Stranger Things in the Shadows: Granny’s Night of Terror

Granny lived alone at the edge of the village, where the streetlights stopped and the fields began. Her house was small, clean, and quiet, like she wanted her mind to be.

Every evening, she followed the same routine. Tea. Prayer. Radio low. Then bed by nine.

That night, the power went out.

The radio died mid-song. The fan stopped. The house fell into a thick, listening silence.

Granny lit a candle and walked slowly to the kitchen. The flame made her shadow long and thin on the wall. She watched it move with her steps.

Then it moved again.

Not with her.

Granny and the Silent Graveyard

At night, the village of Rampur was silent and dark. Only Granny walked slowly on the narrow dusty road that led to the old graveyard beyond the thick banyan trees. People in the village said she had lost her mind after her grandson Aarav disappeared one hot summer evening. They whispered she spoke to shadows inside the graveyard.

Granny always carried a small brass lantern. The flickering flame barely lit her way as she entered the graveyard where old stones leaned against each other and names were long gone. No one was buried there now. The villagers said the soil was cursed from a tragedy long ago. But Granny did not care. Every night, she came back.

She would sit near a plain, unmarked stone, placing sweets and water beside it. Her voice was soft. “Eat, beta,” she said, her wrinkled fingers trembling. Sometimes she laughed quietly in the dark as if a child answered her. 

The Mirror in Granny’s House

Granny’s old house stood at the edge of the village, hidden by twisted trees and overgrown vines. No one came near it anymore. The walls, once white, were now stained with moss, and the windows always seemed too dark—as if they were hiding something behind them.

The villagers whispered that shadows followed Granny, and they weren't wrong.

For many years, she had felt them. Shadows that slipped under doors. Shadows that breathed against her neck when she was alone. Shadows that whispered in corners, calling her name in voices that sounded like forgotten lullabies. But whenever someone came to check, there was nothing. No footprints. No sound. Just Granny, pale and shaking.

But now, the house was quiet. Her children were grown. Her friends long gone. Granny was alone with the shadows. 

Granny and the Winter Terrace

Granny never spoke much about her childhood. But once, by the fireplace, when the wind outside howled like an animal in pain, she told a story that left everyone silent.

She had been just thirteen then.

It was a late winter evening in her old village. The kind of evening where the sun hides too early, and shadows crawl faster than they should. Her home was a two-story red-brick house, surrounded by other homes and buildings made of the same tired stone. The bricks were old and darkened with time, and everything looked like it had once burned and decided to stay that way.

That evening, Granny—then just a girl—had gone up to the terrace to collect the dried clothes before the cold set in too deep. The air was biting, and the sky had turned the colour of ash. No stars, no moon. Only clouds, thick like smoke. 

The Forest Granny Should Never Have Found

Every evening, young Granny and her best friend Amrita walked into the forest that lay behind their village. It was their little ritual. The sun would dip low, the birds would sing sleepy songs, and the wind would rustle the leaves gently. It was a place of peace. A place where they could collect wild fruits, vegetables, and stories to share with their families over warm dinners.

But that one evening—that cursed evening—something changed.

They had wandered a little farther than usual, chasing the sweet scent of wild berries and the soft laughter that only old friends share. The trees seemed taller, the ground softer, and the air cooler. They followed the sight of a group of snow-white rabbits hopping between bushes. Then, a peacock spread its glorious feathers, shining with blue and green. It felt like they had walked into a hidden paradise. 

The Secret of the Locked Door

It was in the days when the village still held on to its old ways—before the hum of electric lights and the whir of machines. Granny was just a young girl then, no older than her grandkids, running through the dusty lanes of the village with her friends. But it wasn’t the sunlight that made the children’s hearts race; it was the moments when the power would go out, leaving the village in pitch blackness. That’s when the real fun began.

No one dared to go inside when the sun set, for the darkness felt alive. It was then that Granny and her friends would gather together, seeking refuge in each other’s company. They’d play games like hide and seek, their footsteps echoing through the streets as they raced from one hiding place to another. And when the power would flicker and die, they’d scatter like shadows, hiding in the cottages of the village or seeking refuge in the empty, eerie spaces nearby—places that seemed to hold more than just dust and cobwebs.

One such place was the big, empty parking lot at the edge of the village. It stood as a strange, silent monument, its vast open space often untouched by human feet. The parking had a grand entrance—so large that even trucks and buses could pass through it without a hint of struggle. But there was another door on the opposite side of the lot. This door was different. It was smaller, always closed with a thin chain and a tiny lock that could barely keep the secrets hidden inside.