The Best Fictional Ghost Story

An old pond stood right next to S Shimultala, the village. Surrounding it stood tall shamus (silk cotton) trees. Over time, the villagers began to believe—those trees came alive at night.

After sunset, no villager ever ventured near the pond. "The Shimul Old Woman lives there!" everyone said. Who was she? No one knew. She had gone unnoticed. But now and then, in the depth of night, people claimed to hear the rustle of a saree, distant laughter, and smell a faint, strange scent in the cold breeze from the direction of the pond.

Roni had come from the city when his grandfather fell ill. He didn't believe in ghosts or superstitions as a young boy. One evening, fooling everyone, he went to the pond alone.

Under the moonlight, the pond shimmered like silver. He suddenly caught sight of an elderly woman in a saree, gliding through the shadows cast by the trees. Roni’s heart began to pound.

"Who are they?" He exclaimed. The old woman turned—her eyes were completely white, and a faint smile played on her lips. She only said one thing:

"Who will go this time?" "The shimul has blossomed." Suddenly, a storm-like wind rose around him. The strong scent of shimul flowers filled the air as the branches began to shake violently. After running back to her house, Roni developed a fever and spent three days in bed. He never again ventured near the pond. Villagers maintain that each year, when the shimul blooms, a new soul responds to the call..

Chapter Two: The Call Comes

Though Roni recovered, he wasn’t the same. The once cheerful boy grew quiet, often waking up in the middle of the night to stare out the window.

His grandfather inquired, "What do you see out there, son?" one day. Roni only responded, "She returned... the Shimul Elder Woman." After that, more rumors started to surface, claiming that one or more people would experience an unnatural pull toward the pond during the night. Some said they saw someone walking slowly, as if hypnotized, toward the trees. A few never returned.

Mr., a village schoolteacher, one day Somnath, decided enough was enough. He declared, "This must be a ruse," "There are no ghosts." At midnight, he went alone to Shimultala—torch in hand, a copy of the Gita around his neck.

As soon as he stood under the trees, an eerie stillness fell. One by one, the leaves stopped rustling. The wind died. Only the water of the pond stirred with a faint splashing sound.

"Who are they?" Mr. Somnath called out loudly.

A thin, cold, and strangely rhythmic chanting voice returned: “He who hears, returns no more...

Beneath the shimul, he sleeps forevermore…”

The elderly woman suddenly emerged from the mist, wearing a white saree, disheveled hair, and a garland of red shimul flowers around her neck. In her hand, she held a small mirror.

In it, something appeared—the same pond, the same trees… and a man standing, back turned.

Looking closely, Mr. Somnath was aware that it was him. Nobody knows what happened after that. By morning, villagers searching for him found only a torn torch, a Gita, and a few dry shimul flowers by the pond.

Final Chapter: The Call Still Echoe

Roni is now an adult. Though he returned to the city, dreams of Shimultala still steal his sleep.

He finds himself by his window in the dark every spring when the shimul trees are in bloom. He sometimes gets the impression that a fleeting smile is on the window glass. And one night, he whispered…

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