There is a particular kind of silence that only exists in the mountains at night.
It isn’t peaceful.
It listens.
If you’ve ever travelled through a lonely hill road after midnight, you know the feeling. The darkness feels alive. Every shadow seems to breathe. Every turn hides something you’re not meant to see.https://unbiasedpollkhol.com/
Aman used to believe that fear lived outside.
He was wrong.
In September, after finishing his exams in Kota, Aman finally had a break. Weeks of stress melted into a single thought freedom. And like most young men craving escape, he and his friends planned a trip.
Kashmir.
At first, many wanted to join. Plans were loud, chaotic, full of excitement. But slowly, reality stepped in. Permissions were denied, excuses piled up, and one by one, people backed out.
In the end, only four remained.
Aman.
Raghav.
Kabir.
And Mohan.
Four friends. One car.
And a road that would remember them.
They left Kota in the afternoon, laughter echoing inside the car as they began the long drive north road. By night, they had crossed into the outskirts of Jammu, stopping briefly at a road side dhaba before continuing their journey into the hills.
The plan was simple drive through the night, rest somewhere ahead, and reach Kashmir by the next day.
Simple plans rarely survive the night.
Unidentified force
It was past midnight when they entered the mountain roads.
The air changed.
The forest grew denser.
The road narrower.
The silence heavier.
Aman, feeling sleepy, handed the wheel to Raghav and moved to the back seat.
“Drive carefully,” he said softly. “This stretch is all ghats.”
The car moved forward, headlights cutting through the darkness.
And then
A rock fell.
Not rolled.
Not slipped.
Fell.
Right in front of the car.
Raghav slammed the brakes. The car jerked violently.
“What was that?” Kabir whispered.
They stepped out. The forest stood still around them. No wind. No movement.
They pushed the rock aside and got back in.
No one spoke.
They drove again.
Five hundred meters later
Another rock.
This time, the silence inside the car turned into something else.
Fear.
Aman quietly took the wheel again.
Something wasn’t right.
Hours later, they stopped briefly on a deserted bridge. Aman stepped out, stretching his stiff muscles and froze.
On the bonnet of the car, written in dark, uneven strokes, were four words:
“You all will die.
For a moment, the world stopped.
“Who did this?” Aman asked.
No one answered.
No one even tried to laugh it off.
He wiped it away without another word.
They drove on.”
By early morning, exhausted beyond thought, they found a small hotel near Chandigarh and checked in.
They planned to wake up at 10 a.m.
They woke up at 6:30 p.m.
Confused and irritated, Aman went downstairs.
“Why didn’t you wake us?”
The manager looked puzzled. “We did. One of your friends told us not to disturb you.”
“Who?”
The manager pointed.
Mohan.
At first, it didn’t seem like a big deal.
Then things began to change.
Mohan, usually quiet, had become… different.
He stared too long.
Spoke too little.
And when he did speak it felt wrong.
At dinner, he ordered chicken.
Kabir frowned. “Since when do you eat this?”
Mohan slowly looked up.
“I started yesterday.”
Then, after a pause, he added
“I’ll cut pieces from all of you too.”
No one laughed.
Later that night, Aman went upstairs to their room alone.
He opened the door.
Mohan was already inside.
Standing still.
Waiting.
Watching.
No expression.
Aman’s breath caught in his throat. He slammed the door shut and ran downstairs
Only to find Mohan standing there.
With Raghav and Kabir.
Smiling.
That was the moment everything changed.
The fear was no longer outside.
It was inside the car. Inside the room.
Inside Mohan.
Things spiralled quickly.
Mohan grew aggressive. His strength felt unnatural. He insisted they leave immediately, no matter how late it was.
When Aman refused, Mohan slapped him.
Hard.
It took all three of them to hold him back.
In desperation, they locked him inside a small prayer room in the hotel.
Minutes later
He fell asleep.
Just like that.
Deep. Still. Unnatural.
No one slept that night.
The next morning didn’t bring relief.
Mohan seemed calmer, but something was still wrong. His eyes looked empty, like something else was looking through them.
And then he said it
“We’re going back.”
“To the hotel.”
Back in that same room, everything broke.
Mohan laughed.
Then cried.
Then stared at a photo on the wall for a long time, tears streaming down his face.
Finally, he spoke
“I’ve been here for years.”
Aman felt something inside him turn cold.
Downstairs, after a long silence, the hotel’s security guard finally told them the truth.
Years ago, in that same room, the owner’s son had been found dead.
No one ever discovered how.
Some believed he never left.