time.
The message became clearer:
“Free us… from suffering… guide us… peace…”
Amit exhaled slowly, his hands trembling. “They’re not violent by nature. They’re trapped… lost. Everything we recorded—this isn’t aggression. It’s pain.”
Peter shook his head in disbelief. “So the stories were right… they’re not monsters. They’re souls that never found closure.”
I nodded. “Which means we’ve been approaching this the wrong way. This isn’t about confronting them—it’s about helping them.”
Baba’s earlier words echoed in my mind—about compassion, about understanding.
We exchanged silent glances, and in that moment, an unspoken decision passed between us.
Tomorrow, we would return.
But not as hunters.
As guides.
Outside, the wind whispered through the night, carrying faint echoes we could now understand—not threats, but pleas.
And this time, we would be ready—not with fear, but with purpose.
The spirits were waiting.
And so were we.
To be continued…
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.