The Companion of the Dark Road
It was a cold winter night. The clock showed almost midnight when the last bus dropped me at Shibtala crossing. As soon as the bus left, an eerie silence surrounded the place. All the shops were closed, and the streetlights were flickering dimly. It felt as if the whole world was asleep and I was the only one awake.
My village was about four kilometers away from there. Between the road and my village there was a large empty field and an old cremation ground. Normally, I never used that road at night, but that day I had no other choice.
Near the crossing, I usually kept my bicycle at Ramesh uncle's small shop. I knocked on the door, and from inside a rough voice asked,
"Who is it?"
"It's me, Arup. I came to take my bicycle," I replied.
After a moment the door opened. Ramesh uncle stood there with a lantern in his hand. While giving me the bicycle he said,
"You're going alone at this hour? Be careful."
I smiled and said, "Nothing will happen, uncle."
Then I got on my bicycle and started riding through the dark road.
At first everything seemed normal. The cold wind touched my face and the only sound around was the chirping of crickets. But after riding for about ten minutes, I suddenly felt as if someone was watching me from behind.
I stopped the bicycle and flashed my torchlight around. There was no one there. Thinking it was just my imagination, I started riding again.
After going a little further, the bicycle suddenly felt very heavy, as if someone was holding it from behind. I tried to pedal harder, but it was moving very slowly.
Just then I felt a cold touch on my shoulder.
It felt like an icy hand resting on me.
My body trembled with fear. I slowly turned back, but I could see no one.
Suddenly, a broken whisper came near my ear,
"Don't be afraid… just take me to the cremation ground."
My heart started beating loudly. My throat went dry. Somehow I managed to ask,
"Who are you?"
The voice replied slowly,
"Many years ago… I died on this very road… No one took me home."
As soon as the voice finished speaking, the bicycle suddenly began to move very fast on its own. I tried to press the brakes, but it wouldn't stop.
Within a few minutes we reached the cremation ground.
Suddenly the bicycle stopped.
The cold touch on my shoulder disappeared.
Then the same voice came from the darkness again,
"Thank you… after so many years, I could see the road to my home."
I looked back in fear.
Far away, between the trees of the cremation ground, I saw a pale shadow slowly fading away.
I didn't wait there for another moment. I quickly rode my bicycle and returned home.
The next morning, when I passed that road again, I noticed an old broken grave beside the cremation ground.
On the stone it was written:
Robin Das
Died – 1987
Killed in an accident
Seeing the date, my body shivered.
Because that was exactly the place where my bicycle had stopped the previous night…
And even now, I sometimes feel that cold hand on my shoulder.
The End. 👻