In the heart of the old city stood an abandoned mansion, silent by day and cursed by night. Locals whispered about a bride who appeared every new moon, dressed in a red wedding gown, her face hidden beneath a torn veil. They said she never reached her wedding.
One night, Arjun, a curious photographer, entered the mansion to capture proof. As midnight struck, the air turned icy. Soft anklet bells echoed through the halls. From the shadows emerged the bride, her eyes hollow, her smile broken. Burn marks covered her hands.
“My wedding was never completed,” she whispered.
The doors slammed shut. Candles lit themselves, revealing wedding decorations soaked in dried blood. The bride moved closer, her feet never touching the floor. Arjun tried to run, but the walls seemed to stretch endlessly.
She raised her hand and said, “A groom must pay.”
The next morning, the mansion was silent again. Arjun’s camera lay on the floor, its last photo showing the bride standing beside him, her veil lifted to reveal a charred, screaming face. Since then, wedding music is sometimes heard at night—and someone always goes missing after.
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