The Whispering Jungle

The first rule the guide gave us was simple.

“If you hear someone calling your name from inside the jungle, do not answer.”

We laughed.

That was before sunset.

There were four of us—Raghav, Sameer, Neha and me—travelling through a remote forest region to photograph an abandoned watchtower built during the colonial period.

According to local villagers, the tower had been deserted for decades.

According to the old man who agreed to guide us, there was a reason.

His name was Bhola.

He was almost seventy and had spent his entire life near the forest.

Before we entered, he tied a small red thread around his wrist.

“What happens if somebody answers?” I asked.

Bhola looked at me.

“The jungle knows where you are.”

I thought he was trying to frighten tourists.

By six in the evening, I was no longer so sure.

The Forest Became Silent

We had been walking for almost four hours when we realised there were no birds.

No insects either.

Only our footsteps.

The silence felt unnatural.

Even the wind seemed unable to enter that part of the forest.

Bhola suddenly stopped.

“From here, nobody walks alone.”

The watchtower was supposed to be less than two kilometres away.

Sameer complained that we were moving too slowly.

Then we heard it.

“Sameer.”

A woman's voice.

Very faint.

Somewhere between the trees.

Sameer froze.

It sounded exactly like his mother.

I knew because I had met her several times.

“Sameer,” the voice called again.

He turned towards the jungle.

Bhola grabbed his arm.

“Don't.”

Sameer stared at him.

“That sounded like my mother.”

“I know.”

That answer terrified me more than the voice itself.

We kept walking.

Nobody spoke.

Then the voice called again.

This time it was mine.

“Arjun.”

I stopped.

My father's voice.

My father had been dead for six years.

Every hair on my arms stood up.

“Arjun, come here.”

I wanted to answer.

Not because I believed my father was standing among those trees.

Because for one horrible second, I wanted it to be true.

Neha pulled me forward.

“Keep walking.”

We reached the watchtower just before darkness.

Something Was Already Inside

The tower was smaller than expected.

Two floors.

Broken windows.

A rusted staircase.

Vegetation had almost swallowed the stone walls.

Bhola refused to enter.

“We leave now.”

Sameer laughed nervously.

“After walking all day?”

“Now.”

Then thunder rolled somewhere above us.

Rain began almost immediately.

Heavy jungle rain.

Within minutes the trail behind us became difficult to see.

We had no choice but to stay.

At least until the storm weakened.

Inside the tower, the air smelled of damp wood and something else.

Something rotten.

Raghav found old markings carved into the wall.

Names.

Dozens of them.

Some dates were more than a hundred years old.

Neha pointed towards one corner.

There were four fresh names scratched into the stone.

RAGHAV.

SAMEER.

NEHA.

ARJUN.

Nobody moved.

“Who did this?” Sameer asked.

Bhola stepped backwards.

His face had gone pale.

“We should not have come.”

Then we noticed a fifth name below ours.

BHOLA.

Beneath it was a date.

Raghav stared at him.

“What is this?”

Bhola said nothing.

“Why is your name here?”

Finally, he whispered:

“Because I came here once before.”

He had been twenty-two.

There had been six people in his group.

Only two returned.

“What happened to the others?” Neha asked.

Bhola looked towards the staircase.

“They answered.”

A Footstep Upstairs

The sound came from the floor above us.

One slow footstep.

Then another.

Someone was walking upstairs.

But nobody had gone up there.

Raghav lifted his flashlight.

“Who's there?”

Bhola slapped the flashlight from his hand.

“Never ask it questions.”

Another footstep.

Then Sameer's voice came from upstairs.

“Guys?”

Sameer was standing beside me.

We all stared at him.

The voice came again.

“Guys, come up here.”

Sameer started trembling.

Then my voice joined it.

“There's something you need to see.”

Neha's voice followed.

Then Raghav's.

All of our voices were now speaking from the darkness upstairs.

Together.

“Come up.”

The staircase creaked.

Something began coming down.

Bhola shouted, “Run!”

We rushed outside into the rain.

The jungle was completely dark.

We followed Bhola through the trees.

Behind us, branches broke.

Something was following.

Not running.

Walking.

Slowly.

Yet somehow never falling behind.

Then Neha screamed.

She was gone.

One second she had been beside us.

The next there was only darkness.

“Neha!” Sameer shouted.

Bhola turned and punched him across the face.

“You answered!”

“I didn't—”

“You called her name!”

From somewhere behind us came Neha's voice.

“Sameer?”

He stopped.

“Help me!”

She sounded terrified.

“Please!”

Sameer turned.

Bhola grabbed him.

“That is not her.”

Then Neha stepped between two trees.

Her clothes were torn.

Blood covered her forehead.

She was crying.

“Please.”

Sameer pulled away from Bhola.

He ran towards her.

The moment he touched her shoulder, her crying stopped.

She smiled.

Her mouth opened.

Too far.

The jaw dropped lower than any human jaw could.

Sameer screamed.

The darkness behind Neha seemed to move.

Dozens of pale arms reached from between the trees.

They pulled him inside.

His screams lasted less than five seconds.

Then silence.

We ran.

The Jungle Learns

Only Raghav, Bhola and I remained.

Bhola told us the road was less than a kilometre away.

Then we heard Sameer behind us.

“Wait!”

Raghav began crying.

“That's him.”

“No,” Bhola said.

Sameer's voice came closer.

“Raghav, please.”

Raghav turned around.

I grabbed him.

“Don't look.”

Then another voice came from ahead.

Bhola's.

“Come this way.”

But Bhola was beside me.

We stopped.

A second Bhola stepped onto the trail twenty metres ahead.

Same clothes.

Same red thread.

Same face.

He smiled.

The real Bhola whispered something I couldn't understand.

Then the thing ahead of us spoke.

“It learns quickly.”

Bhola pushed us towards another trail.

“Run!”

The creature screamed.

Every voice we had heard that night came from its mouth at once.

My father.

Neha.

Sameer.

Raghav.

Even me.

We ran until my lungs burned.

I heard Bhola scream behind us.

I never looked back.

The Only Two Who Returned

Raghav and I reached the highway shortly before sunrise.

A truck driver found us.

Police later searched the jungle.

They found the watchtower.

But they found no bodies.

No Bhola.

No Sameer.

No Neha.

The strangest part came when the police questioned villagers about our guide.

Nobody knew anyone called Bhola.

An elderly woman finally recognized the photograph I had taken of him.

She began crying.

She told us Bhola had disappeared in the jungle in 1978.

He was never seen again.

I stopped travelling after that.

Raghav stopped speaking about what happened.

For almost a year, nothing unusual happened.

Then last night my phone rang.

Unknown number.

I answered.

There was only static.

Then Raghav whispered:

“Arjun?”

I sat up.

“Raghav?”

“Don't answer the door.”

Three knocks came from my front door.

I froze.

“Why?”

Raghav started crying.

“Because I'm standing outside.”

I looked towards the door.

Another three knocks.

Then my phone vibrated.

A message from Raghav.

A photograph.

He was standing at an airport in another country.

The timestamp showed it had been taken one minute earlier.

Then the voice outside my apartment spoke again.

This time it wasn't Raghav.

It was Bhola.

“Arjun.”

Three knocks.

“The jungle knows where you are.”