Ghosts don’t exist, you know why?
Dive into a thrilling tale of a summer sleepover turned spooky. When eerie apparitions and mysterious events unfold, the friends confront their fears, only to uncover the truth about the “ghosts” haunting their night.
Ghosts? Well I say they do not exist. Why? Well….
It was one of those sticky, sweltering summer afternoons that sap your energy and make your eyelids heavy. I’d just dragged myself home from school, hoping for nothing more than to collapse on my bed and nap my exhaustion away. The moment my head hit the pillow, the weight of the day began to melt away—but of course, peace wasn’t in the cards. My phone buzzed with an unexpected call. Groaning, I saw Mum’s name flash on the screen. Ignoring her was not an option unless I fancied a lecture later, so I picked up reluctantly, my voice dripping with fatigue.
Mum didn’t waste time with pleasantries. She had two announcements—one good, one bad. I told her to get on with the good news first. “Your friends are coming over tonight,” she said. That woke me right up. A sleepover? Just the thing to brighten my mood! But then came the bad news: “Your father and I won’t be home. We’ll be out for the night.”
I grinned. A house all to ourselves? The evening just got better. Or so I thought. Looking back, I probably should’ve been more cautious. Why, you ask? Patience, my friend—the night was just getting started.
The Preparation
After a brief nap, I rushed to my swimming class, returning just in time to shower and spruce up before my friends arrived. That’s when it struck me—I had no snacks. A rookie mistake. I bolted to the corner shop and grabbed a box of syrupy rasgullas, a crowd-pleaser among my friends.
As I strolled back, my phone buzzed again. “Change of plans,” Mum announced. “Your friends will be staying for two days instead of one.” Thrilled, I quickened my pace, already imagining the fun ahead.
But my excitement hit a snag the moment I reached home. My friends—Parnika, Papan, Soumyajit, Prarna, and Korak—were already waiting at the gate. They were cheerful as ever, but something felt off. The front door wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard we tried. It was locked from the inside. After some collective effort, we managed to force it open, the lock giving way with an ominous snap.
The Strange Beginning
We split into pairs to settle in. Parnika and Prarna took one room, Korak and Papan another, while Soumyajit and I shared the last. The evening started as planned—chatting, laughing, and nibbling on rasgullas. But then, as we dived into our school project, the TV switched on by itself, blaring static before flickering off again.
Moments later, the entire house shuddered as though caught in an earthquake. We dashed outside, only to find the street still and silent. Just the house seemed to vibrate, as if it had a heartbeat of its own.
Panicked, we called the police. They arrived quickly and began searching the property. In the backyard, they unearthed a strange contraption, all wires and blinking lights. It was connected to a switchbox at the back of the house. The officers left with warnings to stay vigilant, but the unease in the air lingered long after they were gone.
The Haunting Unfolds
That night, just as we began to relax, a scream tore through the house. Parnika and Prarna bolted out of their room, pale as ghosts themselves. Korak and Papan followed, shouting about shadows creeping through their walls. Soumyajit and I weren’t spared either—a figure loomed in our doorway, faceless and shrouded in mist.
The next few hours were pure chaos. The apparitions weren’t solid—they melted through our hands but reappeared moments later, more menacing each time. Armed with whatever we could find—books, pillows, even water—we fought back, though every victory was fleeting.
The Truth Revealed
As dawn broke, we regrouped in the living room, battered and bewildered. And then, they appeared—three figures at the door, cloaked in black, their laughter echoing through the house. Something about their movements felt oddly familiar. A spark of recognition dawned.
I lunged at one of them, yanking the hood away to reveal… Soumyajit. My own “ghostly” roommate. Beside him stood two of our classmates, grinning sheepishly. They’d masterminded the entire charade—hidden devices, clever timing, and eerie props, all for a laugh.
We cleared the mess in the light of day, laughing at how we’d let our imaginations run wild. And that, my dear reader, is why I say: ghosts don’t exist. They’re nothing more than shadows cast by our fears—illusions waiting to be unmasked.
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