The old dark Shed
And oh! the mysteries it held…!!!
Once upon a time isn't how it begins as this tiny tale isn't that old. This is an anecdote based on an incident. Yes- An incident.
Since the time I can recall, both my parents have been working. I was studious, not much into outdoor games. On any given day, I would blindly choose to read than go out and play. On weekends, I used to join my dad at his office, help him in my own ways as a kid, or just chill at home & read. That's me as a child.
When I was in grade 6, we moved into a house, considering the proximity of my school & parents’ work. Let me describe it for you- because it matters. Well, the gates were painted red, and given my height at the time, I couldn't peep through to the other side unless I jumped really high- which I never bothered to do.
The house had a big room and my bedroom was pretty far from my parents’ room. The house was covered by huge trees that prevented direct sunlight from entering the house- thus the dim-lit hall perfect for my thriller novel reads. The kitchen was towards the back of the house and there was a slight crack in the glass that was covered by paper awaiting repair.
On the outside, there was a walkway leading to the big gate, left and right sides of it covered by fine gravel. To the right of the house, there was a pomegranate tree of the neighbor’s that liked us better and leaned completely onto our side- the fallen leaves and flowers were a pretty sight.
On Sundays, while mom cooked, my dad & I explored and cleaned around the house and tweaked changes and repairs wherever possible or necessary. I discovered that there was an old shed behind the house that was filled with things, so dark and unused that it looked creepy (at least to me). There was a side path beside it so narrow that you would have to squeeze yourself in through it. There lay a laundry stone surrounded by green lives on the walls that felt like they were closing in.
When I was alone at home- which was most evenings and every Saturday, I survived in the front part of the house because I was afraid of the shed and what lay inside- my mind could imagine all possible things. If there was an inevitable kitchen requirement, I would run to & back not giving time for anything to catch me.
One such day, all alone at home, as I was reading, I heard a shrill cry of a baby as creepy as hell- enough to give me goosebumps and chills. I knew where it was coming from but had no courage to give a look. Given that I was alone at home & that in itself was a responsibility, I did walk to the kitchen to sneak through the broken glass.
There wasn't any movement from the shed, the lock was intact and there wasn't a leaf out of place. When I turned to leave, I heard it again and it froze me on my tracks. I wondered- A baby cannot survive in that shed with just random cries like these. I didn't have the key to the shed or the nerves to go check it out. So I stayed in my room the entire day listening to the cries every now and then.
When my parents returned, I told them of a baby crying from the shed. As expected, they did not believe me- who would believe such an incident from a child who had her head deep in fiction novels?! and what more ways to prove it- the crying stopped after that.
The next day after school I heard sounds like that of metal scratch with something sharp. It was irritating more than horrifying. I told myself that I will get keys from dad that day. My subconscious was terrified - the crack in the glass, the shed, the cries, the scratching sound bothered me much more than I myself knew. Nightmares and jerks in sleep oftentimes freaked me out.
For the sake of my own peace, I decided to let go of the shed mysteries and made it a habit to study at the porch until my parents returned every day. There would always be chills on my skin wondering and loathing what lay in the dark shed and why it chose to reveal its horrors only in my presence. I had a world of my own in my head all the time.
Days passed, I thought and complained less about the shed, even though many nights I pondered over why there wasn't any sound at night (more possibility that my parents could have heard since their room was on that part of the house).
As I slept, the swaying of the pomegranate tree to the wind, that was clearly visible on nights moonlit, was the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes and the shed was indeed the last thought in my head.
After a few weeks of such mysteries, it so happened that one night, my mom came into my room, woke me up, and asked me to sleep with them in their room. I was more than happy to do so. My sleepy head didn't think much about this sudden gesture from her. Less than a month after that, we shifted again- moved house to a much farther location from the current one. I was relieved at this new place filled with sunlight and no mystery spots. I soon forgot about the old house.
Years across, during a random conversation- my mom mentioned to me that a mother and her son had taken their own lives in the house by hanging, and few of their things were still stored in the shed. She also mentioned that we shifted because of the negativity that resided in the house. She called it negativity and nothing else because it had to do with our own fears and imagination since there were no paranormal activities in the house- she said. Well, that part of her statement I couldn't agree to- if the cries and sounds of metal scratching from the shed could be counted so.
On a rational basis, the sounds could have been of a cat, “Research has shown that cats use vocalizations similar to crying human infants because humans are more likely to respond to it.” and the nails of a cat could definitely account for the metal scratching sounds as well. Still, how can a cat be stuck in a shed that has been locked for ages? and why dint it cry or scratch the metal or whatever at night like cats normally do? Or is it my mind playing tricks on me? I didn't know and left it at that.
Well, some questions are better left unanswered I guess.
You might also like: The Silhouette In The Dark
