The Day the School Went Empty

Some memories fade with age. Others carve themselves so deeply into the soul, they stay—silent, waiting, haunting.  

Granny had always been a cheerful storyteller. She laughed as she spoke of childhood games, mischief in the village, and the dusty classrooms of her school. But whenever someone mentioned rain—her face changed.  

It was a quiet fear, the kind that doesn’t scream but lingers in the corners of a room. One evening, as thunder rumbled in the distance and we huddled near the heater, she finally told us the story she had kept locked away for years.  

It was a cold January morning. The air smelled of wet soil and smoke from burning wood. Granny, then a little girl with a high ponytail and an oversized schoolbag, left for school on the back of her father’s old bicycle.  

The rain had just begun—gentle and harmless—drizzling like a whisper. She remembered holding her bag tight and hiding her face from the misty wind as her father pedalled down the muddy lane.  

But by the time they reached the school gate, the world looked different. 

The Haunted Shuttlecock

It was a warm, thick evening in Granny’s childhood village, the kind of summer day when the air felt too heavy, like it might suffocate you if you stood still too long. The sun, hanging low in the sky, was a ball of red fire, casting long, crooked shadows across the fields. Granny and her two younger cousins had been running wild in the park all afternoon, their laughter sharp against the silence that usually hung over the village. They decided to play badminton, swinging their rackets lazily in the fading light. But, as the game continued, the shuttlecock suddenly took off, soaring far higher than anyone could have predicted.

It flew, almost as if it had a mind of its own, and landed softly on the roof of a building nearby. Granny’s heart skipped a beat. The building was unlike anything the village had ever seen. In a place where simple cottages dotted the land, this building stood out—tall, imposing, and made of cold, grey stone that seemed to suck the warmth from the air. It was new, out of place, and no one could explain why it had been built there. 

The Barking at the Wall

The quiet of the house was shattered by the relentless barking of Granny’s dog, Babu. It was a deep, guttural bark, one that seemed to echo through the house with unnerving intensity. It wasn’t the kind of bark that came with a wagging tail or a playful spirit. No, this was different. It was frantic, desperate, and filled with an anxiety that made Granny’s skin crawl.

Babu was pacing back and forth, his eyes locked on the wall that separated their home from the abandoned building next door. The same building that had stood there for as long as Granny could remember, its windows long shattered and its doors sealed shut. The property, overgrown with weeds and ivy, had always given off an eerie vibe. It was as if the building was hiding something—something that didn’t want to be found.

But now, Babu was barking at the wall—at a wall that had always been just a wall to Granny. There was nothing remarkable about it, nothing to suggest that it should be the focus of such intense attention. And yet, the dog wouldn’t stop. His eyes were wide, unblinking, and his body was rigid, as though every fiber of his being was attuned to something Granny couldn’t see. Something that was there, just beyond her perception. 

The Shadow Behind the Window

It was a cold winter night, the kind where the chill from the wind seeped through the thin walls of the house, making the bones ache. Granny, back then just a little girl in middle school, lay on the narrow wooden bed at the end of the room, with her two cousin sisters fast asleep beside her. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that wrapped around her like a heavy blanket, pressing down on her chest. The only sound was the creaking of the old wooden floorboards and the distant howling of the wind outside.

The room had a small window that faced the barren property next door. It was an old property that nobody cared to visit anymore. For years, it had been abandoned, left to rot. Sometimes, late at night, people—alcoholics, thieves—would sneak in to steal scrap metal to sell. Granny and her cousins would often hear muffled voices and the clinking of metal as those people worked under the cover of night. But it wasn’t unusual. It was just the way things were in that part of the village.

But tonight… tonight was different.