Inside the Bungalow...
Room of Rudra and Co...
Thunder rumbled outside.
Inside, it was chaos of a different kind.
Ravi, Tarun, and Rohit were sprawled on the mattress with pillows around them like fortresses.
A horror movie played loudly from the Bluetooth speaker.
"Damn, I told you this ghost has no logic!"
Ravi shouted, laughing.
"He can walk through walls but uses the door like a guest!"
Rudra chuckled, tossing popcorn into his mouth.
They had locked the door, dimmed the lights, and made it a mini theatre night.
The room echoed with screams—
Mostly from the movie.
Elsewhere…
In Veera's room...
Completely. Different.
Vibe.
"____"
Veera stood near the bed, hands on his hips, forcing himself to look tough.
"Hmph. Ghosts... mere rumours,"
He muttered.
Then turned.
Then turned again.
Then, slowly turned back—
Eye twitching—
As he scanned the giant, dimly lit bedroom like a war general inspecting enemy territory.
The shadows seemed to move on their own.
The curtains swayed… even though the windows were shut.
Veera's eyes landed on the old portrait above the headboard.
A British boy, around eight years old, sat stiffly holding a silver spoon.
His eyes… unusually lifelike.
"____"
Veera gulped.
Gulp~
"Wh-why's he holding a spoon like it's Excalibur?"
Trying to shake off the fear,
Veera mimicked the painting, sitting cross-legged and holding his own spoon.
"See? I can do this too. Art is nothing."
Tick… tick… tick…
The ancient clock in the hallway struck 9 PM.
At that very moment—
WHOOSH!
A sudden gust of wind blew from nowhere.
The candle in his room flickered violently.
Then—
"CRRRK—CLANK!"
The old iron flagpole atop Jackson Bungalow groaned.
Up above, in the raging wind,
A tattered British flag slowly unfurled, flapping like it hadn't aged a day.
Veera sat stiffly on his cot, still holding the spoon like the boy in the portrait above him.
The candlelight flickered again.
Suddenly—
"JACKSON! COME OUT, YOU COWARD!"
The walls seemed to echo with the angry voice, clearly British-accented.
"FIRE!"
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Gunshots cracked through the air like thunder.
The walls trembled.
The old windowpane rattled violently.
Veera's face turned pale.
"____"
He dropped the spoon.
"W-was that… gunfire?!"
His panic only lasted a second.
His ego kicked in.
"No! That Satya and gang must be doing cinema-level drama to scare me!"
With chest puffed and pride inflated, Veera jumped to his feet and slammed open his door, yelling.
"Oi! Nice try! I'm not scared! You can't prank Veera the Lion! Ha ha!"
He ran to the hallway.
He thought they'd be impressed or terrified by his bravery.
What he didn't notice—
A British woman, dressed in a tattered colonial gown, veil covering her face, stood just behind him.
Watching.
Motionless.
Cold.
He banged the other door and ran back triumphantly to his room, muttering.
"Scared them off. My legend grows."
He didn't see her silently following him—
Gliding behind, her footsteps never touching the ground.
"_____"
Back in his room, he marched to the cupboard…
Where just moments ago, the ghostly woman had stood.
Now gone.
He puffed again.
"See? I run this bungalow now!"
Second time—
Same routine.
He ran out. Banged the door.
Ran back in.
This time, he peeked through the glass window on the door… expecting to see panic.
Instead?
"____"
Rudra and his friends were laughing, stuffing popcorn, and watching a scream in the horror movie.
"WHAT?! They didn't even notice me!?"
He hissed, gritting his teeth.
That's when—
He heard it.
A soft giggle.
Giggle~
He turned—
And saw the same boy from the portrait sprinting behind him, vanishing around the corner.
GULP.
Veera froze.
"____"
And then—
A British soldier ghost appeared right in front of him.
"YOU THERE! INTRUDER!"
Veera's soul almost left his body.
"AMMAAA!"(Mom!)
The nearby cupboard began to shudder violently.
He crept toward it, trembling—
WHOOSH!
A bat flew out, straight into his face.
That was it.
His sanity snapped.
"____"
"ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!"
He darted to his room, flung open his bag, and yanked out two bottles of drinks he'd brought.
"If I'm going to be haunted, I'd rather be haunted drunk!"
With false bravado and shaking knees, he marched into Rudra and the gang's room, lifting the bottles like a saviour.
"Drinks, gentlemen? Let us celebrate this haunted night!"
He banged the door and even flashed the flashlight to get their attention to open the door.
They blinked… then shrugged.
Ravi grinned.
Grin~
"Drinks and ghosts? Perfect combo."
And just like that, laughter returned, glasses clinked,
And Veera finally took a seat…not knowing the portrait boy was still watching him from the hallway.
The thunder outside rumbled softly.
The candlelight danced across the faces of the boys as laughter echoed between sips and clinks of glasses.
The horror movie on the laptop had been paused long ago.
Now, it was just them… and the spirits—both liquid and possibly not.
Veera slammed his empty glass down.
"Pour another! Tonight, we conquer fear! And tomorrow—maybe constipation!"
Everyone burst into laughter.
Satya, already two drinks past his limit, hiccupped dramatically.
"Thash right, brother. No gho—hic! Ghosts can defeat us!"
But then…
Veera's expression changed.
"____"
His smile wavered.
His eyes welled up.
He sniffled.
Sniff~
Then sniffled again.
Sniff~
Ravi noticed it first.
"Oi oi… is he crying?"
Tarun squinted.
"Looks like it…"
Satya swayed toward Veera and poked his forehead.
"Heyyy… Veeraaaa… why you got sad filter, da?"
Veera sniffled louder…
…then lunged forward and hugged Satya like a long-lost soulmate.
"You… You feel like… like a long-lost friend I never had!"
"You get me… You're my jam, my chutney, my… gun license!"
Everyone stared.
Rohit whispered to Rudra.
"What kind of bromance fanfic is this?"
Veera, now fully sobbing, wiped his nose on his sleeve dramatically.
"I GIVE UP! YOU WIN!"
"I give up, Viji… to you! She deserves a good man like you! Not a scaredy-cat ghost-magnet like me!"
Satya's lower lip trembled.
His eyes glistened.
He hiccupped again.
Hiccup~
Then hugged Veera tighter.
"Brooooo… no one's ever sacrificed their love for me before…"
Suddenly—
🎶 En friend-ah pola yaaru machaan... 🎶
Veera started singing the iconic Tamil friendship anthem.
Satya joined him—
Off-key and with intense emotion—
Wobbling side to side as if the ghosts themselves were swaying with them.
🎶 Heart-le battery… full-ah charge-u da! 🎶
Ravi facepalmed.
Tarun wiped a tear—
No one knew if it was from laughter or second-hand cringe.
Rudra just sat back, sipping quietly, chuckling.
Chuckle~
Outside, in the corridor…
A faint whisper echoed.
"Get out…"
But the boys were too drunk to care.
The only ghost now was the ghost of rejected love and bromantic declarations.
Satya, cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming from both drink and emotion, fumbled out his mobile.
"Veeraaa… selfie time daaa! Memory for the grandchildren!"
Veera, still sniffling but recovering fast, stood tall and declared with a dramatic wave of his hand.
"Selfie is for mortals, my friend! Let's make a videooo! A vlog! An exploration! Of the haunted mansion!"
Cue adventure music... in their heads.
Satya spun the camera around, tapping record.
"Vanakkam(Hello), guys! Welcome to our late-night ghost-hunting episode.
Featuring… me—Inspector Satya—and this emotional mass of muscle—Veera the Villager Vlogger!"
Veera popped up next to him, doing finger guns at the camera.
"Don't forget to like, share, and subscribe before we get eaten by ghosts!"
From the side, Ravi joined in holding a candle stand like a microphone.
"And I'm Ravi, the one who will be filming the obituary if they die."
Tarun and Rohit made ghost sounds in the background like kids at a school play.
Even Rudra, with his arms crossed, just smirked and followed silently like the guy who knew what was coming but chose to enjoy the circus first.
As they tiptoed down the dim hallway,
The shaky camera panned across cobweb-covered furniture, creaky wooden doors, and eerily staring portraits.
Then it happened.
Just behind them—
A white blur passed by.
Fast.
Almost silent.
"____"
"____"
"____"
The wind whistled.
The candle flickered.
The camera shook.
All of them turned at once.
Nothing.
Just darkness.
Satya zoomed in.
"Did… did anyone else see that or is it the liquor talking?"
Ravi gulped.
Gulp~
"Bro, if even the alcohol is seeing ghosts, it's time to go vegan."
Shrugging it off with nervous laughs, they continued deeper into the house.
They stopped before a large portrait framed—
A stunning woman in a Victorian dress.
Amy Jackson, read the nameplate below.
Satya wiped an invisible tear, swaying slightly.
"Ma'am… even ghosts can be beautiful, huh?"
Veera placed a hand over his heart.
"Amy Jackson… beauty with terror. My new celebrity crush!"
Ravi poked his shoulder.
"You do know she's been dead for 150 years, right?"
"Shhh. Love knows no timeline."
They turned the corner and pushed open the restroom door.
Creeeaaaak…
The candlelight barely lit the stained mirrors and claw-footed bathtub inside.
Satya, lifting the camera again, whispered dramatically:
"And now… we've reached the most haunted part of the mansion… the toilet."
He stepped inside with caution, breath fogging up.
"It's… It's cold in here. Really cold…"
Rohit raised a brow.
"Satya, are you sure it's not just the AC?"
"There's no AC, you donkey! This is paranormal cold!"
Suddenly—
Thump!
They froze.
An old toothbrush rolled off the sink by itself.
Everyone screamed at once.
Except Rudra.
He simply sighed, picked it up, and placed it back.
"Ghosts have hygiene, too. Respect it."
They walked further, each step creaking on the old wooden floorboards.
The candlelight flickered.
Shadows danced along the peeling walls.
The air… felt colder.
Ravi nudged Veera.
"Did you hear that?"
Shhrrrkk… thud…
THUD.
A faint shuttering sound echoed from a tall cupboard nearby.
Veera, trying to act brave, puffed his chest.
"Hah! Probably a rat. Or Tarun's dreams falling apart."
He marched forward like a soldier in a war movie, and—
SWUNG OPEN the cupboard doors.
"BOO-YAH!"
But what greeted him wasn't empty space or dusty shelves.
It was her.
The ghost of the same British lady from the portrait—
Amy Jackson.
Eyes hollow.
Veil drifting.
And a smile… that didn't reach her eyes.
Veera's soul left the chat.
"AaaAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
With one epic screech,
Veera fainted like a pro—arms wide, drama max.
Satya followed him with synchronized precision—
"NOT AGAIN!"
—and collapsed like a tree being felled in slow motion.
Tarun and Rohit?
Gone.
Like athletes in a sprint event.
They dove out the front door—one crashing into a flower pot on the way.
Only Rudra and Ravi stood still.
Half-drunk.
But completely sober in the soul.
They stared at the ghost in silence.
Her eyes scanned them.
Then… without a word, she floated forward—
Grabbed Satya by the leg.
Then Veera.
DRAGGED them both out of the mansion.
Ravi blinked.
"I think we're next in line."
Tarun and Rohit were still screaming outside.
Amy glared at Rudra and Ravi next.
"GET. OUT."
Her voice wasn't angry.
This time, it carried urgency. Panic.
Rudra stepped forward, standing firm.
"Why?"
His tone was calm. Demanding.
"Why do you want us out?"
The ghost paused.
"____"
Her expression shifted—less wrath, more worry.
"To save you."
And then, gently—but with strength—
She placed her cold hand on Ravi's chest, pushing him back step by step.
Ravi looked at Rudra, uncertain.
Rudra gave him a single nod.
Nod~
"Go."
And Ravi obeyed, slowly walking out.
Now it was just Rudra and the ghost of Amy Jackson.
The candle flames wavered.
The shadows grew long.
She looked into his eyes—almost… pleading.
"You won't understand… but you're in danger."
"Then explain,"
Rudra said softly.
"Or I'm not moving."
Amy stared at him for a long moment.
Then she sighed.
Sigh~
Suddenly, she grabbed his collar and pulled him inside the haunted restroom with supernatural speed.
The door creaked shut behind them.
SLAM.
Only silence remained outside.
"____"
"____"
Outside Jackson Mansion...
Front Yard...
Ravi sat beside the four unconscious souls—
Veera dramatically collapsed with one leg up, Satya mumbling something about ghosts in his sleep.
And Tarun and Rohit looked like they had run ten marathons in fear.
The wind howled.
The night was heavy with silence… except—
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
British boots. Marching.
"____"
Ravi turned his head slowly.
A faint, distant voice spoke in Queen's English—
"All units… sweep the perimeter. The intruders were just here."
Ravi blinked.
"Oh great. The whole East India Company is back from the dead."
Still, he stayed rooted.
Not running.
Not panicking.
Just waiting. For Rudra.
Inside the Restroom...
Jackson Mansion...
The door creaked… then clicked shut.
Thud.
The candle flame fluttered.
Outside, footsteps grew louder.
Dozens. Boots stomping.
Ghostly British soldiers entered the hallway—
Transparent but terrifying.
"We saw them,"
One soldier growled, his mustache quivering in spectral rage.
"Humans. In the corridor. Find them!"
Rudra pressed against the wall, eyes sharp.
They were coming closer.
Too close.
But before they could reach the door, a smooth, commanding voice rang out from within.
"I'm taking a bath. No one's allowed inside."
It was Amy.
The soldiers froze mid-step, their rifles raised awkwardly.
"Apologies, Lady Jackson!"
One barked.
"Forgive the intrusion!"
And just like that—
They all vanished down the corridor, their footsteps fading.
Rudra, still stunned, slowly turned toward her.
Amy stood by the sink, adjusting the sleeves of her ghostly gown.
"So… bathing ghosts are the most dangerous kind, huh?"
He muttered.
She gave him a sharp look.
Then Rudra's eyes widened again.
Something clicked.
"Wait a second… this mansion… these soldiers… your name…"
He took a step back in realization.
"This world—It's not just Brahmāstra. It's Jackson Durai. Or maybe even more mixed in…"
Amy raised a ghostly eyebrow.
"Took you long enough."
Still trying to process it all, Rudra muttered.
"No wonder I've been feeling déjà vu since the cemetery… This is all part of something deeper."
Amy stepped forward and slowly raised her translucent hand, palm open.
A silent gesture.
A request.
Hold my hand.
"____"
Still caught in his thoughts,
Rudra blinked… then instinctively took her hand and—
Planted a soft kiss on it.
Smooch!
The mood was calm.
Sweet. Regal.
Until—
BONK!
Amy ghost-smacked him on the head with her other hand.
"Oi! I said Hold it. Not propose!"
Rudra rubbed his head with a sheepish grin.
Grin~
"Tried to be a gentle man. Sorry."
Amy sighed dramatically and muttered under her breath—
Sigh~
"Men. Living or dead, still doing extra…"
They stood in silence, her hand still in his, a strange bond forming amidst the haunted walls.
Darkness.
Everything around Rudra turned pitch black.
No floor beneath his feet.
No ceiling above.
Only the sound of his own heartbeat.
He tried to move—
But couldn't.
His limbs were frozen, weightless in the void.
Then—
A low hum echoed.
Faint static buzzed.
In front of him, a giant screen blinked into existence—
Like an old theater projector whirring to life.
A vision began to play.
British India...
Ayenpuram – 1940s..
Dust. Crowds.
A scorching sun.
Dozens of Indian villagers stood, shoulder to shoulder, nervous, sweating, whispering.
Flanked by British soldiers on either side, rifles loaded, bayonets gleaming.
A black vintage car rolled into view, kicking up dust.
It's metal groaned to a stop near a temporary tent set up in the center of the square.
The driver rushed to open the door.
Out stepped… Jackson.
A tall man in a spotless white British coat, cane in hand, and a cruel smirk hidden beneath his curled mustache.
He took a deep drag from his cigar, exhaled smoke into the villagers' faces, then turned to sit on a plush wooden chair placed like a throne beneath the canopy.
He raised one hand.
A translator—
An older Indian man wearing a British uniform hurried forward and unrolled a scroll.
He began reading in Tamil.
"By order of the Honourable Officer Jackson…
All villagers are to stay loyal to the Empire.
If any citizen is found speaking or associating with rebels, they are to be reported—
Or punished.
Taxes are hereby increased by 1%.
Goat, cow, and poultry breeders must offer one animal monthly to Officer Jackson's household for 'civilization maintenance.'"
The crowd stirred.
A few murmured in shock.
Then—
One man stepped forward.
Lean. Eyes filled with fire.
"This is our land! You cannot take our animals and call it tax!"
The crowd gasped.
Gasp~
The translator froze.
"____"
Jackson looked over with mild amusement… and gave a lazy nod.
Nod~
Suddenly, a shadow moved.
From behind the soldiers, a massive figure stepped forward.
A man.
An Indian, nearly 6 and a half feet tall.
Bald. Bare-chested.
Muscles like sculpted stone.
A steel collar around his neck—proof of servitude.
He was Jackson's bodyguard.
A living hammer of colonial fear.
Without a word—
He walked to the man who spoke.
And brought down his hammer.
A sickening crunch echoed across the courtyard.
The rebel's head slammed against the ground twice.
Blood and silence followed.
The villagers looked away.
Mothers covered their children's eyes.
Jackson… laughed.
HAHAHAHA~
"You see this?"
He stood now, tossing the cigar onto the crushed man's body.
"You are not citizens... You are property... Slaves do not question... Slaves obey."
The soldiers cheered.
The giant bodyguard stood motionless, like a statue—his face unreadable.
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************
(Author's POV)
(A/N):
Thanks for reading the chapter!
Please give a review!!! And power stone!!!
Which will motivate me more?