One Night Walking with Advait
It was past midnight when you met Advait on the old highway that cut through the forest. He looked lost but calm, his pale face barely visible under the flickering streetlight. You shouldnʼt have stopped, but something in his voice—soft, almost pleading—made you walk beside him. He said he was trying to find his way home.
The road stretched endlessly, lined with trees that seemed to breathe. Every now and then, you caught a reflection in the darkness—eyes perhaps, watching. Advait spoke of a village that no longer existed, one swallowed by the earth decades ago. The more he talked, the colder the air became.
When you looked away for a moment and back, his face had changed. His eyes had turned entirely black, and his skin rippled like water. He smiled, whispering that you had finally come far enough for him to remember who he was.
You turned to run, but the highway was gone. Only silent trees, the smell of wet soil, and Advaitʼs voice calling your name—though you never told him what it was.
Would you like this story to lean more toward psychological horror or supernatural horror?
