I’ve always been the kind of person who rolls his eyes at ghost stories. Nazar, buri drishti, dark rituals — I used to think all of that belonged in old horror movies or backward village tales.
But there are moments in life that shake your beliefs so hard that everything you laughed at… suddenly becomes your reality.
This story happened when I was 23, living in Pune for my studies. It was a normal rainy Sunday — clouds hanging low, roads shining with fresh drizzle. I had gone to an art exhibition with a friend. We were making jokes about expensive paintings when something made me stop dead in my tracks.
There, hanging under a spotlight, was a painting of… me.
Same face.
Same haircut.
Same scar near the eyebrow from when I fell off a bicycle as a kid.
I froze. My friend also stared at the painting, then at me.
“Dude… that’s literally your twin.”
A chill crawled up my spine. How could a random artist paint me without ever meeting me?
I asked the staff who painted it. They pointed to a girl — elegant, calm, with a mysterious aura that made her stand out in the crowd. Her name was Malini.
When I approached her, she looked at me with such familiarity — like she’d been waiting for me.
I asked, half-joking,
“How did you paint me without knowing I exist?”
She smiled, a slow, unsettling smile.
“I didn’t paint you… I painted what came in my imagination. I never thought someone who looked like him would actually exist.”
We laughed it off, but something about her eyes felt strangely intense.
Still, we exchanged numbers and soon started chatting. She said she was new in the city, didn’t have many friends — and honestly, her charm was difficult to ignore.
Within two days, we were already having coffee together, talking about art, life, and random things. She was kinda perfect — maybe too perfect.
The next day, she suddenly appeared outside my college.
“Oh! I remembered you said you study here,” she said casually, handing me a bowl of kheer.
“My mother made this specially for you. She believes feeding someone sweet brings blessings.”
I didn’t think much. I ate it. It tasted fine.
Before leaving, she handed me that same painting — rolled neatly.
“Keep it. A memory of how strange fate can be,” she whispered.
That night… everything changed.
While studying, I felt a cold draft pass through the room. My door and windows were shut, yet the air grew heavy — suffocating. Goosebumps covered my arms. I switched off the light and tried to sleep.
Around 3:07 AM, I woke up choking…
unable to breathe…
unable to move.
Something was sitting on my chest.
I could feel its weight — cold, merciless.
I tried screaming, but no voice came out.
Tears rolled down my face as the darkness wrapped itself tighter around me.
The moment I could finally move, I turned the light on.
The room looked normal.
But I wasn’t.
In the mirror, my eyes were bloodshot…
and red marks were scratched across my chest like someone had gripped me hard.
My mother panicked in the morning,
“What happened?! Did you fall? Did someone hurt you?”
I didn’t know what to say.
That evening, I video-called Malini to tell her I wasn’t feeling well.
The call connected…
…and for three seconds — her face changed.
Her eyes turned completely black.
Her jaw stretched unnaturally.
Her skin cracked like old paint.
I screamed and threw the phone across the room.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
It must be a glitch. Right?
Right?
I tried convincing myself that everything was stress.
But then Malini called…
“My mom wants to meet you. She’s preparing a special puja for you tonight. Please come.”
I wanted to refuse. Something inside me screamed NO.
But she insisted… begged… almost desperate.
So I went.
Her house was far from the city — in a quiet, almost abandoned lane.
The building looked old… too quiet… too dark.
Malini and her mother welcomed me with smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.
Inside, strange fragrance — incense, burnt herbs, and something sour — mixed in the air.
I noticed lemons, black sesame seeds, and red chilies scattered around a small altar.
Her mother circled a plate of flame and powder around me,
“Your aura is very powerful. Very rare.”
I felt dizzy. My vision blurred.
She led me to a room with a massive wooden door…
Behind it stood a statue — not of any god I recognized.
Its eyes were wide and hungry.
The atmosphere thickened — like something alive lurked there.
“Bow to him,” Malini’s mother ordered.
“I… I don’t think I should—”
Before I could finish, she shoved red powder onto my forehead.
Suddenly, my body froze.
I could only move my eyes.
Tears fell — helplessly.
Malini hurriedly pulled her mother aside,
“He isn’t fully under control. We need more time!”
Control?
What did she mean?!
I wanted to scream — RUN!!!
But my body didn’t listen.
Malini came close, voice shaking,
“I’m sorry, Ajay. My brother… he’s sick. Dying. Mom believes your life force can save him.”
My blood turned cold.
“You were chosen the moment I saw you at the exhibition,” she whispered, eyes full of guilt.
“But I never thought I’d like you. I tried to stop this… but it’s too late now.”
She went inside to bring her brother.
Her mother prepared a knife… chanting some horrific mantra.
That moment… something snapped inside me — like someone ripped invisible chains off my soul.
I ran.
I ran like a madman through the dim hallway and into the street.
Something screamed behind me — a voice so shrill it didn’t sound human.
My phone vibrated.
It was my mom.
She cried,
“I saw a nightmare. Ancestors came in my dream. They said you’re in danger. Come home NOW. Don’t look back!”
I didn’t tell her anything. I just kept running until I saw lights and traffic again.
When I reached home, I collapsed into my mother’s arms.
A priest was called the next morning. He inspected the painting… the red marks…
His face turned pale.
“This is najar-bandh, a ritual to bind someone’s soul. The painting opened a path. The food weakened your protection.”
He burned the painting in our backyard.
As it burned, we heard a faint shriek — not human, not animal… something else.
After the ritual cleansing, the heaviness lifted.
The nightmares stopped.
The scratches faded.
As for Malini?
Her phone switched off.
Her social media vanished.
The art gallery claimed they never had any girl named Malini exhibiting paintings there.
Like she… never existed.
But I know what happened.
I know she was real.
And whatever she and her mother were part of…
wasn’t human.
I learned my lesson — the hard way.
Evil rarely looks evil.
Sometimes it comes wrapped in beauty.
Sometimes it smiles sweetly.
Sometimes it paints your face before it takes your life.
So if you ever feel watched…
If a stranger takes too much interest in you…
If something beautiful feels a little too perfect…
Trust your instincts.
Because I almost didn’t make it out alive.
