The Last Vote: A Terrifying Election Day Tale

In our village, election day is usually like a festival. Flags of red, green, and blue wave from every rooftop, loudspeakers play songs, and neighbors gather in long lines. But after what I experienced during the 2023 elections in Kumirdanga — a remote village surrounded by dense trees — I don’t think I’ll ever vote again.

What I saw that day still haunts my sleep.

6:00 AM – The First Omen

Just before voting began, an old woman warned us, “Don’t go today, child. Last night, we heard voices from the cemetery.”

We laughed it off. But I’ll admit, the air around the school-turned-voting center felt strange. Cold. As if fog had settled, though it was peak summer.

9:00 AM – The First Strange Sighting

As the voter line grew longer, an elderly man whispered, “I think my dead wife’s here. That girl in line... looks exactly like her.” We turned around. No one was there.

We brushed it off as a hallucination — until more voters started seeing familiar faces among the crowd—familiar dead faces.

One woman screamed and collapsed. “She died two years ago… but she’s here… standing right behind me!”

12:00 PM – Disappearing Voters

The people in the line began vanishing—silently, without a sound. One moment, they were standing beside us; the next moment, they were gone. A police officer said, “Don’t panic. Maybe the heat’s getting to them.”

But none of them came back. Phones? Switched off. No one knew where they went.

3:00 PM – The Locked Room

There was a room at the center marked “Reserved EVMs – Do Not Enter”.

A volunteer accidentally opened it. A blast of cold air whooshed out, colder than anything we’d felt all day. The room was pitch dark, even though the hallway outside was brightly lit.

We peered inside and froze. On the wall, written in what looked like blood, were the words: “Those who steal votes… their souls stay here forever.”

6:00 PM – The Final Hour

As the final voting bell rang, the entire center lost power, and there was complete darkness. And then… they appeared. Shadows. Not human exactly — shaped like people, but with no faces.

Those who’d earlier seen the ghosts of the dead began repeating a strange phrase, as if possessed: “Cast your vote… but do you know who’s really receiving it?”

I ran. I didn’t look back. The next morning, we heard that four people who stayed after sundown had gone missing, still unaccounted for to this day.

Conclusion:

No one votes at Kumirdanga School anymore. The building is abandoned, and the polling center has been moved far away.

Yet, every election eve, some locals say they still hear faint whispers from the old cemetery nearby — and some claim the dead still want to vote.

Author’s Note:

This story is inspired by real local legends and eyewitness accounts. Some details have been altered or exaggerated to enhance the reader’s experience.