This weird spooky story sounds too indigestible to believe. But there is a teensy thrill lurking here somewhere, so I would like to put it on paper nevertheless. It is a tale I was told, not a haunting I witnessed. Keep that distinction in mind as the bike heads into the dark.
Fear, Religion and a Spooky Story
Religion makes money out of fear. That is how I see the kind of preaching that begins with a threat. Pick up a fanatic and he will always have something fearsome to tell you. The idea is that you cave in, crumble from within and accept the faith because you do not wish to encounter the ugly side of the unknown.
We do that. We turn to something that claims to understand what we cannot explain. Sadly, claiming to understand the unfathomable is a powerful trick. To me, religion becomes a gory beast when it thrives on your fear. This spooky story rests on that very fear: the suggestion that something evil is waiting just beyond the light.
The Spooky Story: A Ride Home
A pundit and his disciple were returning to their abode after an unrelenting ritual session. They had ventured beyond their regular route, into another town to perform their rituals. The homa, a fire ritual, had taken their energy and offerings, and they were tired as hell. They rested before hitting the road again. By the time they left, it was already night.
The disciple drove the bike while the sage sat behind him. The way home was uninhabited and the road very dark, as the trees seemed to cloud the clouds. The moon sang stories. Its light was just enough to make out silhouettes. They talked about their routine and what was on the cards the next day.
The engine purred, breaking the silence of the night. Their occasional talk disturbed the living, if there were any around. In the middle of that dead night, their only company was each other. The road was simply empty.
As the bike lunged ahead, their eyes fell on a little boy walking beside the road. He seemed lost. The disciple slowed down to find out what was wrong.
The Boy in Tears
They stopped near the boy and shut off the engine. The pundit asked the sobbing child what he was doing there.
“I can’t find my mother. I am lost. I don’t know the way back home.”
The boy replied in tears.
The pundit and the disciple felt sorry for the lad and decided to give him a lift. Perhaps someone in a nearby village would know his mother. At least the villagers might take care of him while they found her. With the intent of dropping him there, they invited him along.
The disciple started the bike again. Meanwhile, the pundit lifted the boy and placed him between himself and the driver. It should have been a small act of kindness on the way home. Instead, the ride began to feel wrong.
Something Was Holding Them Back
As the bike roared and began to amble, it felt as though something heavy had climbed on. It would not reach its usual speed. Unperturbed, the disciple opened the throttle. The engine roared like anything, but they covered so little distance that the effort seemed futile.
Suddenly, the pundit looked behind to see what was holding them back. To his surprise, the little boy’s legs stretched all the way to the spot where they had picked him up. The boy sat unruffled between them, showing no pain. Realising what he was looking at, the pundit lifted the child in sheer shock and flung him off. As he did, the boy seemed to disappear in a mist.
With the weight lifted, the bike lurched ahead. The startled disciple asked whether everything was fine. The pundit told him to keep driving without looking back, and so he did. They did not stop until they reached home, safe and sound.
My Verdict on the Spooky Story
I call plain bullshit on this spooky story. It has its moments of thrill, but the stretched legs seem too far-fetched and too neatly designed to scare you. A sobbing child on a dark road is unsettling enough. A bike struggling under extra weight could also make a frightening moment. Neither detail, however, establishes the supernatural ending.
Those impossible legs belong in fiction, somewhere near a Fantastic Four hero. The detail gives the tale its image, but an effective image is not evidence. That is the difference between enjoying a scare and accepting the explanation attached to it.
I cannot verify whether any of this happened. Given that I heard it through a religious head, my suspicion is that it was meant to keep the listener believing in evil. That is my reading of the story, not proof of what its teller intended. The little thrill remains; the demand that I believe it does not.
For another unsettling journey after dark, read the horror story of Broken Bridge. A deserted road can do plenty of work before anything impossible appears.
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