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by Sayan Chaliha
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e up now. It was only a dream.”
Sitting up on his ancient bed, the boy wondered what his dream was all about. “Was it because grandpa told me those things last night?” Whatever it was, the boy decided that he was fed up of those stupid old stories. There were no such things as ghosts anyway!
It was evening by the time he got back from the play field. He took the stairs, and as he walked in through the door of his room, he felt something crawling up his back. “Probably an insect,” he said to himself, and grabbed it. He let out a blood curdling scream when he realised that it was a large bat in his hand. He let go, lost his balance and banged into his study table. His mother came running in.
“What happened… are you alright?!”
“Nothing… nothing, mom. It was just a bat.”
“Well, you ought to be more careful. You know there are bats and owls flying all over the place at night.”
“I know I know, mom.”
His mother got busy with her work. He pulled his study table back to its original place. It was then that he noticed something strange. The walls of the house were not made of brick. They were made of something else, and had several layers of plaster over them. The table had created a small crack on the wall, revealing tiny shreds of dark blue plaster. He cleaned up and put his table in front of the crack so no one would notice it.
“So you little devil, did you have a nightmare last night,” asked his grandfather to the little boy as he walked into the dini |
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