The Terrifying Road

The Terrifying Road

It was the winter of 1980. Mostofa Dada was just a 14-year-old boy studying at a madrasa in Mymensingh. One afternoon, he set out for home. When he reached the bus stand, he found no buses available. After waiting for about an hour and a half, a bus finally arrived, but it didn’t leave immediately—it took another hour before it departed. Unlike today, there were no alternative means of transport back then. At that time, the present Dhaka-Mymensingh highway did not exist, and there was no road beyond Trishal. From Valuka, the vast Bhawal forest (Sal forest) stretched all the way to Gazipur.

Buses from Mymensingh used to take the Muktagacha-Madhupur-Tangail route. According to Mostofa Dada, the road was only about 10-12 feet wide, and the buses were fragile, resembling tin boxes. On the way, his bus broke down, and by the time he reached the small town, it was already evening. His village was still about five miles away, and the only available transport was a rickshaw—there were only a few, and they didn’t cover the full distance.

Back then, distance wasn’t a major concern for people, but the real problem was the lack of transportation. No vehicles traveled that road at night. The darkness made the road frightening, with the fear of ghosts on one hand and the threat of robbers on the other.

So, he waited for someone to accompany him. After the Isha prayer, he found a man who, fortunately, had a torchlight. After a brief introduction, they set off together.

Nothing unusual happened while he was with that man. The man accompanied him to a certain distance before returning to his own house.

Now, two fears haunted Mostofa Dada’s mind:

1. The fear of ghosts


2. The fear of robbers



He kept walking. The fields were open, as the Aman rice harvest was over. The road was flanked by occasional dense bamboo groves, and there were a few graveyards along the way. The narrow dirt path was surrounded by eerie silence, with only fireflies flickering in the darkness, like tiny specks of light in the void.

Mostofa Dada gathered his courage and moved forward. Suddenly, he heard an eerie rustling sound coming from the bamboo grove. He stopped in his tracks, feeling as if someone was following him. But when he turned around, he saw nothing. Yet, a strange, cold breeze sent chills down his spine.

As he passed by the graveyard, he felt as though unseen eyes were watching him. Suddenly, he heard a whisper, “Hey, stop.” His heart pounded, and he started walking faster.

Soon, he reached a narrow bridge. A canal from a nearby wetland flowed underneath it. Interestingly, while the roads were unpaved, the bridge was made of concrete. Even in the driest months, there would always be mud on both sides of the bridge. The place was completely deserted, with no human habitation nearby. Thick fog enveloped the surroundings.

As he crossed the bridge, he suddenly noticed a white-cloaked figure standing motionless on the right side of the road, staring at him.

Frozen with fear, Mostofa Dada stood still. The freezing cold of the night, combined with the eerie figure, made his entire body numb. The figure slowly started moving toward him. He could barely see its features, but it seemed to have no eyes, and its arms were unnaturally long.

Overwhelmed with terror, he started running. He ran as fast as he could until he saw a house by the roadside. He banged on the door desperately. An old man came out, surprised to see him. Noticing the fear on Mostofa Dada’s face, the man quickly let him inside.

Shaking with fear, Mostofa Dada could hardly speak. After a while, the old man asked, “What happened, son?”

Gathering himself, he replied, “There was something on the bridge, dressed in white. It was coming after me.”

The old man listened in silence. Then, after a pause, he said, “Many years ago, a beggar was murdered by robbers on that road. People say his spirit still roams there.”

After some time, the old man walked Mostofa Dada a short distance and then said, “I am an old man; I can’t go too far. Be brave and walk the rest of the way. If you feel scared, keep reciting the name of Allah and any prayers you know.” Even the old man seemed somewhat fearful.

With fear still gripping his heart, Mostofa Dada resumed his journey. As he approached the bamboo grove again, he felt as if a gust of wind swept past him. Suddenly, he saw a large shadow moving on the road ahead.

He started running again. From behind, he heard a voice calling out, “Hey, stop! Take me with you!” The cries of jackals, the howling of dogs, and a storm-like noise filled the air.

Suddenly, he tripped over something and fell. That was the last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness.

When he regained consciousness, he found himself lying in a house, surrounded by people. Someone asked him why he had collapsed on the road. He recounted the terrifying experiences he had gone through that night.

One of the men said that he had seen Mostofa Dada lying unconscious by the roadside while going for the Fajr prayer. Recognizing him, he had carried him home.

A few people from the village escorted him back to his house. His family members were shocked to see him arrive so early, as they had no idea he was coming that day. Unlike today, there were no mobile phones to inform them of his journey.

After listening to his story, the elders in his family said, “The spirits of that bridge and graveyard scare anyone they find alone at night. You were lucky to have survived.”

They made him drink water infused with herbs and kachu leaves and gave him a hot bath.

The mosque’s Imam performed an exorcism ritual on him.

Despite this, he remained bedridden with fever for two days.

After that incident, Mostofa Dada never dared to take that road at night again.