It was time for dinner when the clock hit nine o'clock in the evening. Each of us was dealing with the same unspoken issue, and we all sat in silence in the dining room, wondering how we could help the spirit find peace and enter paradise.
The table was full of delicious food: warm saffron rice, spicy masala crabs, grilled fish from the Neelum River, and freshly baked Kashmiri naan.
But none of us actually ate any of it.
There was a strange feeling in the air, like something bad was about to happen.
I broke the silence suddenly.
With a voice that cut through the tension, I said, "I have an idea."
All four of my friends, filled with fear and curiosity, turned to look at me.
"How?"
asked Diljeet, putting down his spoon.
"We meet the spirit tonight," I replied.
"We ask her what she wants. We have Baba's amulets, but it's dangerous. We'll be safe with his blessings."
Dinner finished quickly.
Already, our thoughts were drifting into a dark future. We asked the motel manager if we could leave. He agreed right away, knowing Diljeet and me.
A cold wind howled through the woods as the clock struck twelve at midnight.
The same cat was sitting on the border wall, watching us with bright, alert eyes.
I whispered, "We're here to help you.
You have our friendship."
The cat immediately responded—in a female voice.
She suddenly transformed into a figure covered in ragged white, her eyes filled with decades of sorrow, her hair floating strangely.
She said, "Follow me."
Grabbing our lights, we followed her to the deserted area behind the hills, where the locals called it cursed and where nighttime cries could be heard.
"There," she said, "I listened when you talked about going to northern Kashmir.
I knew my time had come."
She mentioned a 1900s letter that said, "I am your son, Suraj."
However, it came two years too late and the handwriting wasn't his.
"I knew my son was gone that day," she said.
"I understood when I learned about this haunted land—my son and his friends were buried here."
If she led us, we promised to bury them properly.
Silently, she agreed.
We came back in the morning with workers.
As we dug more—until the shovel hit bone—the cat watched.
Under the ground, five skeletons were tangled together.
We carried out each ceremony carefully.
A soft light surrounded the cat as the final prayer was said.
"I never hurt anyone with the reaping tool," she said.
"I used it hoping to find my son."
Then she disappeared.
The land has been peaceful ever since.
As our journey ended, so did we.