Morning came far too soon, though none of us had managed to sleep properly.
Something inside the room felt wrong.
The atmosphere carried a strange heaviness, as though the events of the previous night had stained the air itself. Nobody spoke about it directly, yet all of us sensed it. That terrible scream still lingered somewhere in our minds—not gone, merely hidden beneath the surface, waiting to return.
It felt as if an invisible presence still remained nearby.
Watching.
Listening.
Breathing alongside us in the suffocating silence.
Even the walls seemed tense.
We got ready quietly.
Equipment was inspected. Batteries replaced. Weapons checked twice. Every movement was controlled and deliberate, but beneath that calm was a growing unease. What had started as an adventure no longer felt like one.
Downstairs, Abdul was already waiting for us.
He greeted us quickly and even attempted a smile, but something about it felt forced. His eyes kept shifting nervously, refusing to stay fixed on anyone for long.
I noticed immediately.
Something was troubling him.
I motioned for him to follow me toward a quieter corner away from the others.
“What’s wrong?” I asked softly. “You don’t seem alright.”
He hesitated before speaking.
“My job…” he muttered weakly. “I hate it.”
His shoulders sagged.
“The manager constantly sends me out late at night for errands—food, supplies, anything he wants. The fastest route goes straight past the graveyard and the cremation grounds.”
His voice shook slightly.
“I’ve seen things there,” he whispered. “Things no one would believe.”
For a moment, I studied him carefully—not just as a frightened worker, but as someone trapped between fear and desperation.
Then an idea came to me.
“What if you left Nawabshah?” I asked. “Come to Karachi and work for me instead. I’ll pay you twice what you earn here.”
His reaction was instant.
The fear in his expression gave way to hope.
“You mean that?” he asked quickly.
I nodded.
“Yes,” he replied immediately. “I’ll come.”
“But keep this private,” I warned. “No one else hears about it.”
He agreed without hesitation.
When we returned to the group, something subtle had changed. Abdul stayed closer to me now, as though trusting me more than the others.
We informed the hotel manager that Abdul would assist us with our supposed operation involving the robbery suspects. He allowed it reluctantly.
But by then, our real purpose had become far darker.
After nearly an hour of walking through isolated dirt paths, we finally arrived at the location the villagers feared most.
A Hindu cremation ground stood to the left.
A Muslim cemetery stretched along the right.
Only a short stone wall separated the two resting places.
The entire area carried an unnatural weight.
The kind that presses against your lungs.
While we unpacked our equipment, several village children wandered toward us, curiosity overcoming fear. Their eyes stayed fixed on the devices in our hands.
When we asked if they had witnessed anything unusual, one barefoot boy pointed immediately toward an old grave beside the crematorium wall.
“That grave,” he said quietly. “That’s where she comes from.”
All of us turned to look.
The grave looked ancient, nearly destroyed by time. The writing carved into it had almost completely faded.
“Smoke rises from it after sunset,” another child explained nervously. “Then the woman appears.”
“The one in white,” someone added.
“With the giant rusted blade,” another whispered.
The descriptions matched perfectly.
The same figure.
The same terrifying weapon.
The same stories about her chasing people through the darkness.
“But nobody dies,” one child added quickly. “She only hunts them.”
Diljeet and I exchanged a silent glance.
We told the children to leave immediately. Suddenly, having them nearby no longer felt safe.
Once they disappeared, we placed the EVP recorder directly on top of the grave. The EMF detector followed seconds later.
The response was immediate.
The detector began flashing violently.
The beeping intensified until it sounded almost unbearable.
It reacted as though powerful energy surrounded the grave.
Something was there.
Diljeet and I loaded our weapons before taking cover behind a low stone barrier nearby. Surveillance cameras were positioned carefully—one aimed directly at the grave, the other focused on our group.
Slowly, evening approached.
The golden sky darkened into crimson.
Then shadows swallowed the horizon.
“Use the thermal camera,” I whispered.
Diljeet lifted it carefully.
As darkness deepened, thin smoke began rising from the grave.
At first it was barely visible.
Then it thickened.
Curling upward unnaturally.
And then—
A shape formed inside it.
A woman’s outline.
Slowly emerging from the smoke itself.
“Zoom closer,” I murmured.
Through the thermal lens, the figure became clearer.
White cloak.
A massive reaping blade in her hands.
Exactly like the stories described.
My heart pounded violently.
“It’s really her,” Peter whispered shakily.
Adrenaline surged through all of us.
We finally had proof.
But before anyone could fully react—
She disappeared.
Instantly.
Not fading away.
Not moving.
Simply gone.
Like something erased from existence.
Abdul stumbled backward in terror. Amit’s hands visibly shook. Even Peter looked pale now.
Then suddenly Abdul screamed.
“Behind you!”
We turned instantly.
And froze.
She stood only a few meters away.
Not near the grave.
Not hidden in the distance.
Close enough to see the fabric of her shawl moving gently.
Close enough to hear the rough sound of her breathing.
Then she screamed at us.
“I heard everything you said!”
Her voice sounded twisted with rage.
Time seemed to stop.
Diljeet and I reacted instinctively, raising our guns and firing immediately.
The shots exploded through the silence.
But the bullets passed straight through her body.
No blood.
No wound.
No reaction.
As if she were made from smoke.
“Lights!” I shouted.
Peter, Amit, and Abdul instantly switched on their high-powered torches.
Blinding beams of white light struck her directly.
Her scream became unbearable.
The sound shook the air itself.
And then—
She vanished.
Not running.
Not retreating.
She dissolved into nothingness like smoke ripped apart by the wind.
Silence returned immediately.
Only our breathing remained.
Harsh.
Uneven.
The grave became still once more.
The EMF detector stopped reacting.
The smoke disappeared completely.
But something inside us had changed forever.
This was no longer just folklore.
No longer some local ghost story.
It had become real.
Personal.
Abdul collapsed to his knees, whispering prayers frantically. Amit stood frozen, staring at the empty space where she had stood moments earlier. Peter dragged a trembling hand through his hair, his confidence finally shattered.
Diljeet slowly lowered his weapon.
Nobody spoke for a long time.
The night itself felt colder now.
Sharper.
More hostile.
We had confronted her directly.
And she had answered us.
That realization disturbed me more than anything else.
She wasn’t merely haunting that place.
She was aware.
Aware of us.
As we stood there between the cemetery and crematorium—between two worlds divided only by a thin wall—I understood something horrifying.
We were no longer the hunters.
Somehow…
We had become the hunted.
And whatever waited ahead—
It was going to get far worse.
Author’s Note: This chapter was edited with AI assistance for grammar, readability, and flow.
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