The Shadow That Never Left

. The rain poured down like an endless waterfall, making it difficult to see beyond a few feet. The GPS on his phone flickered, struggling to maintain a signal. He was heading towards a remote village, one that had been the subject of countless ghost stories and unspeakable tragedies.

Aryan was a journalist, always chasing stories that no one dared to touch. His latest assignment was about a mysterious village where people had reportedly vanished without a trace. Some believed it was the work of supernatural forces; others whispered about dark rituals. But Aryan wasn’t the type to believe in ghosts. He sought the truth, no matter how horrifying it was.

As he reached the entrance of the village, a dense fog covered the road, making it impossible to see. His car’s headlights illuminated an old wooden sign that read: “Welcome to Vaanipur. Turn back if you value your life.”

A chill ran down his spine. “Just an old superstition,” he told himself, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

The village looked abandoned. Broken street lamps cast eerie shadows, and most houses had their windows boarded up. The few villagers he saw quickly shut their doors as he passed. It was as if they were afraid of something lurking in the darkness.

Determined to uncover the truth, Aryan checked into a small, run-down inn run by an old man named Raghu. He seemed hesitant to accommodate a stranger, but after some persuasion, he agreed.

“Leave before sunset,” Raghu warned. “You don’t want to be here after dark.”

Aryan smirked. “And why is that?”

Raghu’s eyes darkened. “Because once the sun sets, they come out.”

“They?” Aryan asked, intrigued.

“The cursed ones,” Raghu whispered. “Those who were taken never return the same.”

Despite the ominous warning, Aryan was determined to explore. He wandered through the village, taking notes and photographs. He met an elderly woman who reluctantly told him about the disappearances. According to her, every year on the same night, a person would go missing, and no one ever found their bodies. The villagers believed it was the work of an ancient spirit known as “Chhaya.”

As night approached, the air grew thick with tension. The streets were empty, the doors locked, and the silence was suffocating. Against all warnings, Aryan decided to venture out with his camera.

As he walked through the village square, he heard a faint whispering sound. At first, he thought it was the wind, but then the whispers grew louder, forming words he couldn't understand. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Then, he saw it.

A shadowy figure stood at the end of the road. It had no distinct features, just a dark silhouette with piercing white eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. Aryan’s instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet were frozen in place. The figure moved towards him, slowly at first, then faster.

Aryan turned and bolted, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached the inn and banged on the door. Raghu opened it just in time, pulling him inside before slamming it shut.

“What did you see?” Raghu demanded.

“A shadow,” Aryan gasped. “It was—”

“You should have listened.” Raghu’s face was pale. “Now it knows you’re here.”

The whispers returned, this time inside the inn. The lights flickered. The temperature dropped. Aryan grabbed his camera and took a picture—only to see multiple dark figures in the frame, circling him.

Then, the screaming started.

Not from Aryan, but from outside. The villagers were crying, begging for mercy. The shadows moved from house to house, taking those who didn’t hide in time.

Raghu grabbed Aryan’s arm. “We need to leave. Now.”

But before they could move, the door burst open, and everything went black.

When Aryan woke up, he was lying on the side of the road, far away from the village. His camera was missing. His clothes were torn. His body ached as if he had been dragged for miles. The village was nowhere in sight—almost as if it had never existed.

He rushed back to the city, trying to make sense of what had happened. But when he checked the records, there was no mention of Vaanipur. No map showed its location. No one had heard of it.

Had it been a nightmare? A hallucination?

Aryan would have believed so, if not for one thing.

The picture on his phone.

It was a blurry image, but the dark figures with glowing white eyes were unmistakable.

And below the image, four chilling words were written in blood-red font:

“Now we see you.”

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