The cold dawn wrapped itself around us as we left Diljeet’s house, the chill sharp enough to sting our skin. Lahore was still half-asleep, its streets damp with morning dew and nearly empty except for the occasional rickshaw and the soft echo of our footsteps. Each of us carried a compact bag—nothing more than essentials: torches, rope, and the few tools that had become extensions of our survival in the unknown.
Ahead of us stood the Lahore Railway Station, its old arches glowing faintly under the orange wash of sunrise. The air around it was dense with coal smoke, diesel fumes, and the calls of vendors setting up early breakfast stalls. Down the platform, the Karakoram Express waited, its long body still and heavy, like something alive but restrained.
The moment I saw it, a strange thought crossed my mind—that the train itself somehow understood our destination… and resented it.
Inside the compartment, the light felt muted, almost reluctant to enter. Shadows gathered in the corners, and every movement of the train echoed through the metal frame like a distant heartbeat. We took our seats, the worn upholstery creaking beneath us. Around the carriage, the other passengers were unnervingly quiet. A woman opposite us stared blankly at her hands. A man near the window clutched a string of prayer beads, his lips moving without sound.
The whistle cried out. The train jerked forward.
And just like that, we were pulled away from the familiar streets of Lahore toward something none of us could clearly name.
After some time, the world outside began to shift. The morning sun should have been climbing higher, but instead the light felt dulled, as though filtered through something unseen. A heaviness crept into the air.
Peter leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Do you feel that? The air’s different… like it’s pressing down on us.”
I didn’t answer immediately. Somewhere in the corridor behind us, footsteps passed—slow, measured, and slightly out of sync with the motion of the train. When I turned to look, the passageway was completely empty.
Amit swallowed hard. “I… I thought someone just whispered my name.”
“Probably your imagination,” I replied, though my own voice lacked conviction. “We haven’t even reached the mountains yet.”
But the train kept moving, as if it were carrying more than just passengers.
Its motion no longer felt natural. The rhythmic sway resembled something deliberate—almost like a cradle rocking on its own will. Every now and then, the metal groaned, stretching the sound into something that felt eerily close to a voice.
Then came a cry from further down the carriage—a baby, wailing sharply. The sound cut through the silence like a blade. Its mother tried to soothe it, murmuring softly, but when she briefly looked in my direction, her expression felt wrong—distant, hollow, as if part of her was no longer present.
Amit attempted to laugh it off. “Maybe we’re just tired. Early morning journeys mess with the mind.”
I tightened my grip on the seat. “Or maybe the mind isn’t the problem.”
Peter, who had been staring out the window, suddenly stiffened. “You need to see this.”
Outside, the landscape had changed. The fields were barren, uneven stretches of land broken by dark, unnatural mounds. They resembled shallow graves scattered across the earth. And among them—just for a fleeting moment—stood a figure.
Tall. Thin. Motionless.
It wasn’t close enough to be clear, yet its presence felt unmistakably directed at us.
Before anyone could react, the train surged forward and the figure vanished behind us. But the feeling of being watched did not leave.
Abdul pressed closer to the window. “That wasn’t normal…”
The train suddenly jolted violently. Lights flickered overhead. The wheels screeched. For a brief, suffocating instant, everything stopped—no motion, no sound, no breath of wind.
Then, just as suddenly, it resumed, as if nothing had happened.
The other passengers exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent, as though acknowledging something unspoken.
Peter exhaled shakily. “We’re not even close to the valley yet… and it’s already here.”
Amit’s voice dropped. “Maybe it’s not waiting there. Maybe it already knows we’re on the way.”
A chill settled deeper into my bones. “Fantastic. A haunting that travels.”
Peter forced a weak grin. “Always wanted to meet something supernatural before lunch.”
Abdul, still staring outside, spoke quietly. “Those mounds… they aren’t random. They look arranged. Like someone shaped them on purpose.”
The train crossed a narrow bridge, its rumble echoing through the valley below like a distant drum. In the reflection of the glass, I saw my own face—tense, pale, eyes alert. Something in my instincts told me clearly: we were not alone.
“Stay focused,” Diljeet said, breaking the tension. “We’ve been through worse. Remember Nawabshah?”
Peter groaned. “I remember enough to wish I didn’t.”
Abdul whispered another prayer under his breath. Amit scribbled in his journal, though his hand trembled slightly, making the writing uneven.
As hours passed, the terrain grew harsher. The slopes became steeper, the land more desolate. Dark shapes appeared again and again among the distant fields—sometimes clearly there, sometimes almost imagined—but always watching, always present just long enough to unsettle us before fading away.
By the time the sky shifted into dusk, bruised with shades of violet and grey, Diljeet finally spoke again. “We’ll reach Rawalpindi soon. We rest there, then continue toward the mountains tomorrow.”
Peter let out a breath that was part relief, part dread. “Mountains. Because apparently the plains weren’t unsettling enough.”
Amit muttered, “At this point, I miss ordinary problems.”
I looked at the others. Despite everything—the unease, the sightings, the unexplained silence between moments—none of us looked like turning back was even an option.
The train continued its relentless journey, groaning through the fading light like something ancient carrying us toward an unseen destination.
And far beyond the tracks, among those distant dark mounds, I thought I saw it again.
A shape rising just slightly above the earth.
Watching.
Waiting.
We didn’t say a word.
We didn’t need to.
Because deep down, we all understood the same truth—
Whatever lay ahead wasn’t simply waiting for us in the valley.
It was already reaching out… pulling us in step by step.
Author’s Note: This chapter was edited with AI assistance for grammar, readability, and flow.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgjwnid0L6h
and then Add to home screen.