A businessman, doctor, and teacher uncover haunting secrets beneath Connaught Place, Delhi. Shadows, whispers, and terror await in this spine-chilling tale.
The moon cast a silvery sheen over Connaught Place as its iconic white colonnades stood solemnly against the midnight sky. The city, alive during the day, now held an eerie stillness.
Arun Mehra, a successful yet weary businessman, tightened his coat against the biting wind. He had stayed late at the office—a decision he would soon regret. His footsteps echoed faintly as he crossed the central park, clutching a briefcase full of documents that suddenly felt irrelevant.
Meanwhile, Dr. Sanskriti Roy parked her car nearby after an exhausting shift at the hospital. Her mind buzzed with the remnants of life-and-death decisions, but the odd stillness of the area made her uneasy. She glanced at her watch. Midnight. Too late for comfort, yet too early for dawn’s reprieve.
At the same time, Mary Thomas, a school teacher, lingered at a café with her laptop. Deadlines for lesson plans loomed, and the dim lighting inside felt safer than the dark streets outside. When the café owner announced closing time, Mary hesitated but eventually gathered her belongings and stepped out.
Fate pulled the trio together. Each of them noticed something peculiar—a faint sound, like whispers brushing against their ears, yet no one was visible. Arun was the first to stop.
“Did you hear that?” he asked as the three met at the edge of the park, their paths converging unexpectedly.
“Yes,” Sanskriti replied, her voice low but firm. “It sounded like… someone calling my name.”
Mary nodded, her face pale. “But there’s no one here.”
A gust of wind carried a stronger, chilling whisper, this time unmistakable. It wasn’t just a name. It was a plea: “Help me…”
The words seemed to rise from the ground beneath them. Mary’s hands trembled as she clutched her bag tighter. Arun looked around, his sharp business acumen giving way to fear. Sanskriti, the most pragmatic of the three, crouched down, her doctor’s instincts urging her to investigate.
“It’s coming from below,” she said, her voice almost drowned by the sudden, hollow hum of the wind.
Without warning, a manhole cover nearby shifted slightly. Arun recoiled, Mary gasped, and Sanskriti, suppressing her fear, approached cautiously.
“Wait!” Arun called, grabbing her arm. “What if it’s dangerous?”
“Exactly why we can’t ignore it,” Sanskriti shot back.
Together, they lifted the heavy cover. A damp, musty smell wafted up, and a dark tunnel yawned before them. Mary’s legs nearly gave way, but Arun steadied her.
“Let’s not,” Mary whispered, her voice trembling.
But the whispering intensified, growing urgent. Against their better judgment, the trio descended the rusty ladder into the depths.
The underground was an abandoned labyrinth, its walls slick with moisture. Faint remnants of colonial-era infrastructure hinted at its age. They followed the whispers, now accompanied by distant sobbing. Shadows danced along the walls, cast by their flickering phone flashlights.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkness—a frail, spectral woman dressed in torn, bloodstained attire. Her eyes glowed faintly, and her voice echoed eerily: “You must help me… or suffer as I have.”
Fear rooted them to the spot. Arun stammered, “W-who are you?”
“I was once like you,” she murmured. “Trapped. Forgotten. Betrayed by those I trusted.”
The trio listened as she recounted a haunting tale of betrayal and death, her life cut short beneath Connaught Place. But the details were fragmented, and her presence grew more sinister with every word.
When they tried to leave, the tunnels began to shift, the air thickening with an otherworldly pressure. The woman’s whispers turned to screams, echoing in every direction.
Realizing they couldn’t escape without confronting her, Snaskriti demanded, “What do you want from us?”
“Justice,” the specter hissed.
The trio pieced together her story, deciphering clues scrawled on the damp walls. A powerful industrialist from decades ago had wronged her, burying both her and her secrets beneath the bustling streets above.
In a harrowing conclusion, the trio found a decayed box containing documents exposing the industrialist’s crimes. As they presented the evidence, the specter’s screams subsided into a chilling silence.
Climbing out of the manhole just before dawn, they felt the oppressive weight lift. The whispers ceased, leaving Connaught Place to its daytime bustle once again. But none of them would ever view it the same way.
Above ground, Mary whispered, “Do you think it’s over?”
Arun shook his head. “We’ve freed her. But something tells me Connaught Place holds more secrets than we can imagine.”
Sanskriti gazed at the now-quiet streets and muttered, “Let’s hope they stay buried.”
