Nana Abu's Gallery

In the old, undeveloped city of Jhang, there stood a seventy-year-old house owned by Mr. And Mrs. Sheikh. The house was aging, its walls whispering stories of the past. Among the many things the Sheikhs loved, their five granddaughters held the top place in their hearts. Hamna, Fatima, Aiman, Minahil, and Ayesha were cherished beyond words.

Each summer, the girls would visit their grandparents. Mr. Sheikh, lovingly called Nana Abu, would stock Shezan mango juice in bulk for their arrival. The house had a special room — a small chamber nestled between the stairs, known to the girls as “Nana Abu’s Gallery.” It had an old balcony that overlooked the courtyard where they played for hours.

But the room was different. It carried a quiet, chilling stillness. Whenever someone stepped in, a strange cold crept through their bones. The girls were too young to understand its weight. Their imaginations were stronger than their fear.

They turned the room into a world of their own. In their favorite game, the gallery became “Bhuddi Amma’s Cabin,” and the staircase was the winding road to it. Hamna, the eldest, always played the role of Bhuddi Amma. The others would sprinkle powder in her hair to make it gray.

The game began on a bright morning when four of the girls imagined taking a road trip to the mountains. They were driving along a highway when, suddenly, the sky darkened. Thick clouds rolled in, and hail pelted the imaginary windshield. The girls gasped — how could the day turn so fast?

Their imaginary car broke down on a deserted road. With no cell service, they decided to seek shelter. In their minds, they stumbled upon a lonely cabin, its windows glowing faintly. They knocked, waited... then the door creaked open on its own. Despite their fear, they stepped inside.

There, by the fireplace, sat an old woman sipping tea. Hamna, in full character, welcomed them. “Yes, yes, of course, my darlings. I’ll find you dry clothes and some warm soup.”

The girls played along, feasting on the soup and falling into deep pretend sleep. When they “woke,” the storm had cleared. But as they tried to leave, they felt an invisible wall. An electric force threw them back each time they reached the door.

Panicked, they turned to the old woman. “What’s happening? Why can’t we leave?”

She laughed darkly. “You came on your own... but you cannot leave. You’re trapped here forever.”

The woman vanished. The girls brainstormed. One remembered a story where a witch’s life was hidden in an object. They searched the cabin, and finally, in Nana’s old file cabinet, they found a glowing crystal ball — breathing, alive.

Just as one reached for it, the old woman returned, shrieking. But one of the girls smashed the ball. The woman screamed and vanished. The door creaked open. They were free.

That was their game.

Years passed. The girls grew up, busy in their own lives. They still talked, but life happened.

They left the house. Left the game behind.

One random workday, they all felt the pull of nostalgia. Work was exhausting. Home was chaotic. They needed a break.

So, they planned a road trip. To the mountains.

On Saturday, they set off. Five women. One car.

Halfway through, the GPS failed. They took a wrong turn and found themselves on a deserted road with tall grass on both sides.

It was morning. The sun was bright. But then, the sky darkened. Thick clouds formed. Rain fell heavily. All in a blink.

A sense of déjà vu washed over them. They looked at each other. It was happening.

Their car broke

They needed shelter before it was too late. Just ahead, they stumbled upon an old cabin—eerily similar to the one from their childhood game. A wave of hesitation passed through them, but with no other option, they walked up and knocked.

This time, the door didn’t creak open on its own. Instead, a young woman answered with a warm smile, and the tension in their shoulders eased.

She welcomed them inside, offered soft, dry towels, and explained that the cabin belonged to her father. She, too, had stopped there to wait out the storm—so they could all stay together until it passed

They all had supper and eventually fell asleep. In the middle of the night, one of the girls woke up and looked out the window — the storm had passed. She quickly woke the others so they could leave. But one of them noticed that the young lady was missing. They looked around for her but assumed she had already left while they were sleeping.

They gathered their things and headed for the door. Just as they opened it, a familiar surge shot through their bodies — an invisible force stopping them in their tracks. Confused and afraid, they tried again. Still nothing. Just as they were trying to make sense of what was happening, an eerie, raspy laugh echoed behind them.

Hearts pounding, they slowly turned around.

There — in front of the fireplace — stood Bhuddi Amma.

The fear struck like lightning. It was all happening again.

She grinned wickedly. “Pichli dafa tu tum log mujh se bach gaye thay... iss dafa nahi bach paogay.”

The girls understood immediately. They had to find the file cabinet. They had to destroy the crystal ball.

But this time, it wasn’t a game. This time, it was real.

They exchanged a silent plan with their eyes. Two of them would distract the witch, while the other three searched for the cabinet.

The two girls approached Bhuddi Amma, stalling her with nervous questions and small talk, while the others began their search. But what had once seemed like a small, cozy one-room cabin was now a sprawling, shifting maze. Long corridors stretched on endlessly. Stairs led upward into darkness.

Every room they entered looked the same — as if they were caught in a looping nightmare. Still, they pushed on. They had to.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream echoed through the halls. One of their friends.

They froze. Fear paralyzed them — but they couldn’t stop.

Tears streamed down their faces. Hands trembling, they kept searching... until finally, they found it.

The same file cabinet. Just like in Nana Abu’s gallery.

They flung it open — and there it was: the crystal ball, pulsing and alive.

As they reached for it, Bhuddi Amma appeared behind them, gripping their friend tightly by the throat.

They froze. If they made a move, she could kill her. But who was to say she wouldn’t kill them anyway?

Then — in a single, desperate moment — one of the girls threw herself at the friend holding the ball. They both fell. The crystal ball smashed on the floor.

Bhuddi Amma shrieked, releasing the girl in her grasp, and lunged toward the shattered pieces. But her power was already fading.

Thick black smoke curled around her, swallowing her into nothingness.

She was gone.

The girls stood still in shock. Silence blanketed the room. They had done it.

But when they turned to find the friend they had just saved... she was gone.

They searched every corner of the cabin. Nothing. No trace.

When they stepped outside, the invisible force was gone. The sky had cleared. Their car worked — as if nothing had happened.

They drove home in silence. Mourning their loss.

Years passed. Time healed the wounds — at least on the surface.

Then, one day, a different group of friends headed out on a trekking trip. Their car broke down in the middle of nowhere.

As they looked around for help, they saw a cabin.

They knocked.

A young, lovely girl opened the door.

The same girl who was left behind.