Shreejit Jha, a Class 6 student, shares a peculiar experience of ghosts when his friends came over for a sleepover at his house.
Ghosts do not exist you know. Why do I say that you ask? Well…
It was one of those tiring afternoons in the late summer, the kind that seems to make you feel sleepy. I’d just returned home from school, hoping for nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for a good hour. I wasn’t in the best of my mood, and the moment I lied down onto my bed, I felt the weight of exhaustion settle over me. But just as I closed my eyes, my phone vibrated with an unexpected call. Groaning, I saw my mother’s name flashing on the screen. Ignoring her call would mean scolding later, so I picked up, half-heartedly with a drowsy greeting.
Her news, however, immediately removed my tiredness. She had two announcements to make—one good, one bad. With a shrug, I told her to start with the good. “Your friends are coming over tonight,” she said. That made me sit up. A sleepover with my friends was exactly the news I needed. But then came the “bad” news. “Your father and I won’t be home,” she continued. “We’ll be away for the night.”
I felt a smile creep onto my face. The thought of a house all to ourselves added a whole new thrill. But looking back, maybe I shouldn’t have been so eager. Why you ask? Well hold your horses, have patience my dear friends. You will be able to understand when I narrate you the incidents of that night in my house….the story has just began….
The Preparation
I napped briefly, then got up and headed to my swimming class at five. By the time I returned, I had just twenty minutes to shower and prepare for my friends’ arrival. I did all of the work and I was sitting idle on the sofa waiting for my friends, but after a few minutes I realized that I do not have any sweets or snacks for my friends. So I rushed to the local shop and bought a box of syrupy, delicious rasgullas—an absolute favourite among my friends.
As I walked back, my mom called again with a small update: my friends would be staying over not just for the night but for two whole days. Ecstatic, I quickened my pace, imagining the fun ahead. But when I arrived at the gate, I was greeted by a puzzling sight. My friends were already there—Parnika, always cheerful and organised; Papan, the mischievous one; Soumyajit, our quiet, analytical friend; Prarna, the ever-curious storyteller; and Korak, who never took anything too seriously. Yet the mood changed as I fumbled with my keys, only to find the door stubbornly locked from within.
We all took turns trying to open it, but it was as if someone—or something—was pressing against it from the other side. With no other option, we finally managed to force our way in, breaking the lock in the process. As we stumbled into the dimly lit house, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that someone had been tampering with our lock. Maybe it was just paranoia, but my gut told me otherwise.
With the door incident behind us, we divided up the rooms for the night. Parnika and Prarna took one room, Korak and Papan another, while Soumyajit and I would share the last. Just as we started working on our school project, I brought out the rasgullas, setting the box on the table. A knock suddenly echoed from the front door, taking us out of our focus. I opened it to find Arnav Sir, our ever-supportive teacher, who had come by to check on our project. He stayed for a while, helped us brainstorm ideas, and then left.
We gathered back in my room to continue working, but just as we started discussing our plans, the TV blinked on by itself, displaying static for a few seconds before flicking off. Then, the entire house began to shake, as though an earthquake had struck. We dashed outside, but to our surprise, the earth was still—only the house was vibrating.
So our Investigation Began ….
Panicked, we called the police, who arrived promptly and began a search around the property. With a flashlight in hand, one of the officers suggested digging around the backyard, suspecting some device might be causing the tremors. To our shock, we unearthed a strange machine, clearly not of my family’s doing. It had wires leading to a switch at the back of the house.
My friends, meanwhile, were getting increasingly on edge. Parnika’s hands shook as she clutched a glass of water, while Prarna kept glancing over her shoulder. Korak, usually the joker, sat in uneasy silence, while Soumyajit’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the bizarre situation.
The officers left us with a warning to stay alert, but as they drove away, the atmosphere only grew tenser.
The Haunting Unfolds
That night, just as we were starting to settle, screams shattered the silence. Parnika and Prarna cried out from their room, followed by shouts from Korak and Papan. Soumyajit and I jumped from our beds, only to see our door creak open slowly. A shadow loomed in the doorway—faceless, shrouded in mist, and radiating a coldness that froze us to the spot. It drifted closer, its feet hovering inches above the ground.
We scrambled to the door, shoving the apparition aside, but it seemed to melt through our hands. I glanced back and saw the same ghostly figure blocking the hallway, leaving us trapped. Soumyajit and I exchanged a look, silently agreeing to fight back. We lunged, pushing with all our might. To our surprise, the figure stumbled backward and vanished.
Our victory was short-lived, though, as the other rooms erupted with more screams. Papan and Korak were battling another phantom, while Parnika and Prarna stared, pale and horrified, as a figure slithered through their window. Gathering courage, we ran to their aid, using whatever we could find—water, pillows, even books—to fend off the apparitions. With every swipe, they’d disappear momentarily, only to return, grinning wider than before.
The Truth Unmasked
As dawn approached, we regrouped in the living room, exhausted, bruised, and bewildered. Just when we thought it was over, three figures appeared at the door, seemingly amused by our terror. We stepped back, only to notice something odd: a familiar twitch in their smiles, the way one ghost scratched its head exactly like Soumyajit often did. A flicker of recognition dawned, and then I knew.
I charged forward, grabbing at one of the figures. The cloak slipped off, revealing the grinning face of our classmate, Soumyajit, with two accomplices—Sattwik and Sahid—who had orchestrated the entire nightmarish charade. Hidden wires, planted devices, and sheer timing had turned our home into a house of horrors.
“So you weren’t surprised?” Soumyajit asked, chuckling as he saw my face. I shrugged. “When we found the machine buried in the backyard, I figured something was up.”
The next morning, as we cleared up the remnants of the prank, we couldn’t help but laugh—albeit a little sheepishly—at how easily we’d been fooled. I knew then that ghosts are nothing but shadows of our own fears, illusions we create when we let our imaginations run wild.
