THE LOCKED ROOM

One fine morning, the clouds loomed ominously in the sky. A light rain began to sprinkle its eerie blessings upon the Earth. My father was preparing for his duty, unaware of the dark turn his day would take. In those days, mobile phones were non-existent, and transportation was scarce. Yet, my father managed to reach his office on time. Shortly after, he received a transfer letter that would change everything. He was to move to the Primary Health Centre, as there was no one left to tend to the accounts department. He informed my mother to pack our belongings and prepare for a move to a remote rural area, at that time my mother was pregnant, having 5 months child with her. Within six or seven days, we relocated to our new house, a place that promised both dread and excitement.

We, my parents and our grandmother, entered the new house with a mix of joy and trepidation. The quarter was a modest one-bedroom home, featuring a bedroom, a drawing room, a kitchen, a long veranda, and a courtyard that seemed to hold secrets of its own. As we unloaded our luggage and explored the rooms, an unsettling discovery awaited us. My father noticed something peculiar: all the rooms were fine, but the drawing room was locked tight. It appeared as if it had been sealed for years, untouched by human hands. The lock was rusty, and the door was riddled with termites, a testament to its long abandonment. A chill ran down my father's spine, for he felt an unease that no one at the office had warned him about this ominous room.

My grandmother, a formidable woman, urged him to break the lock and enter. 'Everything will be fine,' she reassured him, though her voice trembled slightly. Drawing strength from her words, my father took a stone and shattered the lock.

As he pushed the door open, the room revealed itself—a seemingly ordinary space with one door, one window, and a shelf that had gathered dust over the years. It felt as if it had been locked away for an eternity, holding its breath, waiting for someone to uncover its secrets.

In a most peculiar manner, my father received a letter from the cursed Shelf. The paper was ancient, coated in layers of dust and frayed at the edges. With trembling hands, he opened the letter, unveiling a chilling truth.

An unknown entity had penned the words, urging him to seal that room once more, lest a dreadful fate befall our family in an unforeseen manner. A wave of despair washed over me, leaving me hollow and confused. What horrors awaited us if we dared to occupy that room? My grandmother, undeterred, insisted on sleeping there alone. 'Do not fret for me,' she declared, 'I shall be fine by morning.' But my father vehemently opposed her decision. Yet, my grandmother persisted, her stubbornness akin to that of a petulant child.

Back then, there were no mobile phones or televisions. Dinner concluded around 9 PM, and exhaustion claimed us all as we succumbed to sleep. At the stroke of midnight, my grandmother stirred, gripped by an unsettling unease. It was as if a presence had lain beside her the night before. She struggled to articulate the horror that had unfolded in that room, recounting how a spirit had shared her bed, its weight pressing down upon her.

It lingered, refusing to depart, rendering her mute and paralyzed. After a harrowing struggle lasting 10 to 15 minutes, she finally managed to rise from the bed. Night after night, such torment plagued my grandmother, with no recourse available to her.

One fateful day, my uncle, a scientist , visited our home. Upon hearing the harrowing tales, he dismissed them as mere illusions. That night, he chose to sleep alongside my grandmother.

He awoke to find a black cat perched near his leg. In a fit of irritation, he kicked the creature, and it darted away. He returned to slumber at 9:30 PM. But after just half an hour, he felt an unseen force constricting his neck, stifling his cries. When my mother heard his muffled shouts, she rushed to the room, calling for me. Moments later, my uncle awoke, bewildered, questioning what had transpired. He then sought refuge in my father's Place, leaving the haunted space behind.

The following morning, he departed from our home, informing my father to seek another dwelling.In the meantime my mother gave birth to my elder sister.

My mother slept in that room with my sister at evening for a 10mins, suddenly she found that the soul taking her child. And she immediately woke up and kept her hand on the child and shouted on my father that she would not be lived in that room at any cost.

My father summoned a black magician, who inspected the entire building and ultimately focused on the room where the dreadful event transpired. He chanted ominous mantras and drove a nail into the wall, warning that it must never be removed. Afterward, my father and grandmother felt a sense of relief.

As was her routine, my grandmother retired to that room, feeling at ease. However, at midnight, she discovered the same tormented soul lying beside her, bound in chains. When she reached out to touch the figure, a chill coursed through her. The next day, she recounted everything to my father and insisted on removing the nail from the wall, declaring that the room was perilous. From that moment on, she was haunted repeatedly.

My father sought the help of numerous black magicians, visited countless temples dedicated to gods and goddesses, and consulted with priests, yet the torment persisted. A year later, one of my father's colleagues came to our home and sensed something sinister lurking within. He chose not to disclose his feelings to my father and left the building that same day. Two days later, he called my father, suggesting a visit to a sacred site. My father, without hesitation, agreed.

They travelled to a sacred location, a hundred miles from our home. There, my father's friend shared his unsettling impressions of our house. He consulted a Tantric practitioner and collected some sacred ashes from the site. He then placed these ashes in the haunted room and prayed fervently, hoping for an end to our suffering. From that day forward, the soul ceased its visits, and the haunting finally came to a peaceful conclusion.

After countless months, one fateful day, my father ventured into a desolate rural area to conduct free health check-ups on behalf of the Primary Health Centre. When he returned, he recounted his eerie experience to his colleagues. An ancient, frail patient, with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the world, revealed the chilling truth behind the room's sinister atmosphere. According to the old man, that very place served as a site for body cremation after death claimed its victims. This, he warned, was the source of the unsettling occurrences my father had encountered. Following this revelation, my father shared his concerns at the office, advising anyone who might move into that cursed house to never disturb the 'Sacred Ashes.' To do so, he cautioned, would invite the same dreadful fate that had befallen us. We all felt a deep sense of gratitude, offering our thanks to the almighty for shielding us, hoping that the restless souls could finally find peace.

This ia Real story of my friend, when she was at the age of 6 years.