The locals warned everyone to avoid the crossroads after midnight. They called it the Stopping Crossroads, a place where roads met—and so did restless souls. Rohan laughed at the stories until one foggy night, while returning from work, his bike suddenly stalled right at the
center of the crossing.
The air grew cold. Streetlights flickered, and silence pressed against his ears. From the darkness, footsteps echoed, slow and heavy. A woman appeared, dressed in white, her face hidden by long black
hair. She raised her hand—not to wave, but to stop him.
Rohan tried to start the bike, but the engine refused. The woman moved closer, whispering names of people who had vanished years ago. He realized with horror that every name belonged to someone who had once crossed this road at night.
Suddenly, shadows surrounded him, blocking every exit. The woman pointed
to the road behind him, smiling cruelly. Summoning all his courage, Rohan pushed the bike forward with his feet, breaking past the invisible force holding him.
At dawn, he reached home trembling. The bike worked perfectly again. Later, he learned the truth—those who stop at the crossroads after midnight are never meant to leave. Rohan survived… but the crossroads is still waiting for the next traveler. 👻
