The Haunted Night

The storm came out of nowhere. What had been a calm evening turned into a chaotic downpour, forcing Rajib to pull over his motorbike. The rain blurred the winding road, and the distant flicker of a village light was his only hope. Soaked and shivering, he pushed his bike through the muddy path toward the settlement.

The village was eerily silent, except for the relentless drumming of the rain. Mud huts lined the road, and dim lanterns illuminated wary faces peeking from behind curtains.

“Is there an inn nearby?” Rajib asked an old man standing under a tree.

The man shook his head. “No inn here. But... there’s a house at the edge of the forest. No one stays there, but it will give you shelter.”

Rajib hesitated. “Why doesn’t anyone stay there?”

The old man’s eyes darted nervously. “It’s better if you don’t ask questions, son. Take it or leave it.”

Left with no choice, Rajib trudged toward the house. As it emerged from the darkness, he felt a pang of unease. The two-story structure loomed like a shadow against the forest, its windows shattered, its wooden frame groaning under the wind.

“Shelter is shelter,” Rajib muttered, pushing open the creaking door.

Inside, the air was cold and damp. The remnants of old furniture lay scattered across the room. A grand painting of a family hung crookedly on the wall—a man, a woman, and a young girl, all smiling. Oddly, the woman’s eyes seemed to follow him as he moved.

Rajib found a dry corner and sat down, wrapping his jacket tighter. The storm outside raged on, but the house offered an unsettling stillness.

As the night deepened, strange things began to happen. A faint knock echoed from upstairs. Startled, Rajib froze, listening intently. Another knock—slow, deliberate.

“Just the wind,” he whispered to himself, though his heart raced.

The knocks turned into footsteps. Heavy, deliberate footsteps. They descended the staircase one step at a time. Rajib’s breath caught as a shadow appeared at the base of the stairs.

“Who’s there?” he called, his voice trembling.

No reply. The shadow didn’t move. Summoning courage, Rajib lit his phone’s flashlight and shone it toward the stairs. The beam landed on emptiness. No one was there.

He exhaled shakily. “This house is messing with me.”

Trying to calm himself, Rajib wandered into the adjoining room. There, he found an old diary lying on a table. Its cover was faded, but the pages inside told a haunting story:

"This house belonged to the Bose family. In 1975, tragedy struck when the youngest daughter, Anika, drowned in the well behind the house. Her mother, unable to bear the grief, ended her life shortly after. Since then, strange occurrences plague this place. Anika’s laughter is said to echo in the halls, and her mother’s shadow watches over the house. They say whoever stays the night never leaves the same.”

Rajib’s hands trembled as he closed the diary. Suddenly, a giggle—soft, childlike—broke the silence. His blood ran cold.

The sound came again, closer this time. He turned, shining his flashlight wildly, but nothing was there.

And then he saw her.

A little girl stood at the far end of the room. Her white dress was soaked, and water dripped from her hair onto the wooden floor. She tilted her head, her lips curling into a smile.

“Anika?” Rajib croaked, his voice barely audible.

The girl didn’t answer. She pointed toward the back door, which swung open on its own, revealing the overgrown garden—and the well.

“No. No way,” Rajib muttered, stepping back.

The girl’s smile widened unnaturally. Behind her, the painting of the family began to shift—the mother’s eyes now glared in anger, her mouth twisted into a scream.

The house roared to life. Doors slammed shut, windows rattled, and whispers filled the air. Rajib bolted for the front door, his pulse pounding. The girl’s laughter followed him as he ran into the storm.

The next morning, the villagers found Rajib sitting by the roadside, pale and trembling.

“What happened to you?” the old man asked.

Rajib could only shake his head. “That house… it’s alive.”

The old man’s face darkened. “You’re lucky you came back. Many don’t.”

As Rajib rode away, he glanced back at the house. For a fleeting moment, he saw the girl standing in the doorway, waving goodbye.

The haunting smile would stay with him forever.