A Midnight Encounter with the Phantom Woman

Aman was a student living in Chandigarh, focused on his studies and enjoying life with his friends. One cold winter evening, he got a call from his friends who had decided to take a spontaneous trip to Himachal Pradesh, a region known for its beautiful landscapes but also for its eerie legends. They were heading to  Palampur, a town in the  Kangra Valley, famous for its tea gardens and views of the snow-covered  Dhauladhar mountains.

Eager to join them, Aman decided to catch up with them the next day. He took the earliest bus from Chandigarh, ready for an adventure. The journey began smoothly, but as the bus climbed through the winding mountain roads, the weather began to change. By the time they reached the outskirts of  Kangra, it was late at night, and the bus suddenly had a flat tire, forcing them to stop near a small, isolated town called  Guna.

The delay felt strange. The bus driver informed everyone that they would have to wait for hours for help. Standing in the dark, with the cold creeping in, Aman felt an uneasy chill.  The surrounding shadows seemed to whisper, filling him with a sense of dread.

Finally, the bus was repaired, but by the time Aman reached  Kangra, the last buses to  Baijnath, his destination, had already left. The streets were empty, except for a few stray dogs that barked into the quiet night. With no other option, Aman decided to hitchhike.

After waiting in the cold for what felt like forever, a lone truck appeared. The driver, a rough-looking man with a face hidden in shadow, offered to take him as far as  Kurala, a village on the way to  Baijnath. Aman accepted the ride, but the silence inside the truck was unnerving. The driver barely spoke, and the road ahead seemed endless, stretching into the dark and unknown.

When they reached  Kurala, the driver dropped Aman off at a fork in the road. "Take the path to the right," the driver said in a low, gravelly voice. "It'll lead you to  Baijnath. But be careful, and don’t look back."

Aman stepped out of the truck, and as it drove away, he found himself alone on a narrow, twisting road. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl. The full moon cast eerie shadows that danced on the road.

Determined to reach his friends, Aman started walking. The road led him through a dense forest, where the trees loomed tall and twisted, their branches forming a dark canopy overhead. The silence was overwhelming, broken only by the crunch of leaves underfoot. With each step, Aman felt a growing sense that he was being watched, that something unseen was lurking just beyond the light of the moon.

After walking for about an hour, Aman came upon an old railway bridge. The structure was ancient, its metal beams rusted and covered in moss. Below the bridge, a river flowed quietly, reflecting the moonlight. For a moment, Aman was struck by the beauty of the scene. But then, something caught his eye that made his blood run cold.

Under the bridge, there was a figure—a woman, standing upside down as if gravity didn’t affect her. Her long, dark hair hung toward the ground, her eyes wide and empty. She seemed to float in the air, her feet stuck to the underside of the bridge. At first, Aman thought it was a trick of the light, but then the figure began to move.

The woman slowly turned her head to face him, her empty eyes locking onto his. Aman's heart pounded as he realized she was real—and she was coming toward him, floating closer with every second.

Terrified, Aman turned and ran. His footsteps echoed on the empty road as he fled. He could hear her behind him, the sound of dry leaves rustling, growing louder and louder. The air grew colder with every step, and the trees seemed to close in around him, their twisted branches reaching out to trap him.

As he ran, strange whispers filled the air. Soft at first, they soon grew louder, calling his name, urging him to stop and turn around. But Aman knew better—he didn’t dare look back. He just kept running, faster and faster, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his heart pounding like a drum.

Just when he thought he couldn’t run anymore, Aman saw headlights in the distance. A car was coming down the road. Desperate, he waved his arms, stepping into the car's path. The car screeched to a halt, and Aman flung open the door, jumping inside.

Breathing heavily, he looked around. An elderly couple sat in the front seats, their faces pale and tense. They stared at Aman as if he were a ghost. "Please," Aman gasped. "Just drive."

The car started moving again, but the air inside was thick with fear. The elderly woman began to cry softly, while the man kept his eyes on the road, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

Aman felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He turned to look at the back seat and froze. There, sitting next to him, was the woman from under the bridge. Her empty eyes stared right at him, her lips curling into a twisted smile as she reached out her hand.

Aman screamed and threw open the car door, jumping out and rolling onto the cold, hard ground. Ignoring the pain, he got up and ran, not caring where he was going, just desperate to get away. Behind him, the car sped off into the night, the woman’s eerie laughter echoing in the darkness.

He ran until he couldn’t run anymore, collapsing on the ground, gasping for breath. The whispers had stopped, but the fear lingered. Aman lay there, too terrified to move, until he saw a small temple in the distance, its lights shining through the darkness.

With the last of his strength, Aman stumbled toward the temple, his only hope for safety. He banged on the door, praying someone would hear him. Finally, the door creaked open, and a sadhu (holy man) stood there, his face full of concern.

Seeing Aman's condition, the sadhu pulled him inside and locked the door. Aman could barely speak, but he managed to tell the sadhu what had happened. The sadhu listened quietly, then began to chant prayers, sprinkling holy water around the room. He gave Aman a protective charm and told him to rest.

Aman spent the rest of the night in the temple, too scared to sleep. He could still feel the woman’s eyes on him, her cold hand reaching out from the shadows. The sadhu stayed with him, offering prayers and comfort, but the fear clung to Aman like a shadow.

At dawn, Aman’s friends arrived, having been contacted by the sadhu. They were shocked to see Aman’s state but relieved he was safe. Together, they prayed at the temple before heading back to their hotel. Aman was shaken but thankful to be alive.

As they left the temple, Aman couldn’t help but glance back at the road he had come from. It was now bathed in soft morning light, the terrifying shadows of the night gone. But the memory of what he had seen and heard would never leave him. It was a reminder that some places hold dark secrets, and not all roads are safe to travel.

Even years later, Aman remembers that night clearly. He has never returned to that road, avoiding it and the terrifying memories it holds. Deep down, he knows the woman is still out there, waiting in the shadows, ready to haunt the next person who dares to cross her path.

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