Spooky events—real or imagined? One can never say for sure. Yet, I’ve heard stories from reliable people, and most of all, I’ve experienced a few eerie events myself. Shouldn’t some credence be given?

One such story comes from a couple of my nephews. They were traveling by car at night. It was dark, and the road was deserted with no traffic in sight. Suddenly, a man walking quickly along the roadside stopped and put his thumb up, asking for a ride. Not wanting to take any risks on an empty road, they kept driving. A few miles later, they saw another man, walking just as fast, who also stopped and put his thumb up for a ride. And…it was the same man. They didn’t stop to ask questions—the vehicle roared ahead at double speed.

This story was, of course, being narrated at the perfect time: while our entire family was traveling at night on a dark, deserted road. With glum faces and shaky legs, we made it back home safely.

Why are ghost stories always told at night? Does the daytime, with its bright light and crowds of people, give us more courage?

While working in a rural area, I frequently visited a few villages where agriculture flourished. However, these villages weren’t easy to reach. The road leading to them was narrow, uneven, full of potholes, and passed through many small villages. The other route involved a proper road up to a point, after which a river had to be crossed to reach the villages on the other side. There was no bridge. Luckily, there was rarely any water in the river, so we simply had to traverse the sandbed.

A colleague and I decided to take this shorter route one day. We were traveling on a Bullet motorcycle, which resembled a bison but moved much faster. Riding through the sand bed was a challenge. The bike moved uncontrollably, deciding its own direction while the engine heated up. How we managed, nobody knows. After completing our visit, we attempted to cross the sandbed again on our way back. But this time, the bike spluttered, protested, and finally gave up—the engine died. Not knowing what else to do, we pushed the monster of a bike to a nearby ex-colleague’s house. Thankfully, it was raining, so we left the bike there for repairs and took a bus back home.

This river had its own history—one that we were partially aware of.

Nearly two decades earlier, a bridge across the river had collapsed due to flash floods, causing the tragic death of all the passengers on it. It was one of the worst accidents in the area. In our case, the first thing we had ignored was the rain. If there had been flash floods, what might have happened to us?

The second, less-known story was narrated by the villagers at a later date. They whispered that people traveling on foot, by vehicle, or even in bullock carts across the riverbed at night were sometimes attacked by unseen spirits. The person or vehicle would then move around in circles without making any progress. No one seemed to have been killed in these incidents, but the villagers warned us not to take the route again.

How could we? Life is precious to us too.

Continued in 170. Dare The Scare - Part 2