The dead bride

This haunting tale unfolded in the life of my beloved uncle, a man of 32 years, filled with ambition and dreams. Residing in the enchanting city of Jabalpur, nestled in the heart of Madhya Pradesh, India, he worked as a dedicated medical representative. Traveling became a regular part of his life, traversing from one place to another, chasing success.

Although his job demanded constant travel, he had never ventured outside the town to visit doctors' chambers. However, fate had a different plan for him after two years of dedicated service. A colleague suggested they reach out to a doctor's chamber located beyond their familiar territory, assuring my uncle that this opportunity would help them achieve their targets more swiftly. Hesitant at first, my uncle finally embraced the idea of exploring this new place, a few hours away from Jabalpur.

They set a date for their journey, planning to depart after completing their official duties for the day. As the evening approached, they embarked on their expedition, with a destination 55 kilometers away—a mere hour and a half by road. Their intention was to reach the place and spend the night at a guest house before freshening up the next morning to proceed with their plans.

As they set out on their journey, only fifteen minutes had passed when the weather suddenly took a turn for the worse. Dark clouds loomed overhead, unleashing heavy thunderstorms and drenching rain upon them. It was a terrible start to their endeavor, and they sought shelter beneath a tree until the rain subsided. But luck was not on their side; the weather only grew more menacing, leaving them stranded and filled with worry about their next move.

In that moment of uncertainty, a glimmer of hope emerged. My uncle spotted streaks of light emanating from a field across the road, urging them to investigate and seek assistance. Venturing toward the mysterious lights, they discovered a triple-story house, its ground floor hosting a quaint tea stall. Several people sat inside, engaged in cheerful conversations over steaming cups of tea. Observing the two strangers standing in the rain, completely drenched, the compassionate souls invited them inside, offering tea and a chance to change into dry clothes.

After sharing a warm cup of tea and conversing with their newfound companions, they realized it was time for the tea stall to close. The rain showed no signs of stopping; it continued to drizzle. Everyone prepared to retreat to the safety of their homes. The owner of the tea stall, learning about my uncle and his friend's destination, kindly advised them to find a place to stay for the night due to the unfavorable weather conditions. Grateful for the suggestion but uncertain about their options, they pondered their next move.

The tea stall owner informed them that if they were willing, he could arrange a room for them on the first floor of the same house. The landlord had entrusted him with a key, allowing him to store his belongings there. With no other viable choice, they accepted the offer. Handing them the key to the room, the tea stall owner bid them farewell and departed. My uncle and his friend unlocked the room, stepping into a small space cluttered with various objects. In one corner, there was a bed where they settled for the night.

In the depths of the night, as sleep embraced my uncle's weary body, he experienced an unusual sensation. It felt as if someone was massaging his legs, relieving the fatigue that burdened him. Initially, he reveled in the soothing touch, grateful for the respite his aching limbs had yearned for. But as awareness gradually returned, the realization struck him like a bolt of terror—this was not a dream. Someone, or something, was in the room with him, masquerading as a beautiful bride, dressed in her bridal attire, tenderly massaging his legs.

Fear surged through his veins, and his heart pounded in his chest as he glanced toward his slumbering friend. In that moment of desperation, my uncle tried to wake him, to share the horror unfolding before their eyes. Yet his companion remained lost in the depths of sleep, oblivious to the ghostly presence in their midst. The mysterious lady continued her spectral massage, her smile unnerving, her beauty shrouded in an eerie aura.

My uncle's mind raced, attempting to decipher the inexplicable. Who was she? How had she entered the locked room? Unanswered questions swirled in his terrified thoughts. With his life hanging in the balance, his only recourse was to flee, to escape the clutches of this otherworldly entity that threatened his very existence.

Summoning every ounce of courage within him, my uncle sprang from the bed, abandoning all rational thought. He rushed out of the room, not daring to look back, his energy propelling him downstairs and into the dark, drizzling night. Alone in the desolate surroundings, he frantically searched for a solution, for any sign of help in this state of profound vulnerability. But no entity materialized to guide him, leaving him overwhelmed with uncertainty.

Amidst the torment of his fear, he noticed an old blanket lying upon a bench in a distant corner, an abandoned piece of comfort. Grasping this fragment of solace, he wrapped himself within its worn embrace, seeking solace from the chilling night. As he huddled beneath the blanket, his trembling body gradually found respite, and he peered out cautiously, his spirit replenished with a glimmer of hope. He whispered to himself, a voice shrouded in determination, that the morning light would bring salvation, as the tea stall owner would arrive, ensuring his safety.

Long hours passed, and as the dawn began its ascent, his friend descended the stairs in search of him. The tea stall owner, too, arrived at the scene, and they roused my uncle from his makeshift refuge. Confusion clouded their faces as they questioned the reason behind his nocturnal vigil on the bench. He recounted the harrowing events of the night, searching their expressions for understanding and solace.

And then it came, a chilling revelation that sent shivers down their spines.

A passerby among the growing crowd shared a tale of a tragic fate—a newly wedded bride, the wife of the house's owner, had taken her own life on the very night of her marriage, within the confines of the room my uncle had unwittingly entered. The ethereal figure he had encountered was none other than her restless spirit, forever bound to haunt the house. The owner had fled, leaving the grand residence locked, forsaken by the living.

My uncle stood there, disbelief etched upon his face, unable to fathom the encounter he had witnessed. The lady, so tangible, so ethereal in her beauty—why had she chosen such a tragic end? Overwhelmed by the inexplicable, my uncle and his friend abandoned their original destination, forsaking their plans, and hastily returned to the familiar streets of Jabalpur.

The haunting memory of that night, the encounter with a ghost so captivating and mysterious, remained etched in my uncle's mind. Questions lingered, answers eluded him, as he pondered the enigma of her demise. But he had learned a valuable lesson, one that reminded him of the fragility of life, the thin veil between the realms of the living and the departed. And so, his journey continued, now accompanied by a lingering sense of the supernatural, forever etched in the depths of his soul.