The Haunted Election Night

The deep silence of the night shattered as the ancient bell in the village tolled just once. It was the night before the election, and a chilling stillness hung in the air, as if nature itself was hinting at some approaching horror.

Kishore, a young man, had been assigned to watch over the village’s only polling center. A college student by profession, he was known in the village as a brave and righteous leader. The villagers trusted him, for he always stood up for what was right. But that night, he had no idea that he was about to encounter the most terrifying experience of his life.

As the night grew deeper, the moon cast long, eerie shadows that seemed to move on their own. Suddenly, Kishore heard a faint whisper, like the rustling of dead leaves in the wind, 'Vote for me... vote for me...' Kishore frowned and looked around, but found no one. He brushed it off, thinking it was just the wind playing tricks on his mind.

A few moments later, the whisper came again, clearer this time and with a chilling intensity, 'Do not ignore me... vote for me...'

Kishore's heart began to race. He had heard the old village legend, a tale of a powerful leader who had been brutally murdered years ago by his own supporters for failing to keep his election promises. They said his restless spirit still roamed the village, seeking the votes he never received in life.

The cold sweat ran down Kishore’s back as the whisper grew louder, 'I am right beside you... I want my vote... do not deny me...'

Terrified, Kishore slowly turned around and froze in horror. A shadowy figure was moving towards him. It had no eyes, no nose, no mouth – just a ghastly, hollow face, a void where a human face should be.

'Vote for me... do not deny me...' the figure croaked, extending a bony, skeletal hand toward Kishore.

Kishore screamed and ran for the back door, stumbling into the darkness. He tripped over a root, crashing to the ground. As he looked up, he saw the shadowy figure standing right in front of him, swaying slowly, with an eerie grin spreading across its hollow face.

The next morning, the villagers found Kishore lying unconscious near the polling center. His face was frozen in terror, his eyes empty and unseeing. From that day on, he never returned to the polling booth again.

They say the ghost of that long-dead leader still wanders the village during every election, forever waiting for the votes he was denied in life.