The Locked Up Terrace

One fine afternoon, as I was walking past the library at my grandfather’s place in Cuttack, Buxibazar, I heard a door knob screeching sound from the top floor. The staircases led to the terrace, a place I had never ventured before. At first, I heard a noise as if someone ahead of me was going up the stairs, trying to open the terrace door. As I headed up the stairs, the dark and eerie corner of the building, rarely visited by anyone, filled me with a sense of unease. When I finally reached the top, I found the terrace locked up. I wondered where the sound had come from. As I looked down, I caught a faint glimpse of an old man with a walking stick walking adjacent to the library. There was no other old man in the housing complex except my grandfather, and I had never seen him walking by this side of the room at this hour, let alone at such speed. Startled by the sight, I hurried downstairs, only to find a few pigeons scattered across the library floor. As I looked up, I saw someone peering down at me. I couldn’t make out the face, but it was frightening enough to send me running back to the house. I never dared to go back to that place.

Later, the caretaker informed me about a suicide that had occurred on the terrace. The terrace was always locked up because someone had repeatedly tried to open it from the other side.

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