We rose early the next morning, though none of us could claim we had truly slept.
The room no longer felt the same. The air was heavier, almost dense, as if something from the previous night had lingered behind. No one spoke of it directly, yet it was understood. That scream still echoed somewhere deep within us… not gone, just buried—waiting.
It felt as though something unseen remained with us—watching, listening—sharing the same suffocating silence. Even the walls seemed tense.
We got ready with minimal conversation.
Equipment checked. Batteries verified. Weapons secured. Everything was precise, but now there was a sharp edge beneath our actions. What had begun as curiosity had shifted into something far more serious.
Abdul met us downstairs.
He appeared quickly—too quickly, almost. He offered a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze kept shifting, avoiding direct contact for more than a moment.
Something wasn’t right.
I studied him briefly, then gestured for him to step aside with me.
“Is everything okay?” I asked quietly. “You don’t seem yourself. What’s troubling you?”
He hesitated, his shoulders dropping slightly.
“I’m not happy with this job,” he admitted in a low voice. “The manager keeps sending me out late at night—to bring food, supplies… whatever he needs. The fastest route goes through the graveyard and the cremation ground.”
His voice trembled.
“I’ve had close encounters,” he added. “Things I can’t explain.”
His words lingered in the air.
For a moment, I looked at him—not just as a frightened worker, but as someone caught between fear and necessity.
An idea took shape.
“Would you move to Karachi?” I asked. “Work for me as a housekeeper. I’ll pay you double.”
He looked up instantly.
Fear gave way to hope. His expression changed completely.
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I would.”
“Keep this to yourself,” I said firmly. “No one else needs to know.”
He nodded quickly.
When we returned to the group, something had subtly shifted. Abdul stayed closer to me now, as if bound by an unspoken understanding.
We informed the manager that we needed Abdul’s help for our supposed investigation into a robbery. He agreed, though without much interest.
But our real purpose had taken a darker turn.
After walking nearly a kilometer along a dusty, increasingly isolated path, we reached the place the locals spoke of in hushed tones.
On one side stood a Hindu cremation ground.
On the other, a Muslim graveyard.
A six-foot wall separated them—two resting worlds divided by a thin barrier.
The atmosphere was oppressive.
The kind that weighs on your chest.
As we began setting up our equipment, a small group of village children approached, curiosity evident in their eyes as they stared at our gear.
When we asked about anything unusual, one boy—barefoot, unusually serious—pointed toward an old, worn grave near the crematorium wall.
“That one,” he said. “It starts from there.”
We looked in that direction.
The grave was ancient, weathered by time. Its edges had softened, and whatever inscription once existed was nearly gone.
“Smoke comes out after sunset,” another child said. “Then she appears.”
“White shawl,” one whispered.
“A big rusted blade,” another added.
The reaping tool.
Their voices overlapped, describing the same figure. The same pursuit. The same haunting cries.
“No one dies,” one clarified quickly. “But she chases people.”
I exchanged a look with Diljeet.
We told the children to leave. It didn’t feel safe for them to remain.
Once alone, we placed the EVP recorder on the grave, followed by the EMF detector.
The response was immediate.
Lights flickered wildly. The beeping intensified, rising into a sharp, continuous sound.
Energy.
Something was present.
Diljeet and I checked our weapons and took position behind a low stone wall. Cameras were set—one focused on the grave, another on us.
The sun began to dip.
Orange shifted into red.
The sky darkened slowly, almost reluctantly.
“Thermal camera,” I said quietly.
Diljeet lifted it.
As dusk deepened, a faint stream of smoke began to rise from the grave.
At first, barely visible.
Then thicker.
More defined.
And then—
A shape.
It formed gradually within the smoke.
The outline of a woman.
Clear.
Undeniable.
“Zoom in,” I whispered.
Through the thermal lens, her form became clearer.
White covering.
A heavy reaping blade in her hand.
Exactly as described.
My heartbeat pounded loudly in my ears.
“It’s her,” Peter murmured. “The woman in white.”
Adrenaline surged through us.
We had evidence.
But before we could fully process what we were seeing—
She disappeared.
Not faded.
Gone.
As if wiped away instantly.
Abdul stumbled backward. Amit’s hands shook. Even Peter, usually composed, looked unsettled.
We were still trying to understand when Abdul suddenly shouted—
“Look behind you!”
We turned.
And there she was.
Not at a distance.
Not near the grave.
But just a few meters away.
Close enough to see the texture of her shawl. Close enough to hear her uneven breathing.
Her voice burst out—harsh, furious.
“I heard everything you said!”
Time seemed to break apart.
Diljeet and I reacted instantly, raising our guns and firing.
The shots echoed sharply.
The bullets passed straight through her.
As if she wasn’t solid at all.
No impact. No blood.
Nothing.
“Now!” I shouted.
Amit, Peter, and Abdul switched on their high-powered torches at once.
Blinding light flooded the area.
The beam hit her directly.
She screamed—a piercing sound that seemed to vibrate through our bodies.
And then—
She vanished.
Not stepping away.
Not running.
But dissolving.
Breaking apart into nothing, like smoke carried off by the air.
Silence followed.
Only our breathing remained.
Heavy. Uneven.
The grave was still once more.
The EMF detector went quiet.
The smoke was gone.
But something had shifted.
This was no longer distant fear.
No longer myth.
No longer rumor.
It had become real.
Personal.
Abdul dropped to his knees, whispering prayers. Amit stared at the empty space, struggling to comprehend what he had witnessed. Peter ran his hand through his hair, his confidence clearly shaken.
Diljeet slowly lowered his weapon.
For a long time, none of us spoke.
The air felt colder now.
Sharper.
We had faced her.
And she had responded.
That was what disturbed me most.
She hadn’t simply appeared.
She had reacted.
As we stood there—five men caught between the living and the dead—I realized something deeply unsettling.
We were no longer the ones investigating.
She knew about us.
And whatever this was—
It was far from over.
The story was about to take a far darker turn… and nothing would unfold the way we expected.
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.