THE HAUNTED WAX MUSEUM! 🖼️

I stepped through the creaky gates, a chill running up my spine. The sign above said “Shivaji Wax Museum,” the paint peeling and faded, like it hadn’t seen any care in years. We were there on a dare. Locals swore it was haunted, saying the wax figures came to life at night. I wasn’t buying it. I mean, how could something made of wax move, right? But as I walked deeper into the museum, that nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach wouldn’t let go.

Inside, the air was stale, thick with wax and dust. The light barely cut through the gloom, casting strange shadows on the figures around me. They all stood still, frozen representations of India’s history and folklore. I wandered off from my friends and found a display with a jinn and a woman in a heavy bridal gown. Her eyes were unnervingly lifelike. The closer I got, the colder the air around her felt, like something in the room had suddenly turned to ice.

“Hey! Did you see this?” Manoj called out from somewhere. His voice snapped me out of my trance. As I turned to join him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—something—was watching me. I tried to ignore it. It was just a wax figure, right? There’s no way they could be alive.

The longer I walked, the heavier the silence felt. I found a hallway lined with mirrors, each one reflecting shadows that seemed to move. I froze, staring at a blur in my peripheral vision, a figure drifting. My heart raced. I called out to my friends, but my voice seemed to disappear into the quiet.

I turned around, eager to find them, but the room I’d just left now felt unfamiliar. The walls seemed to shift, and a growing sense of dread gripped me. I was in the wrong place. My panic kicked in. I rushed through the hall, but somehow, I ended up face-to-face with the bridal figure from earlier.

Only now, her smile was gone. It twisted into something darker, and her eyes flickered with malice. My heart skipped. Was I imagining this? I blinked, and when I opened my eyes, she was standing closer. I stumbled back, my legs shaking, but her whispering voice followed me: “Stay… with me…”

Then, I felt it—a cold, unyielding grip on my arm. I spun around, only to find a pale, waxen hand wrapped around my wrist. A ghastly face emerged from the shadows, her hair disheveled, eyes glowing like embers, and her mouth twisted into a wicked grin.

The realization hit me hard. No one was coming. They must’ve left without me. I yanked my arm, but it was useless. Her grip tightened, dragging me in. The walls felt like they were closing in, and the echoes of laughter from my friends were nothing but a distant memory now.

Suddenly, the figures around me began to move, their faces contorting into expressions of agony. The whole museum shifted into a grotesque display of suffering. I glanced back at the bride. Her smile twisted into something inhuman, her whispers now a shriek, “Join us… forever!”

Then, everything went black. The floor beneath me gave way, and just as I thought I would fall into the abyss, I heard a voice—cold, familiar—whisper, “Welcome to the museum, my dear.”

And then, silence.

I woke up lying on the museum floor, but something was different. The figures were still in place, but the whole museum felt...alive. And there, in the corner of my eye, I saw a new wax figure—the bride, her grin darker than ever.

I wasn’t alone anymore. I was part of the exhibit.