The Night Behind the Library

It was a night long forgotten by most, but not by Granny.

She doesn’t talk about it often. When someone asks about her college days, she usually smiles and speaks of books, dreams, and the pride of being one of the few girls from her village to study. But there’s one night she never speaks of—not unless someone truly insists. And even then, her eyes go distant.

It happened in November, many years ago. Exams had just ended. The college campus was almost empty. Most students had gone home, their laughter echoing only in memory. But Granny and four of her closest friends—Rekha, Sumita, Lata, and Meena—stayed back for one last night.

They wanted to do something fun. Something silly. Something they had seen in English movies.

“Let’s camp,” Meena said. “Behind the library. It’ll be like in the films!”

They dragged their bedding outside and found a quiet patch near the back of the old building. A row of tall trees stood like silent guards behind them. They lit a small kerosene lantern. Its orange light flickered gently, casting shadows that swayed with the wind.

The night was cold, but they were warm with excitement. They sat in a circle, shawls wrapped tightly around their shoulders, sharing snacks.

“Let’s tell ghost stories,” Sumita said. “Real ones. Whoever scares us most wins.” 

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.