Shadow on Granny's Park Bench

Granny walked slow to the park every day. The place sat in her Rajasthan village like a forgotten yard. Dry dirt crunched under her chappals. Bent trees dropped long, spiky shadows across cracked benches. Her house waited close by, small and dark inside. She wore a plain saree that hung loose on her thin frame. Grey hair pulled tight in a bun. At seventy-two, the park felt like her only friend.

One hot afternoon, she dropped onto her bench. Sweat beaded on her wrinkled forehead. She fanned her face with a folded rag. Then she saw it. A shadow stretched from the nearest tree. Tall and thin, like a man made of black smoke. No feet touched the ground. It just hung there, head tilted, watching her. Leaves rustled softly above it, but this shadow did not sway. Granny's mouth went dry. She gripped the bench edge till her knuckles whitened. Park sounds faded. Dogs barking far off. Kids laughing somewhere. All gone. Just her and that thing. 

Stranger Things in the Shadows

Granny lived alone at the edge of the village, where the streetlights stopped and the fields began. Her house was small, clean, and quiet, like she wanted her mind to be.

Every evening, she followed the same routine. Tea. Prayer. Radio low. Then bed by nine.

That night, the power went out.

The radio died mid-song. The fan stopped. The house fell into a thick, listening silence.

Granny lit a candle and walked slowly to the kitchen. The flame made her shadow long and thin on the wall. She watched it move with her steps.

Then it moved again.

Not with her.

Granny and the Silent Graveyard

At night, the village of Rampur was silent and dark. Only Granny walked slowly on the narrow dusty road that led to the old graveyard beyond the thick banyan trees. People in the village said she had lost her mind after her grandson Aarav disappeared one hot summer evening. They whispered she spoke to shadows inside the graveyard.

Granny always carried a small brass lantern. The flickering flame barely lit her way as she entered the graveyard where old stones leaned against each other and names were long gone. No one was buried there now. The villagers said the soil was cursed from a tragedy long ago. But Granny did not care. Every night, she came back.

She would sit near a plain, unmarked stone, placing sweets and water beside it. Her voice was soft. “Eat, beta,” she said, her wrinkled fingers trembling. Sometimes she laughed quietly in the dark as if a child answered her.