Prarona Karmakar, a seventh grader, recounts an incident when she found herself trapped in a torrential downpour and sought shelter in an abandoned house known for its spooky legends.
It was a dark and stormy Saturday, the kind where the rain pelts down like an endless torrent. I hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella. The time was around 6:00 PM when I arrived at my friend’s place to collect some notes. By the time I was done and glanced at my watch, it was already 7:57 PM. Hastily packing my bag, I set out for home.
After walking for just ten minutes, the sky opened up with a vengeance. The rain came down in sheets, drenching me in seconds. Desperate for shelter, I darted towards the nearest house, not paying attention to anything but the need to get out of the rain. My clothes clung to me, and water dripped from my hair as I sought refuge under the eaves of an old, decrepit building.
I pulled out my phone to call my brother, hoping he could come pick me up, but there was no signal. Typical. As I stood there, I began to hear strange noises from within the building. Turning around, I saw it was an ancient, abandoned house, one I’d heard eerie tales about since childhood. A chill ran down my spine as I remembered my mother’s warnings to stay away from this place, reputed to be haunted.
The noises grew louder, more insistent. My curiosity got the better of me. Being fascinated with the paranormal, I decided to explore the building. I pushed the door open and was immediately swarmed by bats, their wings brushing my face as they fled into the night. Inside, the air was musty, and the interior was in shambles.
To my left, a rag hanging on a towel rail caught my eye. It was swaying, despite the lack of any breeze. Every window was tightly shut. My heart pounded, but I convinced myself it was my imagination. I pressed on, my footsteps echoing through the desolate halls.
Suddenly, I heard a loud slam from behind. I whirled around, but the main door was nowhere in sight. Panic set in as I realized I was lost. The only option was to keep moving forward, deeper into the house.
As I navigated the dim corridors, I stumbled upon a bizarre box that seemed to be moving on its own. I froze, my breath hitching. The box shuddered and then fell still. My heart raced as I edged closer, transfixed by fear and curiosity. Then, the lid slowly lifted, and out sprang a tiny, soaked kitten. Relief washed over me as I realized the source of my terror.
I fed the kitten some biscuits from my bag, and to my astonishment, it trotted off, glancing back as if beckoning me to follow. I did, and it led me to the front door, which had been blown shut by the wind.
Stepping outside, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The rain had stopped, and the night was eerily silent. I checked my watch—it was 9:35 PM. I had been inside that cursed building for nearly two hours. Shaken and soaked to the bone, I hurried home, vowing never to set foot near that house again.
The experience left me rattled, a stark reminder that some places are better left undisturbed.
