As dawn broke the following morning, the world seemed wrapped in quiet serenity. Soft golden sunlight spread across the horizon, blending with shades of pale blue as a gentle breeze drifted through the countryside. The fresh scent of damp earth and distant vegetation filled the air, creating a scene that would normally inspire peace and excitement.
Yet none of us felt particularly cheerful.
The events and story we had heard the previous night weighed heavily on our minds. Throughout our years of investigating strange and supernatural occurrences, we had encountered countless unsettling cases. However, there was something uniquely disturbing about Sundri’s story. It carried an ancient sadness—a sense of suffering that lingered far beyond ordinary fear.
For several minutes, we remained silent, each lost in thought.
Despite the unease, our purpose remained unchanged. Investigating mysteries and helping those troubled by the unknown was the path we had chosen long ago. Retreating simply because a case seemed frightening had never been an option.
Determined to move forward, we decided to start the day on a positive note.
Soon, we gathered around a dining table positioned near the guest house veranda. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating the breakfast that had been carefully prepared for us.
The meal was nothing short of extraordinary.
At the center of the table rested large platters of charcoal-grilled lobster. The seafood had been seasoned overnight with herbs, garlic, lemon, and a blend of traditional spices. The outer layer was perfectly crisp, while the meat remained tender and succulent.
Nearby sat baskets of crispy fried prawns, their aroma instantly tempting everyone at the table. A steaming bowl of spicy shrimp curry added to the feast, its rich red gravy releasing the fragrance of freshly cooked spices.
The spread also included warm buttered parathas, fresh vegetables, lemon wedges, and a vibrant green chutney that paired beautifully with the seafood.
Abdul sampled the lobster first. After one bite, he leaned back and smiled.
“SubhanAllah,” he said appreciatively. “This has to be the finest breakfast we’ve had during this entire journey.”
Peter chuckled as he dipped a prawn into the chutney.
“If ghosts could smell this food,” he joked, “they’d probably join us at the table.”
His comment finally broke the tension, and laughter spread around the group.
The delicious meal worked wonders for our mood. Every dish seemed perfectly balanced—the smoky lobster, flavorful curry, and refreshing salad combined into a memorable breakfast. Even Amit, who normally preferred lighter meals, found himself reaching for second and third servings.
While eating, we reviewed our plans.
Our destination had already been decided.
The Village of Peace was where Sundri had once lived, and if we hoped to uncover the truth behind the frightening stories surrounding her, that village was the logical place to begin. We intended to speak with the Sarpanj first. As the head of the community, he would likely know the history of every family and every significant event that had taken place there.
After breakfast, we gathered our equipment and set off.
Although the village was not far away, the route led through winding trails and rough terrain. By then, the sun had climbed higher, bathing the surrounding landscape in bright light.
For roughly twenty minutes, we walked through lush scenery. Birds sang from nearby trees, and the sounds of farm animals occasionally drifted across the fields. Everything appeared calm and welcoming—an unexpected contrast to the frightening rumors associated with the area.
Eventually, the first houses appeared in the distance.
We had reached the Village of Peace.
The settlement was modest yet full of life. Small clay and stone homes lined narrow pathways. Though remote, the village had access to electricity. Wires stretched between poles, and televisions glowed inside local shops.
Several villagers glanced curiously in our direction as we entered. Outsiders clearly did not visit often.
A small tea stall soon caught our attention. Behind the counter stood a man tending a kettle over glowing charcoal. The scent of tea leaves and cardamom drifted through the air.
The tea seller greeted us warmly.
“Welcome, travelers,” he said with a friendly smile. “Please join me for some tea.”
His hospitality felt sincere, and refusing would have seemed impolite.
Though we had already eaten, we accepted his invitation and took seats on the wooden benches beside the stall.
Moments later, steaming cups of chai were placed before us. The tea was rich, creamy, and pleasantly sweet. As we enjoyed it, we chatted casually with the shopkeeper about village life, local weather, and daily routines.
Gradually, we steered the conversation toward the reason for our visit.
“The young girl who was killed,” I asked carefully.
The effect was immediate.
The tea seller’s expression changed. The warmth vanished from his face, replaced by visible discomfort.
Lowering his voice, he leaned closer.
“Sundri is no longer human,” he whispered. “People believe she became a vampire. They say she wanders these lands after dark.”
A tense silence settled over the stall.
The man studied our faces before continuing.
“So that’s why you’ve come,” he said. “You want to protect us from her.”
I nodded.
“That’s exactly why we’re here.”
The tea seller raised his hands in prayer.
“May God guide and protect you,” he said earnestly.
After a brief pause, I asked another question.
“Could you direct us to the Sarpanj’s home?”
The man immediately called over a nearby boy.
“Chota!” he shouted.
A slender boy around twelve years old hurried toward us.
“Yes, uncle?”
The tea seller pointed in our direction.
“Take these guests to the Sarpanj.”
The boy examined us closely before recognition suddenly flashed across his face.
“You’re the ghost hunters!” he exclaimed excitedly. “I’ve heard about your investigations!”
Apparently, news of our previous work had spread even to this distant village.
His excitement grew.
“Can I take a picture with you?”
We happily agreed.
The boy proudly snapped a photograph with his phone, grinning from ear to ear.
Once finished, he guided us through the village.
Children played along the pathways, goats wandered freely, and elderly residents sat outside their homes observing the peaceful surroundings.
Eventually, Chota stopped before a small wooden hut.
“This is where the Sarpanj lives,” he announced.
We thanked him and approached the entrance.
I knocked three times.
After a short moment, an elderly voice answered from inside.
“Come in.”
We entered the hut.
Seated inside was an old man with a flowing white beard and thoughtful eyes. His appearance reflected both wisdom and authority.
Chota briefly explained who we were and the purpose of our visit.
The Sarpanj rose slowly and welcomed us warmly.
“You are honored guests,” he said.
He insisted that we stay and share brunch with him.
Soon, a meal was placed before us.
The centerpiece was a beautifully roasted Chicken Sajji. The bird had been cooked slowly over an open flame, leaving the skin golden and crisp while preserving the tenderness of the meat beneath.
Its aroma alone was irresistible.
We sampled it and immediately understood why it was considered a local specialty. The smoky flavor from the fire blended perfectly with the mild spices, creating an incredibly satisfying dish.
Large glasses of chilled lassi accompanied the meal. The creamy yogurt drink provided a refreshing contrast to the rich chicken.
For some time, conversation remained light and pleasant.
Eventually, however, we turned to the matter that had brought us there.
I faced the Sarpanj.
“Sir,” I said respectfully, “we hope to learn more about Sundri.”
His expression darkened.
Drawing a slow breath, he began recounting the story.
It matched the account we had already heard—the tragedy, the mysterious events that followed, and the fear that had haunted the village ever since.
When he finished, he looked at us thoughtfully.
“That happened twenty-five years ago,” he said quietly.
Then he added something important.
“If you truly seek answers, you should speak with her father and her brother.”
The room became silent once more.
Rather than solving the mystery, we had uncovered another path deeper into it.
Would meeting Sundri’s family reveal the missing pieces of the puzzle?
Could they finally uncover the truth hidden behind the terrifying legend?
The answers awaited us somewhere ahead.
Dear readers, kindly show your support by commenting and liking.
Author’s Note: This chapter was edited with AI assistance for grammar, readability, and flow.
ns216.73.217.22da2
and then Add to home screen.