🏙️ URBAN FABLES: THE DARK MORALITY OF MODERN CITIES
Urban fables are short, symbolic, morally charged stories born from the raw nerves of city life. They stand at the intersection of violence, greed, fear, loneliness, superstition, and supernatural justice. Unlike traditional folklore, urban fables expose the secret sins of modern society — corruption, betrayal, selfishness — and deliver consequences through macabre twists and eerie supernatural interventions.
Below are five original urban fables crafted in that spirit — steeped in horror, mystery, suspense, and moral revelation.
1. THE MAN WHO SOLD SHADOWS
Karachi’s Empress Market was thick with the smell of sweat and chai when Shakoor spotted the old beggar sitting under the broken streetlamp. His beard was white as chalk; his eyes, two black stones. Instead of asking for money, he whispered,
“Sell me your shadow. I pay well.”
Shakoor laughed, thinking it a madman’s joke. But when the beggar opened his palm, there were crisp notes — more than Shakoor had seen in months. Hunger silences logic. Greed kills reason. So he agreed.
The beggar placed a cold hand on the ground beside Shakoor. His shadow trembled like a frightened creature — then detached itself, curling into the beggar’s hand like smoke.
At first, life became miraculous. Money flowed. Women glanced his way. He felt weightless — until weightlessness turned into hollowness. He could no longer cry, laugh, or feel pity. Food tasted like ash. Sleep felt like death.
One night he followed a whispering sound to a dark alley. Hundreds of people wandered there — all shadowless, empty shells of humanity. Their eyes looked dead but their bodies moved.
The beggar stood among them.
“Your final payment is due,” he said.
“What payment?” Shakoor whispered.
“You sold your shadow. What remains is mine too.”
Shakoor’s body collapsed instantly. His skin turned pale, his voice silent, his soul missing. By morning, Karachi police found only a hollow man — standing upright, staring at nothing, like a shell left by the sea.
Moral:
Greed buys luxury at the price of humanity.
2. THE LAST PASSENGER ON CIRCULAR ROAD
Kamran had driven his taxi through Lahore’s late-night streets for years, but the shift that began at 2:45 AM changed him forever.
A woman waved him down outside the shuttered bakery on Circular Road. She wore a white shawl and carried no purse. Her voice was soft but chillingly clear:
“Take me home.”
She gave an address in Cantonment — an abandoned colonial mansion rumored to be haunted. Kamran tried to make small talk, but she only whispered things about his life that no one should know: the loan he couldn’t pay, his daughter’s illness, his fight with his wife.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
She didn’t reply.
When they reached the gate, she stepped out — then vanished. Not walked. Not ran. Vanished.
Shaking, Kamran drove back to Circular Road and found a shopkeeper cleaning his stove.
“You look like you’ve seen the ghost woman,” he laughed bitterly.
Kamran froze.
“She appears to people before tragedy strikes. Saw her myself — next day my brother died.”
Kamran didn’t sleep that night. The following evening, a gas leak caused his house to explode. His family survived because they had stepped outside minutes earlier. The house collapsed like wet sand.
Only then he understood:
Some warnings come wrapped in terror.
Moral:
Fate whispers before it strikes.
3. THE CHILDREN ON FLOOR SEVEN
When Bilal moved into the luxurious Islamabad Heights Apartments, he felt he had finally escaped the noise of lower-class neighborhoods. But peace was a myth.
Every night, faint footsteps echoed through the corridor. Children giggling. Running. Whispering. But no children lived on his floor.
The guard looked uneasy when Bilal mentioned it.
“Sir… the 7th floor was sealed after a fire. Three children died there. Sometimes… they play.”
Bilal laughed it off — until the laughter turned into sobbing and the pounding on his door began. He decided to leave milk and toys outside, hoping it would calm the unseen.
The next morning, the toys were burned. Melted. Arranged to form one word scratched in soot:
RUN
That night, Bilal packed. When he reached the lobby, the guard was shaking.
“You should leave fast. The children… they get angry when someone ignores their warnings.”
As Bilal drove away, he glanced in the rear-view mirror. Three child-shaped silhouettes stood in the balcony behind him.
Watching.
Waiting.
Moral:
Not all innocence is safe. Not all laughter is human.
4. THE BLUE-EYED DJINN OF SADDAR
Naeem, a lonely shopkeeper in Karachi’s Saddar bazaar, often sat alone at night, surrounded by dusty clocks and rusted radios. One evening a stranger with piercing blue eyes walked in.
“I grant wishes,” he said softly.
“In exchange for secrets.”
Naeem laughed, but curiosity poisoned him. He revealed small secrets about customers — debts, affairs, lies. Every time he spoke, a wish came true: higher sales, respect, comfort.
Soon Naeem revealed deeper secrets — betrayals, crimes, hidden sins of others. And with each revelation, someone in the neighborhood suffered tragedy. A heart attack. A fire. A sudden accident.
When Naeem tried to stop, the blue-eyed man grinned.
“Your biggest secret remains unpaid. Tell me the sin you hide from yourself.”
Naeem’s heart seized. He confessed a terrible truth from his youth — a crime he buried deep.
The djinn smiled.
“Payment received.”
Next morning, Naeem was found dead in his chair, his tongue blackened, his eyes open in terror.
Moral:
Sharing others’ secrets feeds darkness. Sharing your own invites it in.
5. VOICES FROM THE UNDERPASS
Saleem, a corrupt real-estate agent, buried stolen money under the FC Underpass in Lahore. He laughed at the families he scammed. Their tears were his amusement.
But every night, voices rose from the concrete walls calling his name.
“Saleeeem…”
“Return what you took…”
“Cold… hungry… ruined…”
At first, he thought it guilt. Then the voices turned into screams. They followed him everywhere — home, office, dreams.
Finally, mad with fear, he returned to the underpass at midnight to dig up his money — just to prove he was still in control.
Instead of notes, the ground opened and skeletal hands reached upward, gripping his arms.
He screamed until dawn.
Police found him sitting in mud, trembling, staring blankly, whispering,
“They pulled me down… they’re waiting for you…”
Moral:
What you bury in darkness returns with claws.
🌟 For More Fiction, Macabre Tales & Urban Mysticism:
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By Faraz Parvez (Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal)
