A Night of Fear

I had just started class five. I had a few friends in my classroom, and Jenny was the closest among them. We shared stories whenever we could, but one day, Jenny told us a haunting story that left a mark on me. It went something like this:

It was a long time ago, back when most rural areas of my country had yet to experience electricity. As evening fell, darkness descended. In remote villages, people rarely ventured outside their homes after dusk unless it was necessary. The trees and forests surrounding the village added an even more eerie atmosphere. After 8 p.m., people were rarely seen; everyone locked their doors and windows, quickly finished dinner, and went to bed. Back then, people had only heard about cars; they hadn’t seen one. Rickshaws were the only means of transportation.

One night, in that haunting atmosphere, a rickshaw puller was returning home with his empty rickshaw. His only source of light was the lantern on his rickshaw, but it barely pierced the darkness. The poor man was terrified and pedaled as fast as he could to get home. Earlier that evening, he had taken a passenger far away, which was why he was out so late. Usually, he would be home before dark. The silence around him, combined with the distant howling of foxes, sent chills down his spine.

Suddenly, he had to stop when he saw a man in a police uniform standing by the road. What he saw next made his blood run cold—the policeman was holding a bloody corpse. The eerie setting, combined with this sight, nearly took the poor rickshaw puller's breath away. The policeman approached him and said, "Take me to Udaipur police station." However, the rickshaw puller's home was in Pabla, two villages before Udaipur. The rickshaw puller replied, "My home is in Pabla. I'm not going anywhere else this late; I'm going home." The policeman then said, "Fine, just take me as far as Pabla."

With that, the policeman got on the rickshaw with the corpse. The terrified rickshaw puller, numb with fear, began pedaling at breakneck speed toward his destination. The silence around him was deafening. Suddenly, he noticed an odd sound coming from behind him. He turned slightly to look, and what he saw almost made him jump out of his skin. The policeman was biting the dead body! Blood was oozing down the sides of his face. Terrified, the rickshaw puller pedaled even faster, as if the rickshaw were flying off the ground. He had just entered his village when he spotted some houses by the roadside. As soon as he realized he was close to home, he jumped off the rickshaw with a scream, landing in front of a house. His scream echoed through the quiet night, waking people in nearby homes who came out to see him. The first thing he asked for was water. After drinking plenty of it, he finally told them to go look at his rickshaw. He shouted that there was a ghost in his rickshaw! His neighbors, people he knew, took kerosene lamps and cautiously approached the rickshaw, which had toppled to the side. But as they drew near, they found nothing! The rickshaw was empty. The rickshaw puller, exhausted and breathless, recounted the entire story to everyone. Tragically, after telling them about his ordeal, he died then and there.

After Jenny finished her story, she claimed it was true. We all listened to Jenny’s tale in breathless silence, and afterward, we went home from school. In one of our textbooks, there was a picture of a policeman. That night, after dinner and finishing all my chores, I went to bed. I slept alone in one room, while my parents stayed in the adjacent room. After I lay down, my father turned off the light and went to sleep. I lay there in the dark, my eyes wide open, overwhelmed by fear as I remembered Jenny’s ghost story—how terrifying! Through a gap in the window, light from the streetlamp fell on the wall directly across from my head. I stared at that light, unable to sleep, too scared even to close my eyes. Suddenly, I noticed that in the light on the wall, I could see the face of the policeman from my textbook! Paralyzed with fear, my hands and feet went numb. I couldn’t make a sound, as if I had lost my voice. Then, from under my bed, I began to hear a strange noise—like someone walking with wet shoes, making a “squelching” sound. Oh, the fear I felt! I can’t find the words to describe it.

Time passed as I lay there, paralyzed and mute, watching that policeman on the wall. I don’t know how much time went by, but the strange noise continued intermittently from beneath my bed. After a long while, I gathered the courage to try calling my mother, but no sound came out. I was frozen with fear. More time passed in silence. Finally, with all the strength I had, I called out loudly for my mother. She answered. My father came to check on me, asking what I had seen. I told him something was under the bed, making a noise. He turned on the light and checked thoroughly, but found nothing. Was it all in my imagination? My father turned off the light and went back to sleep. But as soon as he left, the sound started again. I called him back. He came in, and miraculously, the sound stopped. My father left the light on and returned to his room. Eventually, I fell asleep in the early hours.

The next night, as the lights were turned off and darkness filled the room, I once again saw that policeman’s face on the wall, and I felt fear rising. But in a flash, I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth. I decided that tonight, I would touch that shadowy policeman. My heart was beating wildly, but I was determined to reach out and touch him. I sat up and moved slowly toward the wall, where I could see him. With great courage, I extended my hand toward that eerie shadow and touched it on the wall. How strange! My fear vanished! There was nothing there—just the light from the lamppost!

The next day, I told my mother everything. After listening to me, she said, "Perhaps there was something there, and you conquered it with your courage."