Some memories fade with age. Others carve themselves so deeply into the soul, they stay—silent, waiting, haunting.
Granny had always been a cheerful storyteller. She laughed as she spoke of childhood games, mischief in the village, and the dusty classrooms of her school. But whenever someone mentioned rain—her face changed.
It was a quiet fear, the kind that doesn’t scream but lingers in the corners of a room. One evening, as thunder rumbled in the distance and we huddled near the heater, she finally told us the story she had kept locked away for years.
It was a cold January morning. The air smelled of wet soil and smoke from burning wood. Granny, then a little girl with a high ponytail and an oversized schoolbag, left for school on the back of her father’s old bicycle.
The rain had just begun—gentle and harmless—drizzling like a whisper. She remembered holding her bag tight and hiding her face from the misty wind as her father pedalled down the muddy lane.
But by the time they reached the school gate, the world looked different.
The ground was no longer visible. The playground—usually filled with laughter and running feet—was underwater, rising almost to Granny’s shoulders. Her father helped her off the bicycle, his trousers soaked to the knees. He handed her over to two sports teachers who were wading through the water, guiding students toward the staircase.
No other teachers were in sight.
Granny and a few others struggled up the stairs, slipping on the wet steps. Water poured in from every direction. Thunder cracked above like something was tearing through the sky. The school, built on flat land, looked like a sinking ship.
Reaching the classroom was nothing short of a battle. The hallway floors were soaked. Students were shivering, and their wet shoes made it hard to walk without slipping.
Finally, Granny and her best friend Meena reached their classroom. They were among only ten students who had made it inside that day.
They sat, drenched and freezing. The classroom felt strange—hollow, like a place left behind by time. Rain slapped hard against the windows, louder and heavier than before. Lightning flashed every few seconds, casting strange, flickering shadows across the walls.
That’s when Granny noticed it.
From the large window, she could see the water outside still rising. But that wasn’t what caught her breath.
Something was moving.
A dark shape, slow and smooth, gliding through the water—not floating, not swimming. Just... moving. Almost like it had a purpose. It wasn’t a person or an animal. It didn’t have a face. But it was watching.
Granny leaned closer, her eyes narrowing through the rain. She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.
She turned to Meena.
“Is the water still rising?”
Meena looked outside and nodded, her face blank.
Granny didn’t mention the shadow. She didn’t need to. Something told her no one else would see it anyway.
Minutes passed in silence, broken only by the rain and the occasional cough from one of the students.
Then someone whispered:
“The school is going to drown.”
The words spread like wildfire.
Panic set in. Children stood up—some crying, others screaming. They ran to the classroom door—only to find it locked.
It wouldn’t budge. The handle turned, but the door stayed shut.
Someone had locked it from the outside.
They shouted, banged on the walls, called for help—but the hall outside remained silent.
Two boys from Granny’s class took charge. They grabbed a heavy wooden chair and began smashing it against the door. Blow after blow, until finally the wood splintered and the door flew open.
What they saw outside made the fear even worse.
The hallway was completely empty.
Every classroom they passed was deserted. Chairs were knocked over. Books lay scattered. Desks were left mid-use. The silence was terrifying.
The ten students ran to the canteen—but it was locked. They had already finished their lunches, and now there was nothing left to eat, nowhere to go. Some began to cry openly. The water outside was still climbing. The air felt heavy, thick with fear and confusion.
Granny remembered thinking, “This is it. This is how it ends.”
And then—a honk.
Through the flooded gates came a yellow bus, half-submerged but still moving. The water had risen almost to its windows, but the engine roared like a warrior in battle.
Behind the wheel was Suresh—their regular school bus driver.
No one had called him.
No one knew he was coming.
And yet, there he was.
Without a word, he stepped into the water and began carrying the children into the bus, one by one. His eyes were calm. His steps, steady. He didn’t panic, didn’t shout. Just picked up one child after another, even as the flood reached his waist.
Each minute on the road felt like an hour. The streets had become rivers. But Suresh dropped off each student safely at their doorstep. Strangely, the rain began to slow the moment the bus started moving. The water level began to sink, as if the storm had gotten what it came for.
Granny was the last stop.
As she stood up to leave, a voice came from the back seat.
“Stay away from the shadows.”
She turned sharply.
A boy was sitting at the end of the bus. His uniform was dry. His face pale, unreadable. She didn’t recognise him. He wasn’t in their class. He wasn’t from their school.
She blinked—and he was gone.
Suresh called out from the front.
“All okay, beta?”
Granny nodded slowly, stepping off the bus. Her father was already there, waiting by the roadside. He took her hand, but she barely noticed. Her mind was racing.
Who was that boy?
Was she the only one who saw the shadow in the floodwater?
Meena had only confirmed the rising water, but hadn’t reacted to anything else. Was it really there?
Who had locked the classroom door?
Where were all the teachers and the other students?
And the most terrifying thought of all:
Granny remembered everyone saying Suresh saved them. That he was a hero. That he came just in time.
But years later, when she finally built up the courage to ask her father—he only stared at her in confusion.
“Suresh?” he said. “Beta… Suresh died in that flood. They found his body in the driver’s seat. The bus never moved.”
Granny didn’t speak after that.
She just sat quietly... remembering the boy at the back of the bus.
“Stay away from the shadows,” he had said.
But what if it wasn’t a warning?
What if it was an invitation—into something darker and more dangerous than any of us can understand?
And just as she closed the door behind her that evening, soaked and shaking, she looked back at the sky through her room window.
The clouds hadn’t moved.
And it had started to rain again.
No comments:
Post a Comment