On
a moonless Amavasya night, Ravi was returning to his village after years. The road cut through a dense forest where locals warned no one should travel after midnight. At exactly 12:12 a.m., his bike suddenly
stopped. The air turned cold, and silence swallowed the forest.
As Ravi tried to restart the bike, he heard footsteps crunching behind him. Turning back, he saw a shadow without a face, standing unnaturally still. His heart
raced. The shadow slowly raised its hand and pointed toward the forest. Ravi felt a strange pull, as if his body was no longer under his control.
Suddenly, whispers filled his ears—voices crying, laughing, and screaming together. He remembered the village stories: souls of people who died on Amavasya
wander freely, seeking the living. Gathering all his strength, Ravi closed his eyes and began chanting prayers his grandmother had taught him.
The whispers grew louder, then vanished. His bike started on its own. When Ravi reached the village, elders turned pale hearing his story. They told him many had disappeared on that road during Amavasya nights.
Ravi survived—but even today, he wakes up hearing those whispers, reminding him that some nights never truly end.

