1. The Last Departure
It was a night like no other. The ancient Nilgiri hills were cloaked in an unsettling stillness as bus no. TN43 P pulled out of the remote village of Kotagiri. It was 2:00 a.m., a time when even the wild creatures of the forest lay hidden, and the only sound was the faint rumble of the bus engine. Inside, 64 passengers dozed or whispered quietly, their voices barely piercing the eerie silence.
The guard at the lonely mountain checkpoint had been nodding off when TN43 P passed, its headlights like ghostly eyes cutting through the dark. He raised a hand in a lazy salute, watching it disappear into the heavy fog. But then he saw something that would haunt him for years—a flash of lightning, brief but blinding, and the bus seemed to dissolve into the mist as if swallowed whole by the mountains.
The night returned to silence, and TN43 P was never seen again… or so everyone thought.
2. Whispers of the Past
As the months dragged on, the mountains held their secrets tight. Families waited, rumors grew, but there was no trace of TN43 P. Search parties combed the hills, finding nothing but endless fog and silence. It was as if the earth itself had hidden the bus away, swallowed it whole to leave only whispers in its place.
In the shadows of the village, the elders spoke in hushed tones. Muthu, an old tribal seer, told of something no one wanted to believe—of a passage between worlds, a supernatural corridor where time twisted and tangled like a spider's web. He spoke of travelers, long dead, who had vanished without a trace only to reappear years later, still as young and vibrant as the day they left.
But TN43 P was gone, and with it, the possibility of ever knowing the truth. For fourteen years, it became a ghost story, an ominous tale whispered around fires, until no one dared to travel the route alone.
3. The Return
On a cold December night in 2024, the quiet mountain town of Mettupalayam was blanketed in mist, thick and suffocating. As the marketplace wound down for the night, a soft rumble began to echo from the hillside. At first, people thought it was a distant storm, but then, emerging through the fog, they saw it—the headlights of a bus, flickering like faint embers in the mist.
There it was, bus TN43 P, gliding into the marketplace, its faded paint glinting under the streetlights, its wheels silent as if the ground barely touched them. The people froze, their breaths catching in their throats. It was impossible. The bus was the same—untouched, as though it had just left Kotagiri hours ago. And within, through the grimy, dust-coated windows, they could see the faces.
One by one, the passengers looked out, their expressions blank, unaware, as if they'd just woken from a deep, timeless sleep. They had no idea fourteen years had passed. They had no idea they’d been gone.
4. The Echoes of Nowhere
Inside the police station, a heavy silence fell as the passengers of TN43 P recounted their story. Their memories were hazy, distorted, like reflections on troubled water. Each one described the same thing—a thickening of the fog, a burst of searing light, and then… nothingness. The passage of time was lost, as though they'd been caught in an endless dream.
Driver Ramesh spoke of the unnatural fog pressing against the windows, heavy and alive, making it impossible to see even a foot beyond. Some claimed to have seen shadowy forms moving outside, faceless figures who seemed to watch with cold, empty eyes. The silence, they all said, had been the worst—an oppressive stillness that stretched on, suffocating, until they could barely remember the sound of their own voices.
As they spoke, the officials grew pale, shifting uneasily, glancing at the bus parked outside, still waiting like a phantom from the past.
5. A Town in Terror
Word of the bus’s return spread through the Nilgiris like wildfire. The townsfolk, stunned and fearful, whispered among themselves. Some swore it was an omen, a cursed thing brought back from a world beyond, a reminder of secrets that should have stayed buried. The fear was tangible, clinging to the town like the ever-present fog.
And as the days passed, that fear only deepened. Those who dared approach the bus spoke of feeling a chill in the air, an unnatural cold that clung to their skin. The seats were dusty, as though abandoned for decades, and the air inside was thick and stale. The faint scent of mildew and something else—something sickly sweet—lingered in the air.
It was only a few days later that the town woke to find the bus, and its passengers, gone once more. No one had seen it leave, and yet it was nowhere to be found. The road where it had reappeared lay empty and silent, the mist coiling around it as if guarding a dark secret.
6. The Haunting of the Hills
Now, in the shadowed valleys of the Nilgiris, the legend of TN43 P lives on. Travelers report seeing the bus on fog-laden nights, gliding silently through the mountains. Its windows remain dark, save for the occasional face staring blankly into the void, eyes hollow and empty, as though trapped forever between worlds.
Locals say they hear the soft hum of its engine in the dead of night, the faint glow of its headlights drifting through the trees. Some say they've even seen the passengers, their hands pressed against the glass, eyes wide and pleading, but no sound escapes the bus.
The bus is never seen for long. A flash of lightning, a roll of thunder, and it's gone again, leaving nothing but silence and an uneasy feeling that it could reappear at any moment.
7. Epilogue: A Dark Passage in Time
The Nilgiri hills hold their secrets close, shrouded in fog and mystery. The tale of bus TN43 P remains, a chilling story of time and terror that haunts the villagers to this day. To this very hour, there are those who claim they have seen it—the ghostly blue-and-white bus moving silently through the mist, as if trapped in an eternal journey.
To see it is to glimpse the unknown, to feel the chill of another realm brushing against our own. And for those who dare wander the dark roads of the Nilgiris at night, beware. Bus TN43 P may just cross your path, its headlights cutting through the fog, its passengers forever lost in the space between then and now.
The hills, they say, never forget.
Comments
Post a Comment