The Village That Appears Only in Rain

I’ve never told this story before. Mostly because people would think I’m either lying… or worse, losing my mind. But I can’t keep it in anymore. I need someone to understand what happened.

It was last monsoon when I decided to take a solo trip through rural Bengal.The unspoiled beauty, old customs, and countryside have always captivated me. So, I packed my backpack, grabbed my camera, and set out to photograph the raw, unspoiled landscapes.

Until the rain got me, everything was going well. I soon found myself on a deserted, narrow lane with nowhere to go as the roads flooded and the signal on my phone disappeared. I had no choice but to seek shelter, and I saw a tiny shed in the distance at the field's edge. Even though it continued to pour, the shed provided some shelter. I noticed something strange after sitting there for what seemed like hours and watching the rain fall on the roof. In the distance, through the curtain of rain, I saw lights. Warm, yellow lights flickering in the distance—like a beacon. At first, I thought it was just my mind playing tricks, but when I looked closer, I realized it was a village.

There was something unusual about it, though. The lights weren’t like the flicker of electricity. They were softer, almost like firelight.

I got up, grabbed my belongings, and proceeded to walk the village's narrow path. Simple mud huts with smoke rising from clay ovens, children playing in the streets, and women washing clothes were all beautiful sights. Everything was so tranquil that it seemed to have stopped time. At first, I didn't seem to be noticed by the villagers, but then an older man saw me and smiled warmly at me. "I see, caught in the rain. Stay the night,” he said, his voice soft but firm. There was no skepticism or hesitation. merely genuine hospitality. Glad to have found a place to rest, I agreed. But I couldn't shake the sense that something wasn't right as the sun set. Strange silence filled the village. There was no sound of animals or wind, and those who had once laughed and talked stopped. The air didn't change. I was sitting outside the small hut when an elderly woman came up to me. She looked worried, almost frantic. As she spoke, her hands shook. “Leave. Before it stops raining. She said, "Please, promise me," her voice low and shaky. She didn't seem serious to me. She was, in my mind, just another eccentric villager ensnared in the belief that rains brought bad luck. But I remained. I slept in the hut that night, unaware of the mistake I was making.

When I awoke the following morning, everything had changed. The village was gone.

There were no houses. No people. No evidence of life. It appeared as though the village as a whole had vanished overnight, leaving only the muddy path I had taken the night before. I ran back down the path to the road, confused and afraid. The storm had stopped, and the area was completely dry. My phone was still in my pocket, and I checked it for any signs of what had happened.

I saw the pictures at that point.

In my gallery were pictures of the village—clear as day. The houses, the people, the children. But there was something wrong with the pictures.

The people in the photos were all staring at the camera, their eyes wide open. And I swear, none of them had been looking at me when I took the photos. They couldn’t have been. But there they were—locked eyes with the camera.

I didn’t know what to think, but I decided to forget it. I convinced myself it was some sort of strange dream or hallucination. But then, one night, about a week later, the rain came again.

I noticed something while sitting in my room and scrolling through my phone to distract myself. My gallery had received a new image. It was a blurry image. The only thing I could tell was that it was of me. presently in the village. I was laughing. However, I had not taken that picture. It was certain to me. I tried to ignore it, but whenever it rains, I keep seeing flashes of the path. The same village, which briefly appeared before similarly vanishing. Additionally, the feeling that something is calling me back comes back into my mind whenever I look at those pictures. However, I now comprehend the truth. The village was never real. It's a ruse. a trap set by the supernatural for those who go too far. And if you stay for too long, you become a permanent member of the village. Additionally, the villagers are not real. They’re lost souls, just like me. I've joined their ranks. And soon, I’ll be the one standing at the edge of the village, warning others to leave before the rain stops.

Because the village will also take you if you don't.