by Shalu Sharma
I got into the habit of using my newfound ability to keep up with what was going on with my friends and their families, asking them the next day about presents they had received, toys they had in their room or about their visiting uncle or aunt. Everybody thought I was just a lucky guesser because who would have guessed that I could have out of body experiences.
When I felt braver, I would fly over my neighborhood, soaring in the night air over houses and trees. I never felt the cold, or the heat; it was the best way to travel. I saw the town when the streets went dark at night and I could fly over empty streets, swooping up and down over fences and through yards.
I cannot even explain the exhilaration felt by doing this. There was simply nothing comparable to the feeling of being able to fly through the streets of my town. I waved at people who had no idea that I was there. Stray dogs would bark at me, but people never noticed. I would even float in front of them, so close that I could almost touch them and yet they would not know that I was there.
Sometimes, I could touch somebody on the shoulder and they would turn, frowning as if they had felt my touch. I discovered that not everybody could feel when I poked them on the shoulder but some did. I would have to put my hands over my mouth to keep from giggling when the people that could feel me poke them turned around in confusion only to find nobody behind them.
Eventually, I started to fly further distances out, branching out further over India. I visited the big cities, all of the places that mom said that we would go someday. Little did she know that I was already taking a tour of India, but in my own way. I wanted to go further, to see more so I started to fly west.
I flew over endless fields, and vast forests and then I went so fast that the ground underneath was just a blur. I think I passed an ocean but I’m not sure because it was so fast that I could not tell if I was over land or sea. Finally, I stopped, excited to see where I was.
I was not sure what country I was in but I was in a small town in Europe. The buildings and architecture was very old; the streets were cobblestone and narrow. It was daylight here and people were walking or riding their bikes along the narrow streets. I saw people carrying their shopping and sitting at the café’s, enjoying their meal outside.
I could smell the scent of their coffee and of the freshly baked bread. I head birds singing and the sounds of voices. The tinkle of bells on the doors of shops and the slight creaking of the hanging shop signs all reached my ears. It was as if I was physically standing there to hear and smell the sights.
I flew up again, flying over fields of grapes. I must be in either France or Italy but I was not sure which. I swooped down along the rows of grapes, enjoying the aroma of them. A large building loomed ahead of me. It must be the winery, which looked like a good spot to explore. A cat sitting in the sun outside arched her back and hissed at me when I flew by. The cat swatted at my legs, but did not damage. With one last hiss, the cat turned and ran away.
I wondered why dogs and cats could see me, but not people. I wondered if I ran across another person who could travel outside of their body if we would be able to see each other. I had nobody to ask about that though and so I entered the winery.
It was cool in the winery, and I floated around the giant oak barrels. The winery was huge, and although there were a few people there, they did not notice me, which I was used to by now. I watched them for a while and then flew back up, to the upper floors of the winery. I found who was working in an office, writing in a large ledger.
Curious to see the large map of the world that he had displayed on his wall, I floated into the office. I was studying the map, which looked like an ancient map but it was beautifully illustrated all around and it was those illustrations that I was studying intently when I glanced over and noticed that the man was staring right at me.
He was not staring at the map; his eyes were locked onto me. He knew that I was in his office! Terrified I flew out the door, exited the winery and flew home, feeling a rush of excitement. Somebody had seen me! I went home and rejoined with my body. The next day I wondered if I should go back and try to say something to the man. Out of all of the people I had encountered while out of my own body, he was the only one who had ever seen me.
I was excited and scared at the same time. That fear was just enough to keep me from going back. Every time I slept with my hand on my chest, I would have the out of body experience but yet I never went back to the winery. I would mean to, but then I would get scared. What if the man could hold me there? If I was trapped, would I never be able to wake up again? I had too many unanswered questions and so I never tried to go back. As I grew older, the ability faded and by the time I was a teenager, I had lost the ability to have an out of body experience.
I still dream of it though, of flying over my town and through the streets. I see the memories vividly, just as if it had just happened. I can draw to near perfection the villa that I visited that day. Perhaps someday, I will visit there in person, just to experience it again. Perhaps that winery too, you never know.
The Haunting In The Mirror
Houses can be haunted, places can be haunted and even objects can be haunted but I am here to tell you today that people can be haunted too. This is a story of my good friend I had from school. I had known her for ages; in fact we grew up together. When she was young, for some reason she never liked mirrors. But she’s over it now. I asked her once and she told me this story as narrated below.
***
Do you notice how I have no mirrors here? There is a reason for that. You will notice that I never stare into a reflection more than I need to; most people brush it off but I will tell you the reason. I have been haunted. I was haunted as a child by a “bhoot” and she used mirrors to do it with. To this day, looking into a mirror makes me anxious and afraid.
It started when I was younger and my brother and I were at our family’s farm. I woke up because I could hear a woman crying, very loudly. Everybody was asleep in the house but the loud sounds of sobs and wails continued from outside. Curious, I went outside and with only the moonlight to guide by way, I went a little ways away from the farm but the further I got, the further away from me that crying was. This scared me so I ran back home and went back to bed. I head the crying for another forty-five minutes and then nothing.
The next day a woman came to our farm, asking if we had a young boy who was wandering the area at night. My brother was telling her that nobody had been out last night but as I rounded the corner to see who was at the door, the woman smiled when she saw me. She turned and left quickly. My brother asked me if I had seen her last night and I told him how I had heard a woman crying but when I ran out, there was nobody there.
We ran outside to look for the woman, but she was not there. I did find a small compact in the dirt, which I picked up and put in my pocket. My brother told my aunt how I had wandered away from the farm at night because I heard some woman crying but never found anybody and my aunt looked afraid.
She cautioned us that there is a rumor of a ghostly “churail” or “dayan” in the area, one that is trying to lure children away in the night. One of the other farms said she was more dayan than churail, when caught trying to lure a child outside, the witch had floated into the air and disappeared. Many years ago, a dayan was caught performing black magic rituals and the villagers killed her. Several missing children were thought to have been stolen by her, but their bodies were never found.
Even in death, my aunt said, she is still trying to lure children away and then my aunt described the woman who had shown up at our door! I know that this sound unbelievable but it is the truth. I see that you doubt me, but there is more. Just listen to the full story and then you can judge for yourself.
It was deemed not safe for me to stay at the farm so my brother and I went to stay with my aunt and uncle. When I packed, I took that little compact with me because I liked the mirror that was inside. We drove to my aunt’s house and I found myself staring out the car window, ne
rvous that the dayan would show up and try to steal me through the car window. That night, I woke up and was thirsty. It was a very hot summer and I needed a drink of water so I walked to get water. My aunt’s house had no electricity, so I was mostly in the dark because I had not bothered to try to light a candle. I had taken a drink and had just set the glass back down when I heard footsteps.
I heard footsteps approach, getting closer and closer and then stop, right next to me. My hands started to sweat and I felt weak. There was nobody next to me, nobody at all but yet the footsteps had stopped right in next to me. I grew chilled to the bone and afraid but then I heard the footsteps move away.
I thought that maybe it was my brother, playing a trick and that in the dim light; I just did not see him so I went to his room but he was asleep and snoring. I checked every room and everybody was asleep, except for me. Scared, I went to the bathroom and I splashed water on my face to help myself feel better.
I looked up and screamed. There, in the mirror was the woman from the farm only she was no longer pretty. The face in the mirror had sliced flesh, as if her face had been slashed at with a sharp knife. Her eyes seemed to pierce my very soul and her lips twisted into a smile. I screamed again and by then the entire household was crowded into the bathroom. I explained what I had seen and everybody laughed, which made me all the more miserable. I know what I saw.
They told me that my imagination was just over reacting and that the story my aunt told of the witch had scared me. I wish that it had been my imagination because it continued to happen. I would be alone and footsteps would make their way across the floor to where I was and then stop. When I turned and ran away, I could hear the soft laughter of a woman following me as I fled the room.
Whenever I looked into a mirror, she was there, bloody and scary. I stopped combing my hair or looking in mirrors until I discovered that I could use that little compact and not be scared. The bloody dayan or churail whoever she was did not appear in the compact that I had found in the dirt in front of our farm. I would use that tiny compact as my only mirror and I would avoid looking into all other mirrors. I had nightmares about the witch crying out in the middle of the night, those horrible loud cries.
In my dreams, I would chase the sound of her crying but never find her and then I would be so far away from the farm that I myself would be lost. I would wake up panicked, hardly able to breathe and still hearing the faint sound of crying and wailing in my ears. Nobody believed me that the woman haunted me through mirrors.
It did not have to be the mirrors at home either. I saw her face in the car mirrors and in mirrors when we were out. I had to try not to look into any mirror for fear that her terrible and bloody face would show up and give me a fright. I cried that I wanted the mirror taken out of the bathroom or else I would not use it.
My aunt and uncle ended up covering the bathroom mirror for me. I would be in the bathroom, which had no window and the sheet covering the mirror would move, as if an invisible breeze was causing it to ripple. I lived in terror that the sheet would fall off when I was in there, and I would be trapped in the bathroom with the dayan.
Because it was the only mirror that I could use, I carried that little compact with me a lot. Every now and then, when I looked into it, I would think that I saw a brief glance of the woman at the farm, but she was neither bloody nor ugly, she just looked sad and then the face would disappear. It was just a flash though, almost like seeing something out of the corner of your eye, by the time you try to focus on what you saw; it would be out of sight totally. That is what it was like trying to see her reflection in the little mirror.
One day, while playing on the roof, I dropped the compact. I had been holding it open in my hand, when my brother bumped into me and I dropped it. It landed and the mirror shattered. I felt a stab of fear in my heart, that was the only mirror that I could look into and it was broken. My brother was still looking down at the broken mirror when movement caught my eye.
The witch was there, floating there, watching us. Well, half of her was, because her body ended just under her chest, her sad but pretty face was watching us silently. I shouted for my brother but before he could lift his head, she floated behind the wall and out of sight. I tried to explain to him what I had seen but once again, it was chalked up to my imagination.
What I do know is this, that after that, I was able to look into mirrors again without seeing the bloody dayan or churail or bhoot whatever it was, who had haunted me for so almost a year. However, the fear that someday I will look into a mirror and she will be looking back is still very real.
***
This was the story told to me by a friend of mine. I recently asked her how she was and she said she no longer had fear of mirrors. The woman she saw in the mirrors never appeared again after the mirror in the compact had shattered. She’s now fine.
Death Pact With God
If you ever asked me if I believed in God? Then the answers would be - Yes, I do and with all my heart. You can argue that God does not listen all you want but I will not believe that. God listens, God hears, and I have proof. You want to hear the story? Okay, good because you will believe by the time that I am done.
This is one of my friend’s stories whose sister had died during childbirth. Sadly she had died but left a lovely boy. I know this story to be true because I was in the same town when it happened. I witnessed it and there is no other explanation about the sequence of events other than to say that my friend’s father prayed, he made a pact with God and God listened. My friend’s nephew, Amit is a young man now, healthy and happy but when he was only five, he very nearly died. I was in Patna (Bihar, India) at that time when this incidence occurred. My friend’s family had a small shop there. Her parent’s ran the shop and my friend worked in the shop as well. Sometimes I would go to the shop to see my friend and often help her out in the shop.
This is the story of my friend in her own words.
***
My sister had died giving birth to her son, Amit. Amit’s father disappeared one night, in the middle of the night, gone with a single bag of belongings. He had left Amit with us and so we raised him. My parents loved Amit and even though they mourned my sister, they were proud to be raising her son and vowed to protect him and raise him in the manner in which she would have, had she not died.
Amit was a bright, loving child and my father loved him. I had no children of my own back then and Amit was father’s only grandson. Amit loved his granddad. My father would carry Amit around on his shoulders, singing him songs and playing games with him, no matter how many hours in the shop my father worked, he always had time for Amit.
When Amit had a bad dream, he cried for my father. My father would rush to Amit’s bedside and if Amit said there were monsters under the bed; my father would crawl on his hands and knees and look under all of the furniture and into every drawer and closet to convince Amit that there were no monsters in his room. When Amit was sick, he wanted only his grandfather, my mother and I, although loved, just did not have the bond that Amit had with my father.
My father told Amit stories, fixed his toys when they broke, he was there to wipe away his tears if he fell and hurt himself. My father would come home from the shop, eyes bleary from working all day and the tiredness that he felt would be etched across his face but the minute he saw Amit, the years would drop away. My father would pick up him and swing him around in a circle, making Amit laugh and squeal with joy.
Amit, my nephew was five when he became very ill. Amit started getting very weak and would complain about headaches, dizziness and pain in his stomach that would last for a day or two. Amit would always feel better after a day or two and so we did not think much of it. After feeling ill for a day, he would be up and playing again, as if he had never felt ill at all. We were puzzled but since he always recovered so quickly, we never took him to a doctor.
After a few months, Amit’s episodes of not feeling good started to last two to three days instead of a day
or two. My father would get home and Amit would smile and wave but would not run over to be picked up and swung around in a circle. Naturally, this concerned us all. Our concern doubled when Amit developed a fever. It was not very high, but it was persistent and no matter what my mother did, the fever would not break.
Amit lay in bed, feverish, complaining that his stomach hurt and his head hurting. His grandfather would come home and take his seat on the side of the bed. My father would read to Amit, until Amit finally fell asleep, nestled in the arms of his grandfather. I could see the worry written on my dad’s face. Amit was ailing.
The next day, Amit’s fever was bad and he was crying in pain, vomiting and having seizures. I held Amit in my lap while my father drove us to the hospital. I ran in and my father followed, carrying Amit in his arms. The doctors quickly put us in a room and drew blood, attaching and IV to Amit, hoping that fluids would help him feel better.
The next day, Amit was getting worse and so were the seizures. The doctors could find no reason why he was sick. They gave him antibiotics to try to combat the infection in his body but no scans or test had revealed the cause or the source of the infection. Soon, Amit slipped into a coma, a deep sleep for which the doctors could not explain.
My father refused to leave Amit’s bedside. I would bring him food, which he usually ignored. He held Amit’s hand in his own and even though Amit was not awake, my father told him stories from morning to night.
“He needs something to listen to while he is sick,” my father said, “he will hear the stories and it will keep the monster away from him. He was always so afraid of monsters.” With tears in his eyes, my father would read, gingerly holding Amit’s tiny hand. The doctors told us that we should prepare for the worse. They could not treat an illness that they could not diagnose and they still had no idea what was causing Amit to be so ill.