In Faridabad, a century-old witch’s sinister black magic and child sacrifices come to light, unearthing terrifying truths that haunt the town.
In the heart of Faridabad’s industrial expanse, amidst crumbling ruins of an abandoned factory, whispers of an ancient evil had long unsettled the locals. For years, they dismissed strange occurrences—cattle disappearing, unnatural howls at night, and unsettling shadows near the forest—as folklore. But the tale of Amira, the witch who had practiced black magic for over a century, was not just a story.
Amira had been banished by her own village decades ago. Instead of fading into obscurity, she thrived in isolation, consuming forbidden knowledge. Her beauty never aged, her strength only grew, and her sinister practices became the stuff of nightmares.
One foggy evening, the silence in the streets of Faridabad was shattered by the desperate cries of Arjun, a frantic father. His young daughter, Meera, had vanished while playing near their home. Arjun, with a few villagers, combed through the woods and stumbled upon a chilling scene in the factory ruins.
The air inside was heavy, thick with the smell of burning herbs and something far more sinister. At the centre stood Amira, cloaked in black, chanting in an ancient tongue. Meera was unconscious on an altar, surrounded by candles whose flames flickered unnaturally.
Arjun’s arrival disrupted the ritual. Amira turned to face the group, her eyes gleaming unnaturally. With a wave of her hand, the villagers froze, rooted in fear. Amira whispered promises of power, immortality, and riches, trying to lure them. But Arjun’s love for his child broke the spell. He lunged forward, snatching Meera from the altar.
As dawn approached, Amira’s power began to wane. The factory collapsed in on itself, burying her in the rubble. But the villagers knew this wasn’t the end. Legends said that unless her rituals were completed, her spirit would haunt Faridabad, seeking revenge.
To this day, the ruins remain untouched, and locals warn against wandering there at night. They say the winds carry her chants, and those who hear them may become her next target.
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