Pinaki Chouhan
The morning air in Guwahati buzzed with anticipation as a group of high school students gathered at the city bus stand, their backpacks slung over shoulders and cameras dangling from necks, ready for a cultural trip to Shillong. Excited chatter filled the bus as friends jostled for window seats, their voices blending with the rumble of the engine and the scent of freshly brewed tea from the roadside stalls. Teachers tried to maintain some order, reminding students of the itinerary while the students’ eyes sparkled at the thought of scenic hills, cascading waterfalls, and bustling local markets awaiting them. The bus slowly rolled out of the city, leaving behind the familiar urban skyline, and soon the roads narrowed, winding through lush green forests and mist-laden hills. The students pressed their faces against the windows, marveling at the rolling valleys and the kaleidoscope of colors painted by the early morning sun filtering through the clouds, their cameras clicking incessantly. Laughter and playful banter echoed through the aisle, punctuated by sudden gasps of awe whenever the landscape unfolded into a breathtaking view of the Khasi hills or the shimmering silhouette of Umiam Lake in the distance. Amidst this excitement, the guide, a local with a deep knowledge of the region, began narrating tales passed down through generations—stories of colonial-era buildings abandoned amidst the hills, of mysterious disappearances, and legends of the spirits said to wander the misty forests, capturing the students’ imagination and planting subtle threads of curiosity that would linger throughout the journey.
As the bus climbed higher along the serpentine roads, the excitement merged with a sense of adventure tinged with apprehension. Students leaned toward the guide, listening intently as he described the old British bungalows scattered across the hills, some left to decay, their walls crumbling but echoing the whispers of a bygone era. Tales of students from decades ago who had mysteriously vanished, or of haunted hostels now swallowed by creeping ivy and fog, made the young travelers shiver and giggle in equal measure. The sunlight grew weaker as clouds thickened, wrapping the hills in a soft, silvery mist that transformed the landscape into a world that seemed suspended in time. Every turn revealed glimpses of narrow paths, wooden bridges, and abandoned structures that seemed to beckon with unspoken secrets. The guide’s voice, calm but deliberate, emphasized caution while keeping the stories enchanting, and the students’ excitement was tinged with an inexplicable thrill, as if the mist itself carried whispers of the past. Cameras were momentarily forgotten as eyes drank in the eerie beauty of the surroundings, a perfect blend of history and mystery that made the journey more than just a sightseeing trip—it felt like a step into a story waiting to unfold.
But as the bus neared a particularly narrow stretch of road, the engine coughed and shuddered, a sound that quickly silenced the students’ chatter. The vehicle slowly ground to a halt, leaving everyone staring out at the thickening fog that swallowed the winding path ahead. The hills seemed quieter now, the distant calls of birds muffled, and the once lively chatter of students replaced by nervous whispers. Teachers exchanged worried glances, trying to assess the situation, while the guide stepped off the bus to inspect the road, his shadow barely visible in the swirling mist. The students huddled together, some peering down the slope, others staring at a looming, half-hidden structure in the distance—an old, forgotten hostel, its colonial-era facade half-obscured by creeping vines and fog. The stories the guide had shared earlier suddenly gained a weighty significance, and an uncanny sense of suspense settled over the group. What had begun as a cheerful journey into the hills of Meghalaya had taken a turn into the unknown, leaving the students perched on the edge of excitement and fear, their minds swirling with curiosity about the abandoned hostel that awaited them just a short walk away through the thickening mist.
_
The mist hung heavier as the students cautiously made their way toward the looming structure that emerged from the dense pine forest like a phantom from the past. Its once-majestic façade was weathered and gray, with peeling paint and ivy snaking up the walls, yet it retained an aura of forgotten grandeur. Broken windows reflected the pale light of the fading afternoon, and the wooden shutters swung slightly in the wind, creaking with an almost human sigh. The group exchanged nervous glances, some whispering hesitant jokes to mask their apprehension, while others took out their phones to capture the haunting sight. The hostel seemed suspended in time, an eerie monument to lives and stories long vanished, and the students felt both thrill and trepidation as they approached the main entrance. The large wooden doors, scuffed and cracked, groaned as they pushed them open, revealing a dark hallway lined with colonial-era furniture, covered in dust and cobwebs. The air inside was heavy, tinged with the smell of damp wood and faded polish, and every creak of the floorboards underfoot echoed through the cavernous interior, amplifying the building’s spectral presence.
Despite the building’s dilapidated state, curiosity and youthful daring propelled the students deeper into its corridors. Some explored the wide, echoing halls while others clustered in the common room, inspecting remnants of a bygone era—ornate chairs with torn upholstery, a grand fireplace blackened by time, and faded paintings staring blankly from the walls. Laughter and light-hearted dares initially masked their unease, as they challenged each other to walk up the creaking stairs or peek into rooms whose doors swung ominously in the draft. Shadows played tricks on their eyes, and the wind whistled through broken windows, producing sudden, eerie notes that made several jump. As night descended and the mist outside thickened, the hostel’s atmosphere grew heavier, the air cooler, and the sense of isolation more acute. Even the bravest among them felt an unexplained chill, a sensation that the hostel was more than just abandoned walls and furniture—it seemed alive with whispers of the past, watching them, testing them.
Gradually, initial excitement gave way to a creeping unease that settled over the group like the encroaching darkness outside. Stories the guide had mentioned earlier—the vanished students, the colonial ghosts—lingered in their minds, transforming playful dares into small hesitations at every corner. The once-lively corridors became a maze of shadows, each creak of a floorboard or flicker of moonlight through broken panes prompting startled glances and nervous giggles. They gathered in the main hall, their collective energy a fragile shield against the oppressive silence of the building. Yet, as they sat on the dusty floors, examining the remnants of a life long gone, the hostel’s aura seeped deeper, subtly intruding into their conversations and imaginations. In the midst of laughter and whispered stories, an undercurrent of tension hinted that the night ahead would be more than a simple adventure, and that the abandoned hostel, with its majestic decay and shadowed corners, held secrets that were patiently waiting for the students to discover.
_
The night deepened, and the abandoned hostel seemed to grow larger in the shadows cast by the flickering lantern the students had managed to set up in the main hall. Its dim light danced over cracked walls, dusty furniture, and cobweb-laden corners, creating moving shadows that made even the bravest glance over their shoulders. Huddled close together, the group tried to maintain a cheerful atmosphere, passing around snacks and exchanging playful jibes, yet the faint creaks and groans of the old building seemed louder in the heavy night air. The guide’s earlier tales of colonial-era hauntings and vanishing students had already planted a seed of unease, and now, under the lantern’s weak glow, the hostel’s atmosphere seemed charged with silent anticipation. The students, feeling the thrill of being somewhere so isolated and mysterious, took turns narrating ghost stories, each attempt more exaggerated than the last, their laughter ringing tentatively through the hall, echoing off the high ceilings and empty corridors.
One of the students, trying to outdo the others, recounted a local legend about a boy who had lived in the hostel decades ago and mysteriously disappeared without a trace. According to the tale, he was last seen wandering the halls one stormy night, and despite countless searches, neither the boy nor any clue to his fate was ever found. The story, though delivered with a mischievous grin, cast a noticeable chill over the group. The room, once filled with laughter, fell into a quieter, tense silence as everyone imagined the boy’s shadow flitting through the corridors. As they began daring each other to explore different rooms or peek into dark corners, the hostel seemed to respond in kind. The soft, almost imperceptible sound of footsteps echoed somewhere above them, though no one had ventured upstairs. A draft, unnaturally cold for the night, swept through the hall, extinguishing the flame of the lantern momentarily and causing a collective gasp. Whispers seemed to float through the air, too soft to discern but enough to make hearts race. The students instinctively drew closer, their previous bravado faltering under the oppressive sense of being watched.
Despite their attempts to laugh off the fear, the strange noises grew more persistent, intruding into their conversations and games. Every creak of a floorboard, every rustle of the broken windows, was magnified in the stillness of the night, making it difficult to separate imagination from reality. The group tried to reassure themselves, claiming it was just the wind or the hostel settling, but even those rational explanations felt fragile under the mounting tension. Eyes darted toward every shadow, ears straining to catch the next sound, and conversations became hesitant, punctuated by nervous chuckles. Even the lantern, now burning low, seemed inadequate against the growing darkness pressing in from the corners of the hall. By the time the students reluctantly decided to call it a night, each carried a mixture of exhilaration and apprehension, knowing that the hostel’s silent corridors and its lingering stories would not let them rest easily. The night, alive with whispers and unseen movements, had transformed from playful fun to an unsettling prelude, hinting that the mysteries of the abandoned hostel were far from over.
_
The morning sun filtered weakly through the broken windows of the abandoned hostel, casting long, dusty beams across the floor as the students cautiously began to explore the rooms they had avoided the night before. Eager to distract themselves from the lingering unease of the previous night, they split into small groups, examining old furniture, peeling wallpaper, and scattered remnants of a life long gone. One of the more curious students, while inspecting a dilapidated study desk in a corner room, noticed a small, cleverly concealed drawer at the base. The wood was warped with age, but with a little effort, the student pried it open to reveal a stack of weathered diaries, their leather covers cracked and yellowed with time. The moment the discovery was announced, a ripple of excitement and apprehension ran through the group. They gathered around, flipping through the brittle pages carefully, the smell of aged paper filling the room, as though the diaries themselves had absorbed the hostel’s decades-old secrets. Each diary bore the name “Arjun,” with dates that traced back to the 1970s, immediately connecting the enigmatic boy from the local legend to these tangible records of a life once lived within these walls.
As they began reading, the students were drawn into Arjun’s world, finding in his entries a vivid account of his everyday life in the hostel, his friendships, and the subtle tensions that marked his adolescence. His writing was candid and evocative, revealing a boy who oscillated between moments of joy and bouts of intense fear, as though something in the hostel unsettled him deeply. Some pages spoke of his camaraderie with other students, their shared jokes and adventures, while others were filled with unease—mentions of whispers in the night, strange shadows that seemed to follow him, and the persistent feeling of being watched. As the entries progressed, Arjun’s fascination with a hidden secret within the hostel became increasingly evident. He described hidden passageways, locked rooms, and symbols carved into walls that he believed held a deeper significance. The group’s earlier perception of the hostel as a simple, eerie backdrop began to shift; it was no longer just an abandoned building but a place imbued with mysteries that had captivated Arjun, and perhaps claimed him, decades ago. The line between legend and reality began to blur with each diary page they turned, the sense of intrigue intensifying with every revelation.
By the time the students finished the initial perusal of the diaries, an undeniable sense of connection to Arjun had formed. They debated and speculated about the boy’s fate, the entries hinting at a disappearance that was far more than mere folklore. Each note of fear, each obsessive curiosity about the hostel’s hidden corners, painted a portrait of a young boy driven by a mixture of bravery and compulsion, whose final days were shrouded in mystery. The group, once merely thrill-seekers, now felt the weight of history pressing upon them, the hostel’s walls seeming to hold their breath, as if aware that its secrets were being unearthed again. Excitement mixed with apprehension as they realized that Arjun’s story could provide clues to the very phenomena that had unsettled them the previous night. What had begun as a simple school trip had transformed into a quest for truth, and the hidden diaries, fragile yet powerful, had become the key to unraveling the haunting enigma of the abandoned hostel.
_
The atmosphere in the abandoned hostel grew tense as the students continued poring over Arjun’s diaries, their initial curiosity now tinged with unease. The sunlight outside waned, and shadows lengthened along the cracked walls, stretching and twisting in ways that seemed almost alive. As one student read aloud a passage describing how Arjun often felt watched by unseen eyes, a sudden slam echoed from the far end of the hall. Doors that had been firmly closed banged violently, rattling their rusty hinges, and a few old chairs toppled over with inexplicable force. The group froze, hearts pounding, the echo of the noises reverberating through the empty corridors like a warning. A cold draft swept through the room, extinguishing the lanterns they had lit, plunging them into a dim, flickering gloom. Whispers of fear rippled through the students, some insisting it was just the wind or the building settling, while others felt instinctively that something beyond ordinary explanation was at play. Even the most skeptical members of the group glanced nervously at the corners of the room, where shadows now seemed to flicker independently of the weak light, twisting into shapes that barely resembled human figures.
As the diary readings continued, the students discovered passages that seemed eerily prophetic, describing events that were now unfolding around them. Arjun had written about doors slamming without cause, footsteps echoing in empty corridors, and the unsettling sensation of being observed by invisible presences. Each new incident—the sudden shifting of a desk, the whispering sounds that seemed to come from nowhere, the brief glint of movement in peripheral vision—mirrored exactly what the diaries recounted decades earlier. The students’ initial excitement now wrestled with growing dread, and arguments broke out over whether they should leave immediately or press on in search of answers. Some felt the hostel was a trap, that Arjun’s fate might somehow still linger within its walls, while others were compelled by the irresistible pull of mystery, believing that uncovering the truth could finally bring closure to the decades-old legend. The building itself seemed to respond, amplifying every sound—the creak of floorboards, the groan of the old staircase, the rustle of broken curtains—until even the smallest noise felt like a direct message from the past.
Tension escalated as night fully descended, and the hostel transformed into a labyrinth of uncertainty. The students’ once playful chatter was replaced by hushed voices, each one tentative, testing the courage of the others. Shadows lengthened unnaturally across the walls, while objects moved in ways that defied logic, as though the building itself was alive and aware of their presence. Some students clutched the diaries as talismans, flipping frantically through pages for guidance, while others argued about the reality of what they were witnessing. The air grew colder, heavier, as if the hostel exhaled a breath from its long-forgotten past, pressing down on them with an invisible weight. Despite the fear, a stubborn determination took hold among a few—they could not turn back now, not when Arjun’s story and the building’s secrets seemed intertwined with the strange happenings surrounding them. The stage was set for a confrontation with the unknown, and as the students steeled themselves, the hostel seemed to settle into a quiet, expectant silence, awaiting the next move in a mystery that had begun decades before but was far from finished.
_
The morning light barely penetrated the thick mist surrounding the abandoned hostel, leaving the students in a gray, muted world that seemed frozen in time. With nerves fraying from the previous night’s strange occurrences, they gathered once again around Arjun’s diaries, determined to make sense of the cryptic clues scattered throughout his writings. Carefully examining his notes, sketches, and scattered annotations, they began to piece together a pattern that hinted at a hidden part of the hostel, long forgotten and deliberately concealed. Certain passages described narrow staircases that led nowhere, false walls, and locked doors that had never been opened in decades. Excitement mingled with fear as the students realized these were not merely fanciful accounts, but practical directions leading to something buried beneath the structure itself. They debated cautiously, their footsteps tentative as they traced Arjun’s descriptions along creaking corridors, the hostel now seeming like a puzzle built to challenge anyone daring enough to seek its secrets.
Following the meticulous hints in the diaries, the students finally discovered a section of the floorboards in the old common room that sounded hollow when tapped. With combined effort, they pried open the planks to reveal a narrow staircase spiraling downward into darkness. A mixture of apprehension and thrill surged through the group as they descended, lanterns casting trembling light on the stone walls slick with decades of moisture. At the bottom lay a small chamber, the air heavy with the scent of earth and decay. Forgotten belongings were scattered about—worn shoes, tattered notebooks, a rusted trunk—and on the walls, cryptic symbols and messages scratched into plaster hinted at secrets Arjun had uncovered. Each artifact seemed frozen in time, telling fragments of a story too long suppressed. The students, drawn closer together by both fear and curiosity, realized that Arjun had stumbled upon something the hostel staff, or perhaps others connected to it, had desperately tried to conceal. His writings now took on a weighty significance, each word a clue to understanding the events that had led to his disappearance decades ago.
The chamber’s oppressive atmosphere seemed to thicken with every step, blending the students’ fear with a thrill of discovery that made their hearts race. Shadows danced along the walls in the flickering lantern light, and the echo of dripping water from unseen corners made each movement feel deliberate and amplified. The cryptic messages hinted at betrayals, hidden knowledge, and perhaps a danger that had driven Arjun into secrecy, leaving the hostel as a silent witness to his fate. Despite the tension pressing on their minds, the students could not look away; they felt drawn deeper into the mystery, compelled to uncover not only what had happened to Arjun but also the truth behind the hostel itself. As they carefully examined each object and decoded symbols in the dim light, the building seemed almost alive, as if it were testing their courage and determination. Every sound, every draft, every flicker of shadow reminded them that they were not merely exploring an abandoned structure, but stepping into the heart of a decades-old enigma, where fear and curiosity intertwined, and where the next revelation could change everything they thought they knew about Arjun and the haunted hostel.
_
The hostel, shrouded in mist and the fading light of late afternoon, seemed to pulse with anticipation as the students began piecing together the final threads of Arjun’s story. Every diary entry, every hidden symbol, and every whispered legend now pointed toward a truth more complex than any of them had imagined. The clues suggested that Arjun’s disappearance was not a simple accident or fleeting ghost story, but a tangled web of both human and supernatural forces. Some passages hinted at secret tunnels beneath the hostel, labyrinthine passages used decades ago for smuggling rare artifacts and contraband, while others spoke of forbidden friendships and romances frowned upon by the strict hostel authorities of the era. The students, hearts pounding and minds racing, realized that Arjun had likely uncovered something that those in power wanted to bury forever, and his obsessive curiosity had led him into peril. As they reconstructed the sequence of events, it became clear that the line between legend and reality had always been thin, and that the hostel itself had acted as both witness and guardian of long-hidden secrets.
The tension within the group grew as supernatural hints began merging with tangible historical revelations. Strange sounds—soft whispers, fleeting shadows, and cold drafts—seemed to respond to their discoveries, intensifying the atmosphere of fear. One student swore they saw a shadow flit across a corridor, aligning eerily with a diary note describing Arjun’s final sightings of a ghostly figure. Meanwhile, other students focused on physical evidence: hidden tunnels, dust-laden trunks containing letters, and faded photographs hinting at illicit affairs between students and staff, all suggesting motives for secrecy. The thrill of uncovering these truths competed with the escalating anxiety, as every creak of the floor and rustle of broken curtains seemed amplified by their heightened senses. Friendships, once buoyed by shared curiosity and laughter, were now tested under the weight of fear, suspicion, and the pressure of confronting something far beyond a simple school adventure. Some wanted to leave immediately, unwilling to risk the unknown, while others felt an almost obsessive need to follow the trail to its end, to give voice to Arjun’s fate and unearth the mysteries the hostel had silently held for decades.
As night descended once more, the final pieces of the puzzle began to converge, blurring the line between legend and reality. The students discovered a hidden chamber deeper within the hostel, accessible only through one of the tunnels described in Arjun’s diaries, filled with artifacts and messages that confirmed both supernatural and human involvement in his disappearance. It was clear that Arjun had confronted a secret too dangerous for him to survive unscathed—a mixture of forbidden acts, historical betrayals, and perhaps restless spirits bound to the hostel’s walls. The revelation weighed heavily on the group, yet a strange sense of resolve emerged alongside their fear; they now understood that the mystery of the abandoned hostel was not merely a story, but a living puzzle demanding courage, insight, and trust. In those shadowed corridors, where reality intertwined with the whispers of the past, the students came to realize that they were not just observers of Arjun’s fate—they had become part of the hostel’s story, and only by confronting both human and supernatural truths could they hope to honor the vanished boy and escape the lingering grip of the haunted halls.
_
The first light of dawn crept over the misty hills surrounding the abandoned hostel, casting a soft glow on the weathered walls and broken windows that had held so many secrets for decades. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth, and the students gathered their belongings in silence, each lost in thought after the night’s revelations. The hostel, which had once seemed ominous and alive with shadows, now appeared almost tranquil in the pale morning light, its eerie presence softened by the calm of day. Though some of the mysteries they had encountered remained unresolved—the whispers in the corridors, the fleeting shadows, and the ultimate fate of Arjun—they could no longer ignore the profound impact the experience had had on them. Every creaking stair, every hidden passage, and every diary entry had become a shared journey, binding them together in a way that ordinary school trips never could.
The bus, which had been repaired overnight, rumbled quietly along the winding roads, carrying the students away from the hostel and back toward Guwahati. Conversation was subdued at first, punctuated by occasional laughter and the soft clicking of cameras as they tried to capture the morning’s scenery, yet the atmosphere was different from their arrival days earlier. There was a weight of reflection, a sense that something extraordinary had occurred, blending fear, curiosity, and awe into memories that would linger long after the trip ended. The students discussed the events, piecing together what they could, debating which elements were supernatural and which were grounded in the hidden histories of the hostel. Even as the bus climbed higher into the hills and the hostel faded from view, its image lingered in their minds—the silent corridors, the hidden rooms, and the enigmatic boy named Arjun who had transformed a simple adventure into a haunting, unforgettable experience. Friendships had been tested and strengthened, and each student carried a new understanding of courage, curiosity, and the mysteries that sometimes defy explanation.
As the city skyline gradually emerged in the distance, one student carefully held Arjun’s final diary, the leather cover still worn and fragile but imbued with the weight of decades of secrets. Fingers traced the faded ink, the last entries speaking of hope, fear, and the relentless pursuit of truth. A quiet realization settled over the group: the hostel’s mysteries might never fully vanish, and some questions might remain unanswered, yet the journey itself had given them insight and connection that would endure. The diary served as both a reminder and a symbol of the night they had faced shadows, both literal and metaphorical, and had emerged changed, bonded, and forever curious. As the bus carried them further from the hills, the students glanced back one last time at the mist-shrouded hostel, aware that while the doors were closed behind them, the stories and secrets of the abandoned building would linger in their minds—haunting, inspiring, and challenging them to remember that some mysteries are meant to endure beyond the passage of time.
End
