It was past midnight when Raghav boarded the last bus heading toward Hanumangarh. The route was deserted, known among locals as “the road where spirits wander.” Raghav laughed off the rumors—until the bus entered the dense stretch of forest.
The lights inside the bus began flickering. Only three passengers were visible…but Raghav suddenly felt as if someone had sat beside him. He turned—there was no one. Yet the seat dipped under an unseen weight, and icy air wrapped around his neck.
The driver kept staring into the mirror, his face pale, as if expecting something. A few minutes later, Raghav heard soft whispers behind him. When he looked, the back seats were filled—with shadowy figures, their hollow eyes staring ahead. The three real passengers looked terrified, clinging to their seats.
“Don’t look at them,” the driver muttered. “They board here every night… and only get down where they died.”
As the bus approached Hanumangarh bridge, all the shadows stood together. The door opened by itself, and they drifted out into the darkness.
When the bus halted at the station, the driver whispered to Raghav, “You survived because you didn’t call their names. Many never make it.”
That night, Raghav realized—Hanumangarh’s ghosts travel too, but only one way
