Real Ghost And Paranormal Stories From India (3 page)

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.

My mother and I held down
the store as best as we could so that my father could stay in the hospital with
Amit. Dad refused to leave the room; he slept in a chair next to Amit’s bed. He
was afraid that Amit would wake up, cry out for his granddad, and be afraid if
he was not there. My father began to look old, worn out and it was breaking my
heart. 

Amit was the light of his
life and my father was helpless to save him. Doctors were helpless to save him
and we could do nothing but watch as a five year old boy got weaker and thinner
every day. We were losing Amit!  Still, my father never stopped telling him
stories and never stopped reading to him, determined that Amit could hear his
voice and that it would somehow bring him through the darkness and back to the light.

One day, there was a
problem at the shop and I needed dad to come handle it. I left for the hospital
and upon entering the room; I could see that my father was praying while
holding Amit’s hand. I paused, not wanting to interrupt. When I saw that he was
done, I told my dad that he was needed at the shop and that I would watch
Amit. 

My father nodded, kissed
Amit on the cheek and then he kissed me on the cheek and said, “I love you very
much.”

“I know,” I replied, “I
love you too. I will be here when you return.” 

“He will wake up tonight,”
my father said and left. It dawned on me that my father no longer looked as old
and tired as he had been. He looked like a man who had just gotten a huge
weight off of his shoulders. I glanced at Amit and took his hand, wondering why
my father was so certain that Amit was going to be waking up tonight.” He had
not said it in a hopeful way but rather as if it was a fact, something he knew
for certain. 

Around midnight, I woke up
from my spot in the chair to hear sounds of movement. Amit was moving! I called
for the doctor, who came running.  Amit was out of the coma and his fever was
lowering. He was not having any seizures and his eyes looked bright. 

“Grandpa kept the monsters
from getting me,” Amit said and I hugged him tightly, crying. My father would
be so happy that Amit was awake and getting better. 

I called home, and got my
mother, who was crying. “Your father,” she said, “died, about two hours ago.” I
sat there, stunned. Two hours ago was when Amit woke up. There is no doubt in
my mind that my father made a pact with God. My father traded his life for
Amit’s life and God accepted the offer. There is no other explanation for how
Amit was suddenly able to wake up when he had been at death’s door.

My father had known when
he left that he had made a pact. He knew Amit would wake up because God had
told him so when my father offered to trade his life for his grandson, to give
Amit the chance of a long and happy life.

***

Amit today has now grown up
and has become a doctor and works as heart surgeon in a hospital in Delhi. He
loves his job and is extremely kind hearted individual. God bless him.

Although I had a few paranormal experiences but I tend to keep an open mind. I do
not completely dismiss it outright like some people do but at the same time, I
do believe that many of the strange happenings can be explained. If there are
ghosts then there have to be God as well. I always think that opened closets
can be explained by drafts while noises and creaks and groans in a house could
be attributed to ghosts. But I would like to keep my options open and not run
to the ghost busters as soon as I hear a creak in the house.

When I was living in
Delhi, I received an email that ended up setting off a chain of events that
shook me completely upside down. I received an email from a friend of a friend.
I knew her vaguely as I had met her once or twice at my friend’s house. The
email sounded distressing and seemed as if she wanted my help. My friend had
told her about a couple of my personal paranormal experiences and she wanted me
to help her and come up with a rational explanation. 

***

The email went like this:

I am begging for your
help. I know that we have only met in passing but I need your help. I am at the
point right now where either I am going crazy or my house is haunted. My
husband thinks I am crazy and he may be right. My marriage is crumbling because
he does not see what I see. I need validation that I am not crazy or if I am,
then I need help. Either way, I am afraid and at the moment alone.

Let me explain what is
happening. We moved into this house about three months ago. The house was about
twenty years old and in good condition. When asked about the prior tenant, the property
agent simply said that they left and offered no more information. There was no
indication that there was anything unusual about the house, none at all.

I did notice that I was
not sleeping well. Normally I sleep very soundly but I found that I tossed and
turned, unable to get comfortable and would sometimes have the feeling of
suffocating. Soon, I started waking up in the middle of the night, usually
around 2 am and even though the house was quiet, I had a deeply uncomfortable
feeling. I felt dread and fear and would shake and cry.

My husband told me that it
was just the stress of moving because he slept like a rock and he felt nothing
ominous in the middle of the night as I did. Then, I started to see her. I
would wake up and see a woman, with untied hair, but her face all in shadows,
just a black shadow where her face should be but I always got the impression
that she was looking at me. She would be standing by the side of the bed and
when I woke up, she would turn and walk into the wall. Right into the cabinet
in the wall! 

Surely by now you must
think that I am mad and I half fear that I may be. Night after night, I see
her. My husband, he never sees her. He is fed up with me waking up screaming
and pointing to a figure that he never sees. 

Please, I beg of you. My
husband is away on business for a week, come to the house. Please see if you
can see anything or if I am crazy. God only knows if I am really seeing this
woman or not!

***

I read the email twice,
curiously. I did not know what to think. Who thinks about ghosts going into a
wall? My first thoughts were that it can’t really be a ghost but this email had
so much emotion. I recalled the woman who had written it, she was always level
headed and rational, so unlike the person portrayed in the email. I decided
that I would go. I would prove to her that her bedside ghost did not exist and
that she was suffering some sort of mental breakdown so that she could seek medical
help.

I packed a bag and
followed the directions to her house. She looked worn out when she opened the
door. She had bags under her eyes, she looked pale and she trembled slightly
and at every noise, she would jump.

“I will sleep in your
bedroom,” I told her. She nodded and showed me the room. I noticed how her
breathing increased as we entered the bedroom, just being in the room in the
daytime scared her. Interesting! She certainly believed that there was a ghost
in the room every night. I had already decided that it was probably a
reflection off of some light through her bedroom. 

That night, I made sure to
close the shades so that no external light would shine through the window; I
was still positive that she was only seeing reflected light and in her sleepy
and anxious state, her brain was translating as a human figure with unbound
hair. With my friend on the couch and with me in her bedroom, we went to bed.

It was dark when my eyes
opened and I frowned. I do not typically wake up in the middle of the night but
I had a tingling feeling all along my spine that I was not alone in the room.
“Are you there,” I called out, expecting to see my friend in the doorway but
instead of my friend, there was a figure.

I sat up with a gasp, a
woman, not very tall was standing at the foot of the bed, and her hair was
falling forward, putting her face in shadows. Her hands were at her sides, and
I knew that she was looking at me, even though I could not see her face. I held
my breath, stunned at what I was seeing and then, the figure just walked into
the cabinet in the wall and was gone. I jumped out of bed and turned on the
lights.

“Did you see her, “my
friend said, “You saw her?” I was still staring at the wall, trying to find a
rational explanation but my brain could not come up with one. I could NOT
explain what I had just seen. I pushed a lock of hair back off of my own face
and realized that my hand was trembling. I was shaken up but determined to get
to the bottom of this.

The next time, I went to
bed armed with a flashlight. When I woke up, I could tell from the way the hair
on my arms and the back of my neck was standing up that there was a presence in
the room. I clicked on the flashlight and pointed the beam of light towards the
foot of the bed. 

You hear people say that
they screamed in fear. Never had I screamed in fear until that night. As the
light of the flashlight hit where the face should have been, there was just
darkness that seemed to shift and move. I screamed and as I screamed, the
figure screamed and rushed towards me! 

Instead of attacking, the
ghostly apparition went into the built-in wall cabinet, the same section of the
wall that she always disappeared to and I felt myself sink to the floor. I
could not spend another night there so I went back home, allowing my friend to
come with me, at least until her husband got back. When he returned, I
explained to him what I had seen, and pointed out the exact section of the
wall. 

He studied the cabinet in
the wall, “this section of the wall is not flat; it is almost like it had been
knocked down and was rebuilt.” He used a hammer to break out a section of the
wall and then with a cry he pushed us out of the room. Unsure of what was going
on, we sat in the living room while he called the police and told them that
there was remnants of a skeleton in the wall. 

I dared to peek around the
corner, stuffed in the wall, was a skeleton. The tattered clothing was the
exact same clothing that the ghost always wore and the straggly, thin strands
of hair on the dried scalp were enough for me to tell that the ghost girl of
the house was the ghost of whoever was in the cabinet. 

“She was trying to tell us
where to find her,” I said, still only half believing that I had witnesses the
ghost of the poor dead girl. As it turns out, the couple that had lived in the
house twenty years ago, only one of them had left the house. After the first
year of moving in, the wife had disappeared and the husband told everybody that
she had run away with another man. 

After twenty years, he had
left the house. It was only when my friend and her husband moved in that the
ghost tried to communicate, and since it was a man who had killed her, she
tried to show my friend where she was buried in the wall cabinet, only she
could not speak. 

As it turns out, those who
see ghosts are not crazy and I no longer roll my eyes or try to find a rational
explanation for things because I am a witness to the fact that not everything
in this world can be logically explained.