BY ILANGO SIVARAMAN
Copyright is held by the author.
IT MUST have been well past midnight when I woke up.
Not the normal kind of waking up — no alarm, no bad dream, no thirst for water. This was the kind where your eyes open suddenly and your heart whispers, Something is wrong.
I lay perfectly still, afraid that even blinking might confirm my worst suspicion.
Someone was sitting on my bed.
Very close to me.
Slowly — painfully slowly — I turned my eyes sideways to check on my wife. She was fast asleep on the far edge of the bed, wrapped completely inside her blanket like a well-sealed parcel. My wife has a unique sleeping habit: she covers herself so thoroughly that even her face disappears. If oxygen were optional, she would probably cover that too. So it wasn’t her.
That meant the other side of the bed — the side right next to me — felt . . . occupied. I couldn’t see anyone. But I could feel a presence. Not touching me. Not staring at me. Just… sitting.
Calmly.
Casually.
As if it had paid rent.
My mind raced. Am I scared? I asked myself.
The answer came instantly and loudly: YES.
This was not a philosophical fear. This was the kind that freezes your body, dries your mouth, and convinces your brain that turning on the light is an Olympic-level task.
Still, I made a brave decision. I will move, I told myself. I will get up. I will switch on the light.
But my body refused to cooperate. My arms felt like cement. My legs had taken early retirement. Even my lips seemed to be on strike.
Then I heard a voice. Not inside my head. Not outside my ears. Somewhere in between.
“Are you afraid of ghosts?” the voice asked calmly.
Now, I think I answered “Yes.” But I’m not entirely sure — because my mouth never moved.
Instead, a thought escaped me, fully formed, polite, and oddly logical: “I’m not afraid of ghosts if they look like normal human beings . . . especially during daytime.”
I have no idea why I added the daytime condition. Apparently, even fear respects office hours.
There was a brief pause. Then the voice said, “All right. Tomorrow, you will see the ghost in human form.”
That didn’t comfort me.
Immediately, another thought burst out of me: “But . . . how will I recognize the ghost if it looks human?”
The reply came without hesitation. “The word ‘ghost’ will be mentioned by the ghost.”
Before I could ask for clarification — or a refund — the presence vanished. The bed felt normal again. My fear dissolved as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving behind nothing but confusion and a strong desire to never sleep again.
Morning came.
I woke up feeling foolish, half-convinced it had all been a dream. I walked into the living room where my wife was making coffee, humming cheerfully — fully awake now and no longer mummified.
She looked at me, paused, and said casually, “Hi, hon. What happened? Did you sleep well?” Then she squinted at my face and added, “You look as if you had seen a ghost.”
I froze.
The coffee machine hissed.
The ceiling fan hummed.
Time stopped.
I stared at her, wondering whether ghosts usually preferred coffee with or without sugar.
***
That was fun.
Fun story! It leaves the reader with a little chill without explaining anything.