In the remote village of Bhavanipur, the most mysterious mansion stood at the very edge—high walls, iron gates, and an eerie silence by day. But every night, without fail, the basement lights glowed till dawn.

The owner?
Madam Hema Devi, over 60, wealthy beyond imagination, widowed for decades, and childless.
Lately, she had been hiring a steady stream of young laborers—all muscular boys aged 18 to 25, all strangers to the village.

But the oddest part?
They only worked at night—arriving at dusk, leaving just before sunrise, and then collapsing into deep sleep at a local guesthouse during the day.
No one was ever allowed inside her mansion.

Naturally, the villagers started whispering:

“She must be digging for gold… or smuggling rare antiques… or breeding snakes!”
“Or maybe… she’s doing some kind of black magic. I heard she still has skin as smooth as a 30-year-old!”

Then one night, Priya, the wife of one of the laborers named Ravi, grew suspicious.
Her husband had become alarmingly thin, his eyes ringed with exhaustion. Every morning, he returned home looking drained, barely able to speak.

That night, at 9 PM, when Ravi left home again, Priya silently followed him.

Her heart pounded as she crept close to the mansion’s outer wall. Through a crack in the gate, she watched as a butler led three young men into the house—and then down into the basement.

She circled quietly to the back of the property and found a narrow stairwell leading to a half-open basement door.
Holding her breath, she leaned in to peer through the crack…

And what she saw made her blood run cold.

It wasn’t a storage room.
It was a dark chamber lit only by black candles.
In the center sat Madam Hema Devi on a stone throne, draped in a blood-red robe, her chest bare, covered in strange sanskrit talismans etched in black ink.
Her skin shimmered unnaturally smooth—taut, wrinkle-free.

Before her, on a brass bowl, was a bright red liquid.
Ravi, Priya’s husband, sat in front of her—frozen, expressionless, eyes glazed over. In his trembling hands, he held what looked like a fresh pig’s heart.

Hema Devi smiled, her eyes glinting with an eerie crimson light.

“Very good…” she whispered.
“The blood of youth is the finest elixir. Just a few more offerings… and I shall return to age 35.”

Priya’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a scream. But in her panic, she stepped back—SNAP! A dry twig broke beneath her foot.

That tiny sound was enough.

Hema Devi’s head jerked around sharply, her piercing gaze meeting Priya’s from across the room.
She smiled.
Slowly. Deeply. Unblinking.

“Ah… an uninvited guest.”