The first week of our break slipped by almost unnoticed, filled with laughter, wandering, and the simple joy of discovering a new city together. Sialkot had welcomed us in a way that felt almost effortless. Each day brought something different—the maze-like lanes of its crowded bazaars, the comfort of rich winter foods, and the layered history tucked into its oldest corners. Everywhere we went, the city seemed to echo with time itself. The worn stones of Sialkot Fort carried centuries of conflict and survival, while Iqbal Manzil stood quietly, as if still holding traces of the poet’s thoughts for anyone willing to listen.
Even our walks near the shrine of Imam Ali-ul-Haq left an impression. Candlelight flickered against polished stone, casting soft, shifting shadows that felt both peaceful and slightly unsettling. Diljeet, never one to miss a moment, spun half-joking ghost stories on the way back through narrow streets. We laughed, but the laughter always carried a faint edge, as if something unseen lingered just beyond the lantern light.
By the end of the week, an unusual stillness had settled over everything. There were no urgent calls, no strange disturbances, no reports of anything unnatural. It felt as though the entire country had fallen quiet on the supernatural front, giving us a rare, uninterrupted holiday.
That morning, we sat together in Peter’s courtyard for breakfast, our voices light and playful in the cold air. The table was overflowing with food—crispy, golden halwa puri; spicy chana bubbling in clay pots; rich, slow-cooked nihari warming the senses; and stacks of buttered parathas alongside steaming cups of doodh patti chai scented with cardamom and cinnamon.
Amit tore into a puri with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Now this,” he said with a grin, “is what real happiness feels like.”
We all laughed, plates quickly emptying and refilling as the conversation flowed easily. For a moment, everything felt completely ordinary—until Abdul reached for the television remote.
With a press of a button, the screen flickered to life, and the mood in the room changed instantly. A breaking news banner flashed in bold, alarming colors:
Unidentified Creature Spotted in Gharo—Residents in Panic
The anchor’s tone was serious as she reported: “Residents of Shams Society in Gharo have reported sightings of a large, unidentified creature moving through the area at night. Witnesses describe it as dog-like, but far larger than any known animal, with glowing red eyes that instill fear in anyone who sees it. While no attacks have been confirmed, panic has spread through the neighborhood. Streets have been abandoned, homes locked, and police have been deployed as authorities urge calm.”
Grainy footage followed. The video shook violently, clearly filmed in panic. Even through the blur, the shape was disturbing—an enormous, unnatural figure moving through the dark street. Its eyes flashed like burning embers, and for a brief moment the camera jolted as though the person filming could no longer hold it steady.
Diljeet’s spoon slipped from his hand and hit the plate. “Ya Allah…” he murmured, his usual confidence fading.
Amit leaned closer to the screen, frowning. “This doesn’t make sense. It could just be some wild animal… maybe a wolf gone rogue.”
But I could already feel the familiar shift in the atmosphere—the sense that reality was bending again toward something beyond explanation. My heartbeat quickened in a way I had come to recognize too well.
Peter broke the tension with a half-smile that didn’t quite hide his unease. “Well… looks like our holiday just got extended. Another case, huh?”
No one responded immediately. The warmth of breakfast had turned cold in an instant.
“Not yet,” I said firmly after a pause. “We don’t jump into anything. We gather information first. Let’s track every report and decide properly tonight.”
As the day unfolded, the story only grew darker. Every news channel covered it. Witnesses spoke of a shadow that stretched unnaturally behind the creature, as if darkness itself followed it. Some claimed they heard chains dragging across the road, even though nothing was visible. One shaken man insisted he saw its breath forming mist in the air despite the heat of the night.
By afternoon, rumors spread everywhere—from roadside stalls to busy markets. Some called it a djinn taking beast form, others said it was an omen of punishment. But one name kept repeating across conversations, whispered with fear.
Hellhound.
That evening, we gathered again as dusk settled. The television glowed in the dim room while newspapers and notes covered the table. Abdul cross-checked reports on his laptop, Peter scrolled through shaky clips, and Diljeet laid out printed headlines, each one more alarming than the last.
Slowly, a pattern formed from the chaos: a massive beast, glowing red eyes, unnatural presence, and a trail of fear wherever it appeared.
“This isn’t just an animal,” Amit said quietly, tension tightening his voice.
Peter leaned back, expression serious now. “Then what is it? Because it sounds like something out of a nightmare.”
I took a slow breath, the conclusion forming even before I spoke it aloud. “Everything we’ve seen… everything points to one thing. It’s the Hellhound.”
Silence settled over the room.
The carefree days we had just lived through felt distant now, like they belonged to another life entirely. Outside, the wind moved through the trees, brushing against the courtyard walls. And with it came the familiar sense we could never quite escape—the feeling that something unseen had turned its attention toward us again.
Whatever this was… it had already begun.
And it was watching.
Author’s Note: This chapter was edited with AI assistance for grammar, readability, and flow.
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and then Add to home screen.