I stood before Raman’s bungalow. I had been to his house countless times, but tonight it felt different. The full moon burned above, its light washing the house in pale gray. Three stone steps led to a small porch and the open door. The window to the right was wide open. No lights were on. The house looked calm, yet I felt restless. My instincts urged me to turn back, to run, but an odd pull held me there—an intuition that someone inside needed my help. My chest felt heavy, my legs heavier, and still they moved forward.
One step. Then another. Toward the open door.
Moonlight from the door and window stretched across half the living room, leaving the rest in darkness. On the sofa facing the window, Raman’s parents sat hunched, heads bowed, hands clasped. Something terrible had happened. The silence was too thick, and I dared not disturb it.
His mother slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were weary, as if she had been crying for hours, the dark circles beneath them deepened. She raised a hand and pointed toward the stairs behind me. I obeyed. The stairs turned left after the fourth step. I paused, glancing back. Both were staring at me, their eyes burning with anger. With hatred. I snapped my gaze forward and kept climbing. The stairs ended at a door that opened onto the terrace.
At the far end, about fifteen feet ahead, stood Raman’s room—a small brick shed under a tin roof. The door was half open, a mild yellow glow seeping through. I stopped, staring at the room, listening. Nothing. Only my own heavy breathing. Then, cautiously, I began to walk toward it.
When I was about five feet from the door, I froze. In the pale glow of the candle burning on the floor, two feet dangled at chest height above it. My gaze shot up. It was Raman—rope tight around his neck, his body hanging from the ceiling. My heart pounded violently, hammering in my temples. My eyes locked on his lifeless, pale, stiff face, his eyelids shut.
And then it happened. His eyes snapped open—empty, only white orbs, but something stared through them straight at me. I stumbled back, hit the floor hard, my gaze trapped in his as if hypnotized.
“We didn’t say goodbye.” His lips parted. The sound that came out wasn’t his voice. It wasn’t human. It was guttural, ancient, growling.
I bolted upright in bed, lungs burning, heart slamming against my ribs. My hands shook, my skin clammy, my clothes damp.
It was only a dream. It had to be.
But in the moonlit silence of my room, I wasn’t sure. Not entirely.
The nightmares hadn’t always been there. They began after one night—the night that split my life into before and after.
And it all started with a simple question:
Do you believe in ghosts?
This is an excerpt from my upcoming horror novella Planchette Crow. Get a complimentary eBook copy here: Google Form.
