It was a cold, misty night when Ramesh decided to take the shortcut through the old bridge outside the village. Locals had warned him never to stop on that bridge, but he laughed it off as superstition. As his motorcycle roared over the creaky planks, the wind suddenly grew heavier — and then, silence.
His bike stopped midway without reason. Ramesh tried to restart it, but a strange chill ran down his spine. He heard faint footsteps behind him — slow, dragging, and uneven. Turning around, he saw nothing but thick fog. Then came a whisper — “Why did you stop here?” The voice was low, broken, and echoing.
Terrified, Ramesh pushed his bike and ran, but the fog thickened. The last thing he saw was a shadowed figure standing at the edge of the bridge — watching him. The next morning, villagers found his motorcycle, engine cold, lying on the bridge… but Ramesh was never found.
Even today, people say that if you cross that bridge after midnight, you can still hear the same footsteps — and a whisper asking, “Why did you stop
here?”
