My own Ghost Story

It was a dark night and I heard a knock on the door.

'…there was an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart…' I continued to read The Fall of The House of Usher by E. A. Poe.

There was a knock again, louder and more distinct.

'…it was a mystery all insoluble…' I overturned the novel upon an already open Anatomy medical book. And hurriedly jumped off the bed.

The third knock was forced and irritated as I opened the door.

A boy, fair-skinned, an inch taller, and almost equally lean as I stood. An anatomy book in his hand.

"I am Kushagra, I live in the same hostel, just there…, on the opposite corridor, room number 207." His thumb pointed backward, his smile warm and amiable.

"There was no one on my floor. They all are on a bunk."

"Yes, yes…" I nodded. "There is a two-week mass bunk."

"Hmm… so I thought we could study together." He motioned the Anatomy book upwards.

"Of course" I welcomed him into my room. He moved elegantly and propped up on a chair. I sat on the bed, right-angled to him.

"Ooh… you like to read novels?" He asked in false astonishment, pointing at the overturned novel.

"Yes… sometimes, just for a break." I replied.

"Kushagra, I have never seen you in classes. Don't you go to college?" I doubted if I have ever seen him.

"Actually, I am not in your batch, I couldn't pass the previous professionals. I don't attend classes. This would be my third attempt." He spoke as a matter of fact.

"Ooh…" I exclaimed. Before I could continue the conversation or investigate my new friend, he spoke "It's anatomy. I hate it. No matter how much I study, it never ends. It's pathetic." He opened the book throwing pages forcefully.

"That's true, bhai." I picked up my anatomy book and kept the novel aside.

"To hell with those attachments…" Kushagra was peeping in my book. "Thirteen muscles attach on the humerus, three on the greater trochanter, one on the lesser tubercle. Then they ask what is on the lateral supracondylar ridge or what passes through the bicipital groove. Radial nerve or radial artery, and you could recall only radial. I hate this subject. I hate anatomy.

I looked at Kushagra with admiration. He had knowledge of the subject that I was about to start. He looked furious. Disturbed from stress.

"Now you tell… why shouldn't one suicide?" He asked calmly. My brows widened.

"What…?" I was awestruck.

"I was broken. I studied hard but failed. A whole year wasted. I never told my parents about it, they would have died in shock. And friends, I had none. So one day I decided to end my life. And you k ow what it means? You have to die a hundred times before your suicide. I couldn't gather the confidence to hold a knife steadily and cut my wrist. My hands trembled. My heart started aching. I couldn't do anything, couldn't study, couldn't talk, I couldn't even ask for help. The pain was insufferable, profound, and dark.

"But one day, when the sun was perpendicular up and there was the silence of the afternoon, I jumped from the roof and died."

My skin grew pale, blood was lost from my lips. I realized Kushagra was the boy who had committed suicide. My heart fell from my body and I fainted.