The winding road snaking up the mountain seemed endless. Outside, a thick, suffocating mist clung to the car windows, making the surroundings look like a scene from a horror movie. Kabir rolled down the window, and a blast of cold air hit his face. Along with it came a strange scent—damp earth, mixed with something older, like the smell of a forgotten grave.
Kabir was a crime reporter. He had no desire to visit the remote mountain town of "Raktamukhi" (Bloodface), but five people had vanished from this tiny town in the last month. No clues, no ransom demands, no bodies. While the police dismissed it as "mountain accidents," the sheer terror in the eyes of the locals had drawn Kabir here.
The car stopped in front of the town hall—a dilapidated single-story building. Upon entering, Kabir felt the gaze of several elderly residents locked onto him. Their eyes held no hospitality, only a deep, unsettling unease.
"New here?" a raspy voice asked.
Kabir turned to see an old man approaching. His skin was deeply wrinkled, his eyes clouded over.
"Yes, I'm Kabir. From the city."
The old man grabbed Kabir's hand. His grip was ice-cold. "Newcomers don't stay long here, boy. When the mist gets thick, Raktamukhi changes its rules."
Kabir smiled faintly and pulled his hand away. He didn't believe in superstitions. "I'm here to investigate the disappearances."
The old man suddenly burst into a jarring, maniacal laughter. It was so unsettling that the few other people in the hall jumped.
"Disappeared?" the old man whispered, leaning in closer. "They didn't disappear. The town embraced them. Now, it's your turn."
With that, the man hurried out into the dark, misty night.
A cold chill ran down Kabir's spine. He realized this wasn't just some ordinary mountain village. Something happening here defied all logic.
Night had fallen. Kabir gripped his camera bag and stepped out of the hall. The mist had grown even thicker. Strangely, there was no sound. No birds chirping, no wind rustling the trees—the entire town was submerged in an eerie silence.
Suddenly, Kabir thought he heard someone calling him from beyond the mist. A familiar voice—his younger sister's voice, who had passed away last year.
"Kabir... Kabir, brother... Come here..."
Kabir froze. Was this a hallucination, or was the town playing tricks on his mind? He tightened his grip on his camera and took a step toward the dense fog.