I don’t remember exactly how old I was when this happened—probably nine years old. We used to live in a small house, a single big room where everything—our beds, kitchen, and living space—was in one place. There were no separate bedrooms.
That night, the room was shrouded in darkness. The only sound came from the old table fan, its steady hum pushing warm air around in slow, lazy circles. The house was still. Everyone was asleep, including my little sister.
Then, I woke up suddenly. I wasn’t sure why at first, but as I lay still, listening, I heard it—a noise from outside.
Was that what had woken me? I wasn’t sure.
It wasn’t the rustling of leaves or the distant bark of a stray dog. It was something else. Something deliberate.
I held my breath, my heart beginning to race. Could it be an animal? A rat scurrying along the walls?
No. This sound had a rhythm—something unmistakably human.
I gripped my thin bedsheet, my chest tightening. A small, nagging voice inside me whispered to ignore it—to shut my eyes, pull my blanket over my head, and pretend I hadn’t heard anything.
But curiosity is a dangerous thing.
Slowly, I slid out from under my blanket, my feet touching the cool floor. The wooden door stood just a few feet away, worn and rough with age. Small gaps between the planks let in thin slivers of moonlight—just big enough for a child’s fingers to slip through.
I hesitated. My hands were clammy, but something drew me forward.
I don’t know why, but I reached out and slid my fingers into the narrow gap.
Who would do such a thing in the middle of the night—except a nine-year-old boy like me?
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then—
Something touched me back.
I gasped, jerking my hand away.
This wasn’t a mistake. I wasn’t imagining it.
Someone—or something—was outside.
A chill ran through me. The silence in the room suddenly felt deafening. I wanted to scream, to wake someone up, but my voice caught in my throat.
I spun around, ran back to my bed, and dove under my blanket, curling into a tight ball. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure it would wake my sister. I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears, willing the fear to disappear.
I don’t remember when sleep finally claimed me, but it wasn’t peaceful.
The Next Morning
Sunlight filtered through the small window, lighting up dust particles floating in the air. The house smelled of fresh tea and coconut oil—my mother was already up, preparing breakfast.
For a moment, I stayed in bed, trying to shake off the lingering fear from last night. But the memory was still too fresh.
I had to tell someone.
I got dressed, packed my school bag, and left home. The entire way to school, my feet felt restless. My mind kept replaying the moment—the touch, the silence, the fear.
I waited impatiently for the school break, my stomach twisting with excitement and unease.
Finally, when the bell rang, I grabbed my friends and pulled them to a corner of the playground.
“You won’t believe what happened last night,” I whispered.
They leaned in. I could see the curiosity flickering in their eyes.
I described everything—the darkness, the sounds, the door gap, the fingers touching mine.
As I spoke, their expressions changed—eyes widening, jaws dropping. Some shivered slightly.
Then the stories began.
“That must be a ghost!” one of them whispered, as if the spirits could hear us.
“There’s an abandoned house near your street, right? My uncle said a woman died there. Maybe she still wanders at night,” another added.
“You’re lucky you ran away! If you had kept your fingers there longer, she would have grabbed you and pulled you outside.”
My stomach twisted.
Then they told other ghost stories.
A woman in a white saree, her long hair covering her face, appearing near lonely houses at night.
A voice calling out names, luring people outside.
A man who saw a shadowy figure near his house, but when he checked in the morning, there were no footprints.
By the time the break ended, my hands felt cold, and my mouth was dry.
That night, their words stayed in my mind.
The Second Night
The moment I woke up, I knew something felt off. The air inside the house was thick and suffocating, as if the walls were holding their breath along with me. The table fan creaked softly, its slow rotations sending shadows flickering along the walls. Outside, the faint glow of a streetlight barely pierced through the gaps in the door, creating eerie shapes in the darkness.
Then I heard it again—the same sound from the previous night.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I listened. My hands turned clammy. Every instinct screamed at me to stay put, to pull the blanket over my head and pretend it wasn’t real. But something—maybe stubbornness, maybe foolishness—drew me toward the wooden door once more.
Through the gaps, I saw something that made my stomach drop.
Smoke.
Not thick, but visible, swirling in the dim light like ghostly tendrils. My breath hitched as I stared at it. Was it real? Or was my mind playing tricks on me?
Despite the fear clenching my chest, my body moved on its own. Without thinking, I stretched my fingers toward the gap again.
And then—
Something touched me. Again.
A sharp, chilling jolt shot through me. My skin prickled as I yanked my hand back, stumbling away from the door. Panic surged through my veins as I turned and sprinted toward my bed, throwing myself under the blanket, whispering Hanuman’s name in rapid succession.
The door creaked. Footsteps followed. Slow, deliberate. Approaching.
I squeezed my eyes shut, my entire body rigid with fear.
Then—
A hand pulled my blanket away.
“Calm down. It’s me.”
The voice was familiar. My breath slowed as I hesitantly opened my eyes.
It was my father.
He hadn’t been home earlier. The noises outside? Just him arriving late from work. The fingers that had touched mine? His own, trying to push the door open. The smoke? Nothing but dust caught in the dim streetlight.
As realization set in, my mother and sister burst into laughter. My father simply shook his head, amused.
I sighed, my face burning with embarrassment.
The Next Day
I walked to school slowly, still replaying the moment in my mind. The fear that had gripped me so tightly the night before now felt distant, almost absurd. How could I have been so terrified? Yet, even as I tried to laugh it off, a part of me still shivered at the memory.
When I reached the school gate, I hesitated. Should I tell my friends the truth? Would they laugh at me, call me foolish for believing in ghosts?
No. I couldn’t let that happen.
I found my friends by the playground, their faces lighting up as I approached. They had been waiting.
“You won’t believe what happened last night,” I said, lowering my voice just enough to pull them in.
They leaned in eagerly, curiosity flashing in their eyes.
“I opened the door bravely,” I began. “And outside, I saw thick smoke swirling.”
One of them gasped. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t panic,” I said, standing a little taller. “I looked straight at it and said, ‘Never come back!’”
Their expressions shifted, some hanging onto my every word, others skeptical.
“And then?” someone asked, their voice barely above a whisper.
I paused for effect, then leaned in. “It vanished.”
For a moment, silence hung between us. Then—
“Whoa.”
“That’s insane!”
A few of them narrowed their eyes, exchanging doubtful glances.
“What are you saying? We don’t believe you.”
I smirked, shrugging. “Believe it or not, that’s what happened.”
With that, I turned and walked away, leaving them with just enough doubt to wonder.
