Invisible Guest



Chapter One: In Search of a Bungalow

The village was called Sripur - a quiet village located about 80 kilometers from Kolkata. I, Ariful Haque, a freelance writer, had come to this village to get away from the stress of work. The local tea shop owner first warned me, Sir, that bungalow is not good. Seven tenants have come in the last ten years, none of them have lasted even a month.

But after seeing the three-story British-era bungalow, my mind was blown. The red brick construction, the aesthetic woodwork, the huge mango orchard in front - all of it was like a dream home. The landlord, a gentleman who lived in Kolkata, said over the phone, Take the rent, but on two conditions - do not go to the ground floor after midnight, and do not use the bedroom facing west.

Chapter Two: The Mystery of the First Night

A strange thing happened on the first night. At around 2 am, I was working upstairs. Suddenly, I heard someone playing the piano from downstairs - the old British-era piano that was in the drawing room. But I was alone in the house!

As soon as I went downstairs with the torch in hand, the sound of the piano stopped. When I went into the drawing room, I saw that the cover of the piano was open, some of the keys were pressed, as if someone had just played it. The most terrifying thing - there was dust on the piano, but there were clear handprints visible there.

Chapter Three: The Invisible Housewife

Over the next few days, something started happening regularly:

Every morning I would wake up and see my clothes being ironed

Food being cooked by unknown hands in the kitchen

New books from the bookcase arranged on my bedside table every day

One day, I intentionally left a diary on the kitchen table. The next morning I found it written:

I cooked fish soup with the fish you brought last night. I kept it in the fridge. Eat it hot. Mrinalini

Chapter Four: Night Encounter

I was awake on the night of the new moon. At exactly 12:34, I heard someone coming up the stairs. The sound stopped at my bedroom door. The door handle turned slowly, but it didn't seem like someone was pushing from outside, but rather like someone was turning it from inside!

As soon as I opened the door, I saw a woman standing in the corridor - long wet hair, white sari, but her face was unclear. She raised her hand and called me. I followed. She took me to the pond. There she started digging in the ground. I saw a skeleton under the ground - a rotten rope around her neck.

Chapter Five: The Truth of History

The next day I told everything to the oldest man in the village, 92-year-old Shri Haren Mukherjee. He said tremblingly, It was in 1947. Mrinalini Devi was the housewife of this bungalow. Her grandson-in-law, greedy for property, hanged her on the bank of the pond. The body was never found.

Chapter Six: The Liberation Ceremony

I called the famous Tantric Anandaghan Brahmachari from Kolkata. He performed special puja ceremonies for three days. On the last day, while the ashes were immersed in the Ganges, we clearly heard Mrinalini's voice:

Thank you, Baba. Now I can go in peace.

Chapter Seven: Farewell and After Farewell

I did not stay there anymore. But the new tenants who come, they still say sometimes:

Someone makes tea in the kitchen

The sound of the piano floats at night

Sometimes a woman is seen sitting by the pond

The villagers say that Mrinalini Devi still guards her beloved bungalow. But now she is quiet. She only comes back occasionally to entertain guests...

Appendix: My personal experience

Even today, when I think of that bungalow, it gives me goosebumps. Especially on the night of the new moon, my phone rings - no one speaks, I only hear the sound of the piano in the distance... And a soft voice:

Father, are you okay?

If you ever see an abandoned bungalow after reading this story, remember - you are not alone there. Someone is always watching you... Maybe with eyes of affection, or some other look.