From the moment she stepped inside, however, Sangita felt a mysterious and unsettling presence in every corner. A shadow of nameless dread fell over her as she explored the house; she could hear the faint, distant cries of children. A strange, musty odour, like the cloying scent of decaying flowers, hung in the air. But Shridhar dismissed her concerns. "It's just your imagination," he said, trying to reassure her.
The bungalow was vast, with a beautiful garden blooming with colourful flowers, and each room boasted historic architectural details. But as night fell, the house transformed, taking on a sinister, foreboding appearance.
One night, as Rohan and Niharika slept, a sudden noise startled Niharika awake. A whispering sound seemed to be coming from near the window. Trembling with fear, she whispered, "Rohan, what was that sound?"
"Go back to sleep," he mumbled, half-asleep. "You were probably dreaming." But moments later, Rohan too heard a faint voice, as if someone was calling his name. He nervously opened the window, but there was nothing outside but impenetrable darkness. They told their parents about the voices, but they were brushed off as nightmares. The whispers, however, became a nightly occurrence.
For several days, Shridhar and Sangita kept noticing an elderly man in white robes lingering around the property. They paid him little mind, assuming he was just a local villager.
One evening, Shridhar went down to the bungalow’s damp, stuffy cellar to look for something. Amidst the piles of dust and forgotten belongings, he found an old wooden trunk. Inside, he discovered old photographs and documents, including a diary. It contained the history of the bungalow, revealing that it once belonged to a wealthy family. According to the diary, every member of the family had committed suicide after a terrible tragedy.
When Shridhar shared this with Sangita, she was terrified. "We can't stay here," she pleaded. "This house is possessed by evil forces." But Shridhar insisted it was merely history, with no bearing on their present.
The horrifying nightly sounds grew louder, and so did their fear. One night, Niharika was visited in her sleep by the apparition of a woman who kept repeating one phrase: "Save my children!" She woke up terrified, trying to make sense of the cryptic plea.
That same night, when Sangita went to the bathroom, she saw an unfamiliar face staring back at her from the mirror. She screamed and ran out. It was the same woman from Niharika's dream. Seeing this, Shridhar finally began to accept that an unseen force was tormenting his family.
A work trip called Shridhar and his family back to the city. They were delayed and ended up driving back late at night. It was the new moon, and the road was pitch-black. A strange feeling crept over them—the sense that another car was following them. They could see nothing, but the feeling intensified until it felt like a figure was running alongside their car, matching its speed. Then, at a sharp bend, it vanished. Sangita’s mind raced. 'Could it be her?'
The incident solidified Shridhar’s resolve. The next morning, he would go into the village and learn everything he could about the bungalow. As he was asking around, he saw the same old man in white. Shridhar approached him. "Why are you always wandering around our bungalow? What are you watching?"
"My name is Birju," the old man said. "I used to work in that house. I wanted to warn you that it isn't a good place, but I never found the courage." Birju explained that the bungalow was cursed and that to break the curse, the restless souls needed to find peace. He gave them a mantra and instructions for a cleansing ritual.
Following his instructions, the Patils began the pooja. As they prayed, the atmosphere shifted. A cold wave washed through the rooms, and the lights flickered out, plunging them into darkness. In one room, Sangita and Niharika saw the woman again, weeping and begging for help.
With Birju’s guidance, Shridhar and Rohan completed the ritual. Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the house, and then, silence. A moment later, the power returned. Everything was calm. From that day on, the spirits seemed to rest.
A few days later, Shridhar and Sangita sold the bungalow. For the safety and sanity of their children, they decided to return to the city for good.
They settled into a new home, and life returned to normal. Until one night, the doorbell rang. Sangita opened it, let out a piercing scream, and collapsed.
Standing in the doorway was the same woman—the one from Niharika’s dream, the one from the mirror. Her eyes were empty, her face devoid of expression, and a chilling silence emanated from her white robes. Shridhar rushed to Sangita's side and looked at the door. The woman had vanished as if she had never been there. But the memory of her horrifying touch and the echo of Sangita’s scream lingered in the air.
When Sangita came to, she told Shridhar that the woman had been smiling at her—a strange, cold smile. He tried to convince her it was just a hallucination brought on by stress, but a deep fear had taken root in his own heart. They had escaped the bungalow, but the horror had followed them.
The terrifying incidents started again in their new home. Whispers in the dead of night, the faint sound of children crying, and strange odours emanating from empty corners. Rohan and Niharika grew restless again, unable to sleep, huddling together for comfort.
One morning, while reading the newspaper, an article caught Shridhar’s eye. It was about their old bungalow. During construction work, human bones had been discovered in the cellar. The police had started an investigation, but the bones were too old to identify. Shridhar’s heart sank. He remembered the diary's mention of 'suicide' and the woman's plea to 'save my children.' It wasn't suicide. It was murder. Birju's story about a curse was a lie, a cover-up for a terrible crime.
That afternoon, Shridhar received an anonymous call. A muffled, harsh voice warned, "You are uncovering a truth... a truth that is too terrible... Forget what you've seen... or else..." The line went dead. It wasn't just a ghost; a living person was threatening them.
During dinner, Sangita closed her eyes for a second and saw a child’s blood-stained hand on the table. It vanished when she opened them. She knew then, with chilling certainty, that these were not just ghosts. They were the souls of innocents demanding justice.
Shridhar secretly called the police and told them everything—the diary, the hauntings, the phone call. They were skeptical until he mentioned the bones in the cellar. They asked him to come in. As he drove back from the station, Shridhar caught a glimpse of Birju in his rearview mirror, staring at him with a frightening gleam in his eyes before disappearing. Was Birju the one behind all of this? Was his advice a trick? Was he the one who called?
That night, the activity in their house escalated. The door handle rattled on its own, scratches appeared on the walls, and the sound of someone running came from the children's room.
Shridhar went back to the village to find Birju, but he was gone. The locals were reluctant to talk. Some called him a madman; others warned Shridhar to stay away from him. His suspicion grew. He recalled the gleam in Birju’s eyes and the figure that had chased their car.
One afternoon, alone at home, Shridhar heard the clatter of utensils from the kitchen. He crept over to look. The room was empty, but the tap on the sink turned by itself, and water began to pour out. At the same time, a faint voice called his name from the other room. A cold wave shot through him.
He re-examined the documents from the bungalow. He remembered that Birju had been the old family's trusted steward, privy to all their financial affairs. A terrible thought struck Shridhar: Did Birju kill them for their money? He looked at the diary again. On the last page was a string of numbers he had previously dismissed: 1823445909887789.
He showed the numbers to Niharika, who loved solving puzzles. After a moment, her eyes widened. "Dad, these aren't just numbers," she said, pulling out an old schoolbook. "It looks like a type of code, an encryption method." Using a chart from her book, she painstakingly translated the numbers. "Dad..." she said, her voice trembling. "It’s an address and a date... 'Old shack, by the river outside town, 1942'."
Shridhar immediately contacted the police. Together, they went to the dilapidated shack. Inside the ruin, hidden behind a broken cabinet, they found a locked strongbox. It contained deteriorated documents and an old bank passbook in Birju’s name. According to the entries, a massive sum of money had been deposited into the account in 1942, right after the deaths of the bungalow's owners.
The truth was finally revealed. Birju had murdered the family, staged it as a suicide, and stolen their fortune. He was threatening the Patils to keep his secret buried.
That night, as a storm raged outside, the power in their house died. Someone started pounding violently on the front door. Grabbing a cricket bat, Shridhar stood ready while Sangita hid with the children. The door splintered and broke open. In a flash of lightning, they saw a horrifying figure. It was Birju, a cruel smile on his face and a sharp weapon in his hand.
"I am the real curse!" he cackled. "I killed them, and now I'll kill you! Their souls will never find peace because the truth will die with you!"
Shridhar lunged at him, but Birju threw him aside. "Run, kids! Run!" Sangita screamed. Rohan and Niharika scrambled out the back door into the stormy night. As Birju closed in on Shridhar and Sangita, his eyes were wild with madness. "You shouldn't have read that diary! I killed that family... and she… she still looks for me… to save her children!" He charged at Shridhar. Sangita tried to intervene but was thrown against a wall, falling unconscious.
Outside, Rohan and Niharika ran frantically, hearing the distant wail of police sirens. Inside, Shridhar fought for his life, his strength fading as Birju pinned him to the wall, his hands tightening around Shridhar’s throat.
Just as his vision began to darken, a terrifying cold swept through the house. In a flash of lightning, the ghostly form of the woman in white appeared where Sangita lay. Her eyes, burning with intense fury, were fixed on Birju. He stumbled back, releasing Shridhar. "You… how are you here?" he stammered.
The apparition glided towards him. As she moved, the air grew colder. "No! You can't touch me!" he screamed. But she reached him, her spectral hands extending towards his face. Birju let out an agonized shriek as his body began to convulse. His eyes rolled back as if his very life force was being ripped from him.
At that moment, the police burst through the door. They saw Shridhar gasping on the floor, Sangita unconscious, and Birju’s lifeless body collapsing in front of them. The woman's spirit vanished, her work finally done.
The investigation confirmed everything. Birju, the trusted steward, was a greedy murderer. The spirit had not wanted revenge; she had wanted justice.
The Patil family never returned to that house. The city buzzed with the story of the "Cursed Bungalow." They were safe, but the horror of that night was seared into their minds forever. Sometimes, in the dead of night, they could still hear the faint sound of children crying, a chilling reminder of their ordeal.
Some stories never truly end. They just lie dormant, waiting for a new fear to awaken them.
End mala prachanda awadla bhai ЁЯШНЁЯШН
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