Experience a spine-chilling adventure in Soumyajit De Sarkar’s thrilling story, ‘Haunted by Mirik’s Shadows.’ Written by a budding writer from Class 6, Epic Public School, this tale takes you on a journey through eerie encounters, mysterious dreams, and ghostly warnings in the hills of Darjeeling.
It was the evening of December 2, 2023, when I was enjoying my dinner at home when a letter arrived. I opened it to find a message from my friend Anuj. It said, “I have a surprise for you. You must travel to Darjeeling via Mirikh to receive it.” I couldn’t resist the excitement and, in my usual gluttonous mood, decided to start the journey the very next day.
That night, I went to bed with the thought of the surprise keeping me awake. But soon, I fell asleep only to wake up in the middle of a strange dream. Suddenly, I heard my mother scream from the other room. I rushed to see her sitting in the living room, visibly shaken. It was already 6 a.m., and she was worshipping, her hands trembling as she whispered prayers.
When I asked her what had happened, she told me that while she was praying, a crow had flown in, scattering everything around. In a panic, she had burnt a raw pumpkin, as per an old ritual. But to her horror, the pumpkin had turned into a mass of fungus. She was terrified and begged me not to go to Darjeeling, saying it was a bad omen.
“I don’t believe in superstitions, mother,” I said, brushing it off. I had my breakfast and, despite her worried looks, I left for my journey.
Later that night, after I had settled into the train, my phone rang. It was my mother again. She asked, “How are you?” I found it odd since we had just spoken. “Why are you calling again? We spoke just a minute ago,” I said, feeling confused. But she simply replied, “Okay, bye,” and hung up.
I shook off the strange feeling, but something didn’t seem right. As the train moved on, I went to the toilet. When I returned, an old man, cloaked in a shawl, sat across from me. He looked at me with a haunting stare and whispered, “You will die.” Startled, I thought he was just a mad old man. But when I returned to my seat after a while, I noticed something unsettling. The old man was gone. And there had been no stops. I rubbed my eyes, but he had vanished.
That night, I had another bizarre dream. This time, it was worse—skeletons chasing me through a dark, foggy place. I woke up in a cold sweat at 6:30 a.m. The train had finally reached NJP.
As I got off the train, I thought I saw the old man again, but when I blinked, he was gone. I tried to dismiss it as a trick of my mind, but deep down, something felt off. I decided to ignore the uneasy feelings and headed to the main town.
But my troubles were far from over. When we reached Mirikh, the car suddenly stopped. After a few minutes, it started moving again, but at the border of Nepal and Darjeeling, it stalled once more. Heavy rain poured down, and I was left with no choice but to seek shelter at a nearby homestay.
The homestay owner was strange and stern, giving me the worst room—Room No. 69. “What kind of slangs are you using?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable. He responded in a calm, eerie tone, “It’s not slang, sir, just the room number.”
The room itself gave off a strange vibe. I had dinner, but the food was unsettling. The chicken was too soft, and the blue lagoon drink was unnervingly red. I tried to brush it off, but unease lingered. I called Anuj to tell him about my situation, but just as he began to speak, the line cut off. My confusion deepened.
At 3 a.m., a strange noise woke me up. Through the walls, I could hear sounds of the chefs preparing food. To my horror, when I peered out, I saw one of the chefs cutting a man’s flesh, while another mixed blood and urine into a juice. I realized, in sickening horror, that I had eaten human meat and drank blood and urine. I ran from the room in panic.
As I fled toward the border, I saw that the chefs had begun chasing me. But as I reached the border, they disappeared. Just then, something even more terrifying happened—dead bodies started rising from the ground, attacking me. I fell to the ground, helpless, as a cloud of white smoke surrounded me.
In that fog, I saw a vision—a historical scene from February 1835. British officer Sir Willing Worshakdorper was burying two bodies in the land of Darjeeling, despite protests from the local people. Eventually, the British officer was killed and buried in the same graveyard. The ghosts of the four people who were buried there now haunted the area, seeking revenge. Every Thursday night, they would emerge from their graves to feast on human flesh and drink blood.
The next morning, everything seemed normal. Anuj came to take me home, but when I looked for the driver, he was gone. “What’s going on?” I wondered. Anuj quickly took me to his home, reassuring me. But I still felt uneasy.
At his home, Anuj finally revealed the surprise he had promised: a brand new Mercedes car. But before I could react, my laptop suddenly turned off, and I felt an unsettling sense of déjà vu. I tried to sleep, but around 2:05 a.m., I woke up to find that the clock had stopped. No matter what I did, it remained the same time. My phone had stopped working too.
Then, something terrible happened. I felt a pressure around my neck as if invisible hands were choking me. I screamed in terror, but Anuj appeared, accompanied by some people holding fire. The spirits fled, and Anuj explained, “The ghosts that attacked you will come again tonight, but now you’re safe.”
Finally, my train back home arrived, and I returned to safety. As I look back on that terrifying journey, I can only offer this advice: Never go to Darjeeling via Mirikh, and never stay at that homestay. I almost lost my life there.
I’ll never forget what happened. And I hope no one else ever has to face the terror I did.
Goodbye, for now.
