The faint hum of his bike's engine was the only sound piercing the eerie stillness of the night. Arjun glanced at his watch. It was 10:45 PM. The road ahead stretched endlessly into darkness, lit faintly by his dim headlamp. The shortcut he had taken to avoid the highway seemed like a brilliant idea two hours ago, but now it felt like a mistake.
The path was flanked by tall trees, their skeletal branches arching over the road like a canopy. Occasionally, the leaves rustled, but no wind touched his face. It was the kind of silence that made you notice your own breathing.
He had driven this route before, though never this late. It was supposed to be a straightforward road that led back to the main highway in about 15 minutes. But tonight, it felt different—longer, darker, and more desolate. He hadn't seen a single car or even the faint glow of a distant house.
The fuel gauge blinked red. He cursed under his breath, realizing he had been riding on reserve for longer than he thought. "Just a few more minutes," he reassured himself, gripping the handlebars tighter.
As he turned a corner, the headlamp flickered briefly, plunging him into darkness before sparking back to life. The sudden loss of light sent a chill down his spine. His heart pounded as he scanned the road, half expecting something—or someone—to appear out of the void. But there was nothing, just the same empty path and looming shadows of trees.
A signboard loomed into view, its text barely visible under the dirt and rust. He slowed down, squinting to read it. "Khadoor Village - 5 km" it read. The name rang no bell. He had never heard of this village before, even though he prided himself on knowing the routes around his town.
"Keep going," he muttered, trying to shake off the unease creeping into his chest.
A few meters ahead, the road became rougher, with cracks running through the asphalt like veins. His bike jolted over the uneven surface, and the fuel gauge beeped louder, a harsh reminder of his dwindling fuel. Suddenly, he noticed something strange—the sound of the engine seemed to echo back to him, louder than it should in an open area.
He stopped the bike and killed the engine, letting the silence engulf him. No crickets, no rustling leaves, no distant hum of life—just an oppressive, absolute silence. He looked around, his phone flashlight casting faint beams into the surrounding darkness.
"Hello?" he called out, half hoping for a reply, half dreading it. His voice sounded hollow, swallowed by the void around him.
The shadows between the trees seemed to shift, as if the darkness itself was alive. He shook his head, brushing off the thought as his mind playing tricks on him. But when he looked down at his bike, he saw something chilling—a faint, smudged handprint on the fuel tank. It hadn't been there when he left home.