This one right here is yet another short scary story that I found to be really tantalizing. I have written this scary horror story from the perspective of a little girl, who is a grandmother of one now, by the way. She narrated me the events with painstaking detail, as they happened some 45 years ago in a graveyard that was confused betwixt the dead and the living.
HER SHORT SCARY STORY
Vacation time used to be the best. Primarily because there were so many games to look up to, and our parents never complained, as long as we didn’t bother them. We never bothered them.
The best thing about our group was that each one of us belonged to the same age group except my two elder brothers. Even though they were the odd ones out, they equally enjoyed concocting games and taking part in them. We would always circle around them with numerous suggestions and they would, like the true veterans they were, choose the ones that sounded the best. Our little brains could think of thousands of games, only to be sieved through their wits. May be we were not that good. Or those ideas sounded only good in our heads. But sometimes I think that’s what life is all about. Nothing is good enough until it is.
Somebody had a crazy idea; I think it was one of my brother’s.
“Let’s head to the nearby graveyard!”
Scary as it sounded to my little head, we all gave in to its sheer ring.
“Yes! Let’s do it!”
And so we headed in all our mightiness and feigned pluck to see what the yard had in store for us.
IN THE GRAVEYARD
We began playing our usual games like hide and seek and tag, soiling ourselves in dirt profusely, oblivious to our surrounding, without giving a second thought to the place we were in. Apart from the graves, it all seemed like a motherly innate playground to us. We ran around, our laughter filling up the atmosphere as we hid ourselves behind the graves, or in reckless bushes that made a half-promise of hiding us.
As we played on for hours, the sun yawned at us. It started becoming a tad dimmer, as twilight came caving in. We hid hither and thither. I found myself a good nice hiding spot behind a big rock. As our ‘it’ counted numbers in the backdrop, each one of us giggled with a hushing finger to their lips.
Suddenly, my eyes fell at something that intrigued me almost at once. I screamed at the top of my voice,
“Come here! Everybody! There is a hand here!”
Our playful trance broken at once by the violent shrill, everybody cantered in to see the matter at hand, which was a hand nevertheless. When I pointed them towards a manly hand that seemed to have emerged from nowhere, everybody circled around it to check out the stranger that grew like a sapling from the ground.
We were very young, so it is comprehensible that something so huge didn’t bother us to go looking for our parents. Also, it would have spoiled the fun. So, we sat around touching it, poking it to see if it moved. One of my elder brothers, the funnier one, horsed around it a lot.
“How many sugar cubes would you like Mr. Hand?”
He said as we poured him down some imaginary tea in a clay cup.
“What is it? Oh five!”
And he insinuated us to drop 5 stones in his cup. We laughed as it all happened. He touched the cup to those creepy fingers, and then stopped.
Then he shook it once saying,
“Nice to meet you too sir!”
Just when he did that, almost immediately the hand sprang up alive, and grabbed my brother’s hand. Scared as hell, my brother tried to get rid of it, pulling himself away from the clutch. But the grip was too tight. He was failing to dislodge those vile fingers off him all by himself. So despite feeling the stark horror of it all, with that dead hand grasping our hero, we pitched in. He crooned in pain. The hold seemed strong. All of us tugged at him with full force. But the hand wouldn’t leave the clench.
There was so much commotion in those moments that no one could think straight. We began shouting,
“Help! Help! Somebody please help!”
That’s when an engine roared on the nearby road, a car probably, with its lights lit slowly crawled on. Maybe it was because of that noise or the direct light that fell upon it, that the hand finally let go. Just as it did, we ran with all our might back to our houses.
We were convinced it was a ghost, and couldn’t have possibly waited to breathe or look back for the fear of it following us. When we reached home, we narrated the whole story to our mother, who seemed surprised too. But she resented the fact that we ventured there on our own. Her counterblast was fair, we thought, as we were asked plenty of times not to go near the graveyard.
The place was haunted by witches, my mother often said. I always imagined how a witch looked like. Often during the dead of the night, when I would have a hard time sleeping, I’d hear drums beating somewhere and I will connect it to witches doing their black magic dance. I often heard anklets too which made me cocksure of it.
In our little town, people used to have plenty of short scary tales straggling on their mouths. We had our own one now.
THE PALPABLE JUSTICE
Although this short scary story is a unique one, which clouds my judgment to bring the gavel on it, there could be some theories that could explain the hand act right away. But nobody investigated it back then, and so it has ended up becoming a short scary story and nothing else.
The one theory I could think of is that it could be a case of a fresh cadaver. The fact that neurons are still firing up even after the body is dead could prove it. However, it seems a bit too far-fetched given the amount of time children spent playing. Another bad theory for this short scary story is black magic, which sadly I don’t really believe in. So I am leaving this short scary story open for comments.