The following morning arrived under a bright, cheerful sky, but none of us felt refreshed. We woke up early, carrying the exhaustion of the previous night's terrifying events. Dark circles rested beneath our eyes, and for a while, silence filled the room as each of us silently wondered whether what we had experienced had truly been real.
Eventually, we got up and headed to freshen ourselves. The warm water helped ease some of the weariness from our bodies. After bathing and changing into clean clothes, we slowly made our way to the dining area.
Breakfast was already waiting for us, carefully prepared by the cook. The inviting aroma immediately lightened our mood. The table was covered with delicious food—soft scrambled eggs, slices of toasted bread with melting butter, and hot chicken sausages giving off a tempting fragrance. Fresh fruits, including apples, oranges, and bananas, added vibrant colors to the meal.
A steaming kettle of tea rested in the center of the table, while freshly brewed coffee spread its rich scent throughout the room. Crispy golden hash browns completed the breakfast, everything prepared according to halal standards.
For a little while, the worries from the previous night seemed to disappear. The warm food slowly restored our energy.
Amit broke the silence after taking a bite of toast.
"Now that's the kind of breakfast I needed," he said with a faint smile.
Peter poured himself some coffee, inhaled deeply, and took a sip.
"After everything that happened last night," he muttered, "this feels like a blessing."
Abdul, who had barely spoken since waking up, quietly spread butter across his toast and nodded in agreement.
The room remained peaceful for several minutes, filled only with the sounds of eating and occasional conversation. But no matter how comforting the meal was, our thoughts kept returning to the strange encounter from the previous night.
When breakfast was over, all six of us gathered in the TV lounge. Sunlight slipped softly through the curtains, giving the room a calm appearance that contrasted sharply with the tension in our minds.
I finally broke the silence.
"We need to think carefully about what we witnessed."
Abdul crossed his arms.
"That man's behavior wasn't normal at all."
Peter nodded, while Amit and Diljeet listened with serious expressions.
The five of us—Abdul, Peter, Amit, Diljeet, and I—shared the same conclusion. The figure we had chased looked completely human.
"If he had been some kind of demon, ghost, or djinn," Amit reasoned, "he would've attacked us when we got close."
Peter added, "Instead, he simply vanished."
Remembering that moment sent a cold shiver through the room.
"He disappeared into smoke," Abdul said quietly.
Silence followed.
Then Rizwan, who had been listening carefully, finally spoke.
"Maybe he's a magician."
Peter slowly shook his head.
"I think he's something even more dangerous."
The seriousness in his voice made everyone uneasy.
Whatever we had encountered, it was clearly beyond ordinary understanding.
After discussing every possibility, we reached one conclusion: we had to find that mysterious man again.
We remembered the route he had taken while escaping. In that direction, there were only five small streets.
"So our search area is limited," I said. "He has to be living somewhere in those five lanes."
Everyone agreed.
But one important question remained.
"Suppose we find him," Abdul asked. "How do we catch him?"
The room fell silent again.
If he truly possessed supernatural abilities, confronting him openly could put us all in danger.
A different approach was necessary.
As I sat thinking, an idea suddenly came to me.
"What if Diljeet and I disguise ourselves as fish sellers?"
Everyone looked toward me.
"We'll carry baskets of fish and go door to door. While selling, we can casually ask for water and chat with people. That way, we can find out if anyone strange lives in the area."
Peter immediately smiled.
"That's actually a brilliant plan."
Abdul chuckled.
"Nobody pays much attention to fish vendors."
Rizwan nodded approvingly.
"It could work."
Diljeet laughed.
"So, I guess I'm a fisherman now."
The atmosphere became slightly lighter as we finalized our strategy.
By ten o'clock, everything was ready.
I picked up a large basket loaded with fish and prawns. The strong smell made our disguise completely believable. Diljeet also altered his appearance enough to avoid recognition.
Our friends wished us luck before we left.
We drove toward the first of the five streets and parked the car some distance away to avoid suspicion.
Carrying our baskets, we walked into the lane and began shouting like ordinary vendors.
"Fresh fish and prawns! Fresh catch!"
Diljeet joined in.
"Best prices in town! Fresh fish for everyone!"
Our calls echoed through the neighborhood.
Just as we had expected, the plan worked perfectly.
Many Bengali families lived there, and fish was a staple part of their diet. Before long, doors began opening, and people stepped outside to see what we were selling.
Soon, a crowd gathered around us.
Customers inspected the fish and bargained over prices.
"Give me two kilos," one woman requested.
"Pick the freshest ones," another customer insisted.
As we served them, we carefully began asking questions.
"Does anyone around here usually wear a muffler?" I asked casually.
Diljeet added, "Or maybe someone who often visits the railway junction?"
Most people simply shook their heads.
After some time, however, a young boy who had been watching us stepped forward.
"I think I know who you're talking about."
Diljeet and I exchanged a quick glance.
"You do?"
The boy pointed toward another lane.
"He lives in Street Number Three."
"Does he have a family?" Diljeet asked.
The boy shook his head.
"No. He lives all by himself."
Then he lowered his voice.
"People around here think he's crazy. He doesn't like talking to anyone."
A strange feeling settled over me.
"Does he go to the railway junction often?" I asked.
"Yes," the boy replied. "Very often."
"What does he do there?"
"No one knows."
The boy paused before speaking again.
"Some elders say his ancestors were killed inside a train there many years ago—maybe seventy years back."
A cold sensation ran through my body.
"They say he visits that place to mourn them. Sometimes people have even seen him crying."
We thanked the boy and quietly walked back toward the car.
The information seemed too important to ignore.
After finishing our business in the first street, we moved to Street Number Three and repeated the same act.
Again, our calls attracted the residents.
Soon another crowd surrounded us, buying fish and prawns.
While selling, we carefully observed the surroundings.
Almost every house had its front door open.
Except one.
At the far end of the street stood a lonely house with its entrance tightly shut.
Unlike the rest of the neighborhood, it seemed strangely lifeless.
Diljeet lightly tapped my arm.
"I think that's the place."
To make sure, I asked one of the nearby customers.
"Brother, who lives in that house?"
The man looked in that direction.
"A middle-aged fellow."
"What kind of person is he?"
The man frowned.
"To be honest, he seems mentally unstable."
That answer immediately caught our attention.
The man leaned closer and lowered his voice.
"People say strange things about him."
"Like what?"
"They say he keeps Moakal djinns under his control."
A chill ran down my spine.
"That's why nobody dares to enter his house," the man continued.
Diljeet and I looked at each other.
Our suspicions were growing stronger.
If the stories were true, the mysterious man could indeed be using dark spiritual forces.
After selling the remaining fish, we quietly left the area and returned to our friends.
They were anxiously waiting for us.
The moment we entered the room, Peter stood up.
"What did you discover?"
Diljeet and I explained everything—the young boy's story, the lonely house in Street Number Three, and the rumors surrounding the strange man.
Everyone listened in complete silence.
When we finished, Abdul spoke.
"So we've found him."
I nodded.
We all agreed that the man was likely using some form of dark magic, possibly with the help of his Moakal djinns, to influence the railway tracks.
Rizwan looked deeply concerned.
"Facing him won't be easy."
Peter agreed.
"It could be extremely dangerous."
I looked around at everyone.
"We cannot act carelessly."
The others nodded.
Then I gave them a clear warning.
"No one goes into that house alone. Whatever is hiding inside could cost us our lives."
The room became silent once more.
Although we had finally uncovered the location of the mysterious stranger, the truth surrounding him seemed even darker than we had imagined.
One question remained unanswered.
Would we succeed in solving this terrifying mystery?
Or were we about to step into something far more dangerous than any of us could imagine?
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Author’s Note: This chapter was edited with AI assistance for grammar, readability, and flow.
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