The laughter drifted across the empty highway like a cruel wind. It wasn't loud—it didn't need to be. It carried weight, echoing inside Aarav's skull, sinking into his bones.
He froze, every muscle locked. The sound wasn't coming from one place. It was everywhere. Above, behind, even inside the shadows stretching across the road.
His father pushed himself upright, still wheezing, his hand clutching at his throat where pale fingers had left red marks. He didn't look at Aarav. He didn't look at the road. He just stared at the empty pouch in his son's hands.
"You fool," he whispered.
Aarav's lips trembled. "I—I saved you. She was killing you. What was I supposed to do?!"
His father finally turned his gaze toward him. There was no anger in his eyes, only something far worse—fear.
"That wasn't just a pouch. It was a seal. A lock. Once opened…" He swallowed hard. "There's no closing it again."
The words hit Aarav like a hammer. His heart pounded, each beat a drum of guilt and panic. He looked down at the faint ash still clinging to his fingers. The glowing particles were gone, scattered into the night.
And the night itself seemed to have changed.
The silence was too heavy. The shadows too thick. The road ahead no longer looked like asphalt—it looked like a river of black ink, swallowing the truck's headlights whole.
"Baba," Aarav whispered, "what's happening?"
Before his father could answer, the truck's lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then died completely.
Darkness swallowed them.
Aarav's breath hitched. He couldn't see more than a foot in front of his face. Even the stars above had vanished, as though a curtain had been drawn across the sky.
Then, a whisper.
"Aa…rav…"
His blood turned to ice. The voice was faint, almost tender, but unmistakable. It spoke his name.
Aarav's throat tightened. He spun toward his father, but his father shook his head sharply. "Don't answer. No matter what you hear, don't respond."
The whisper came again, closer this time.
"Aa…rav… come to me…"
His hands shook. His chest heaved with shallow breaths. The voice wasn't just around him anymore. It was inside him, brushing against his thoughts like a cold hand across his mind.
He clenched his jaw, pressing his lips shut, but the urge to reply grew stronger with every second.
Suddenly—bang!
The truck jolted violently, as if something had slammed into it from the side. Aarav yelped, clutching the seat. Another bang! shook the cabin, then another, and another, from every direction.
They were surrounded.
Shadows pressed against the windows, shapes half-seen in the flicker of moonlight. Faces stretched and distorted, eyes empty voids, mouths opening and closing in silent screams.
And through them all, the woman's laughter rang out again—closer, sharper, cutting straight through Aarav's skull.
His father grabbed his arm. "Listen to me. No matter what happens, you cannot leave this truck."
"But—"
"No!" His father's grip tightened, his eyes blazing. "She wants you, Aarav. Not me. You. If you step outside, she wins."
The words lodged in Aarav's chest like a knife. Why him? Why would a ghost, a thing not even alive, want him?
Before he could ask, the windshield cracked again. A pale hand slammed against it, nails screeching across the glass. The woman's face pressed close, her eyes boring into his.
This time, she didn't smile.
She whispered.
"Come, child. You opened the way."
Aarav's vision blurred as his head pounded. Images flashed through his mind—fields of graves, rivers of blood, faces he didn't recognize crying out in agony. And through it all, her voice whispered again and again: Come to me… come to me…
His father shouted something in the old tongue, voice raw and desperate. He fumbled for the incense again, but when he struck the match, the flame sputtered out instantly, snuffed by the suffocating darkness.
"No…" his father whispered. His shoulders slumped, defeat etched across his face. "She's stronger now. Too strong."
Aarav's heart thudded painfully. His mind screamed at him to stay inside, to obey, but his body burned with the unnatural compulsion to open the door. His fingers twitched toward the handle.
He bit his lip until blood filled his mouth. The coppery taste grounded him, pulled him back from the edge.
Then—creak.
A sound behind them.
Aarav twisted in his seat and froze.
The back door of the truck's cargo hold was slowly opening. By itself.
A faint glow seeped out, pale and cold, illuminating the figures climbing inside. One by one, they emerged—those same echoes they had passed through earlier. Men with twisted faces, women with broken necks, children with hollow eyes.
They didn't walk. They floated, their movements jerky and unnatural, like puppets pulled on invisible strings.
And they were crawling into the truck.
Aarav's chest constricted. "Baba—"
His father's hand shot up, silencing him. He reached into his pocket with shaking fingers and pulled out something Aarav had never seen before—a small iron locket, old and tarnished.
He pressed it into Aarav's palm. "If they touch you, you're theirs. Don't let go of this."
Aarav's eyes burned with tears. "What about you?"
His father's lips thinned. "I'll buy you time."
Before Aarav could argue, the first echo reached the cabin. Its hollow eyes fixed on him, its mouth opening in a voiceless scream as it clawed forward.
Aarav gripped the locket tight, his knuckles white. His father shoved him down into the passenger seat, raising his fists against the encroaching shadows.
And in that instant, Aarav realized something.
This wasn't just survival anymore.
This was war.