Gather around the campfire, #MuslimGirlClique, as we countdown to Halloween with the spookiest stories our girl gang has to offer! Check back on the daily to jump in fright to a new story every day…
The story below is based on true events that took place in 2001 in Karachi, Pakistan.
The young boys of 15 were still jubilant from their recent escapade at Devil’s Point. It was a tradition for some strange reason – perhaps from boredom, or perhaps from an innate sense of rebellion – teenagers would often drive down to the outskirts of D.H.A. Phase 8, at a place locally known as The Devil’s Point, or “DP.” DP was essentially a long straight stretch of road along the eastern coast of Karachi – it was meant to connect two cities together as an alternative route, but like many government projects, corruption and inefficiency left the project abandoned.
Because of the abandoned project, the locals had access to this unencumbered, straight-as-an-arrow stretch of beautifully laid, crisp tarmac. Groups of teenagers were often seen driving down this road in the middle of the night. Without street lights, it was exhilarating – the braver ones would even dare to shut-off their car lights completely for a few brief moments, as they careened down the road at 120km/h in pitch blackness that was darker than deep sleep itself.
It was around 3 a.m. and the group of four teenagers were out on the town, on a standard hot summer Saturday night. The driver, Jabbar, was a boy who lived about 10 km away from DP, and who had managed to ‘borrow’ his father’s brand-new Honda Accord for the night. With the windows down, there was a bit of a breeze from the moving car, enough to make the hot summer air almost bearable. The boys had just finished a few runs up and down DP, and were returning towards the city to find some food – all that excitement and the kids had developed a serious appetite.
The car was stopped at a traffic light at a particularly large intersection in Phase 8 – the air was still, the only sound they could hear was the low hum of the V6 engine resting, almost impatient to get moving again. None of the streetlights were on, as there seemed to be an electrical outage of some sort. The only thing they could see was the road in front of them, illuminated by the lights of the Accord, like a bright spotlight on stage, awaiting its performer.
Jabbar was silently tapping his fingers on the top side of the car, when he noticed something move in the corner of his eye. His eyes shifted towards the disturbance, and at first he thought it was a black paper bag floating aimlessly into the night. As the black object came closer towards the light of the car, the shape started to take form, and Jabbar noticed that it looked like a person walking very slowly across the intersection. He could make out what seemed like a long-flowing robe, swishing and swaying lazily with each walking step.
“Guys…,” Jabbar said, voice quivering with uncertainty. The boys immediately stopped talking and shifted their attention towards Jabbar. His eyes were wide open, his right arm outstretched and pointing diagonally across the intersection.
Slowly but surely, a figure shifted across the intersection, almost as if hovering a couple of inches above the ground. They could not see the person’s face, but given the smaller stature, it seemed like it was the figure of a woman, long matted jet-black hair hanging down to her waist.
She did not make a sound as she glided slowly across the path of the car. By this time, the traffic light had turned green. It was then that they saw it shimmer in the reflection of the car lights – she was grasping a long, curved machete in her right hand by her side, gripped tightly and with purpose. Jabbar didn’t dare move the car forward; the four of them were shell-shocked. They didn’t even dare breathe at this point, in case the Woman with the Machete might hear them, or sense their fear. As suddenly as the woman appeared out of the dark of the night, she crossed the intersection ever so slowly, and disappeared from in front of the headlights of the car, and the street lights turned red again.
Jabbar did not care though. He pressed the pedal to the floor, and raced off across the main road, racing past the red traffic light. The rest of the boys looked towards the back of the car as they zoomed past the intersection, but they could not see anything in the intense darkness. The floating figure had disappeared, machete and all. Jabbar raced on through the dead of night, barely stopping until they all reached home.
They never returned to Devil’s Point and to this day, they never figured out what happened to the Woman with the Machete.
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