The Dark Shadow

The morning was a village of Parabpur hovered like a ghostly being through narrow roads. At the edge of this sleepy town was a mansion that once abandoned the infamous Zamindal family of East Bengalen. Locals call it cursed. It whispered, it was a hit. Everyone agreed: No one should have happened after the darkness.

Riya, an ambitious young journalist fresh from the university, did not believe in the ghost stories. She joined a local news agency and worked on a series entitled "The Truth Behind the House of Ghosts in Bengal." When she heard from Zaminer Villa, she knew it was a perfect start. She packed her camera, recorder, flashlight, diary and thermos coffee.

When she arrived at the villa, the moon had disappeared behind thick clouds. She filmed cracked walls, broken statues, and huge rusty goals before sliding down the side doors.

The

Villa smelled like rotten, forgotten memories. Her flashlight beams danced in tatters behind the wallpaper, leading and dusty chandeliers hanging from the thread. Each railway board moaned under his feet; the deeper it got, the heavier the air. She took a break in the main hall and took notes. She saw her - a strange symbol carved into a narrow corridor. Not Bengali, not Sanskrit - they were ancient, angular, and deeply concerned. She took a photo and led down the aisle.

The hall concluded with a children's room - a pale blue wall faded after the grey, with broken toys placed on the floor. There was a single red rocking chair in the middle. The door squealed behind her as Leah entered.

She jumped and turned around. The handle will not be turned. Suddenly, the chair began to shake. "There's no wind," she whispered, her throat dry."Why is it moving?"

She pulled out the camera and hit the plate. Then she heard it - a soft buzz like a child's babysitter that was repeated from nowhere. Your breath is faster. She slowly turned and stood in the corner, wearing a white dress, round the corner. Her long hair was crushed, and her legs didn't touch the ground. Her eyes glowed red like coal.

"You shouldn't be here," the girl said. "But now... you will never go."

Riya stumbled backwards; his heart awakened. "Who are you?"

"I was Nandita. My father was the last Zamindah of this house. As his strength began to fade, he turned to the black ritual. They said blood victims could restore his rules. So he chose me - his only daughter. I passed away in this room. He wrote these symbols, completed the door and paved my neck. "The river has frozen". It was everyone," Nandita said. "He didn't leave. He's not a historian. He's not a policeman. He's not a man who described himself as a ghost hunter." She raised her hand. "You're wearing your camera," she said, pointing to her rear bag. "You will wear your curse."

Suddenly, the deep surroundings shook the house. The painting fell off the wall. A thick shadow oozed under the board and crept up the wall.

Riya cried, throwing herself at the door. It cannot be stirred. The light is dead. Only the red glitter of Nandita's eyes remained. And even that disappeared.

The next morning, the sun rose to peace over Parabpur, but the villagers felt something was wrong. A low mist was still stuck in the ground, and the bird refused to sing.

The farmers who lived in the closest person to the Manor House heard the screams of the previous night. He and two other men went to investigate. The door was oddly unlocked. Inside, there were no rear notes, cameras, half-cheat coffee, or any signs of rear.

You saw the last film material. Riya's frightened face, a moving chair, and a dark shape falling onto the camera.

Frightened, they ran away and sealed the house again.

Two weeks later, Riya's brother Arjun arrived from Kolkata. He refused to believe the rumors. "My sister didn't disappear into the air," he told the villagers. "She's clever. She's brave. She wasn't taken to the ghost."

ignored all warnings, and Arjun entered the Manor House one night, armed with two torches, a power bank and frankincense. He followed her trail accurately - through the hall, past the symbol, to a room with a rocking chair.

He saw the chair not moving.

, but he felt it.

He asked how Riya, who is of the same topic, explained in his notes.

Then he heard her voice.

"Arjun...help me...please..."

It came from the wall.

Hartrace, he called, "Rya? Where are you?"

The mirror on the wall began to tremble violently. He approached him - and saw how her reflection had returned. pale. It's far from fear. She opened her mouth, but there was no sound.

Suddenly, a black hand squealed its shoulders from behind. He turned around. There was nothing.

He returned to the mirror - it cracked. Your photo is gone.

Arjun fled the house.

He now lives alone and tries to decipher the symbols Riya has found. "She's not dead," he tells everyone who listens. "She's trapped. Somewhere in the world. And I'll get her back."

To this day, the house is on the edge of the parab pool. Locals should avoid it, especially on moonless nights. Tourists rarely stay for long. Some people report this when they hear it. Others claim to see the girl holding the camera in one hand through the window on the upper floor and look at the notebook in the other.

The story of Riya was never released. However, in certain circles, their cases became legendary, along with ghost hunters, occult researchers and paranormal investigators. You call it:

The House of the Dark Shadow.