Skip to main content

The Banana Stealer


    It was a quiet evening, and the highway leading home was cloaked in an unsettling stillness. The road, lined with dense shadows from overhanging trees, stretched endlessly into the gloom of Bhubaneswar’s outskirts. Riding my bicycle with a bunch of bananas securely tied to the back seat, I couldn't shake the sensation that the silence wasn’t natural—it pressed down on me like a heavy blanket.

I pedaled faster, eager to leave the oppressive quiet behind. But without warning, the banana bunch tumbled onto the street with a dull, fleshy thud. Annoyed, I stopped to secure it again. The knot was tight; there was no reason for it to have fallen. I chalked it up to chance and resumed my ride, though a faint prickle of unease crept up my spine.

Not long after, the bananas fell again. This time, I felt a chill ripple through me, sharper than the evening breeze. It wasn’t the bananas that unsettled me, but the sensation that something unseen was tugging at them—a deliberate, malevolent pull. My hands trembled as I secured them once more, my breath quickening.

A sense of dread settled in as I pedaled forward. The sound of my bicycle wheels on the asphalt seemed unnaturally loud, as though amplified in the void of silence surrounding me. When the bananas fell a third time, panic surged through my chest. The bicycle lurched slightly, as though something heavy had pressed against it. My throat went dry. I didn’t want to turn around. I couldn’t.

“Take them,” I whispered hoarsely to the unseen force, my voice breaking. “Take whatever you want. Just… leave me alone.” My words disappeared into the void, swallowed by the oppressive quiet.

The air grew heavier, as though thickened by an invisible presence. Every turn of the pedals felt like a struggle against some unseen resistance. I could feel it watching me, waiting. The bananas tumbled again, but this time I didn’t stop. I pleaded desperately, my words tumbling out in gasps. “Please… just stop dropping them. Take what you want. Please!”

Suddenly, a strange sensation rippled through me—a shove, almost playful, yet utterly wrong. The air seemed to shift, and I felt it: cold, alien, inhuman. Gathering every ounce of courage, I risked a glance over my shoulder.

A hand—thin, pale, and impossibly long—reached out from the shadows. Its gnarled fingers curled around a banana, lifting it with a deliberate slowness that made my skin crawl. The rest of the figure remained hidden, swallowed by the night, but the hand alone was enough. There were no legs, no feet—just that hand, and a shadow deeper than any natural darkness.

Scattered bananas littered the road behind me like offerings to some unspeakable entity. My heart pounded in my chest as I turned away and pedaled harder than I ever thought possible. The air seemed to buzz with the faint sound of laughter—low, guttural, and distant, yet somehow inside my head.

By the time I reached home, I was drenched in sweat, shaking uncontrollably. The bananas were gone, save for a single one that remained perched on the back of my bicycle. I didn’t touch it. I couldn’t.

Even now, I can’t shake the memory of that hand emerging from the darkness. It haunts me in the quiet moments, a grim reminder that not all things in the shadows are imagined—and some are far too real.


*A true story shared by my maternal aunt, this was experienced by her father.

More Stories By JustUtter...





Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Interview With The Author Of Bhoota Gappa & 2minhorrorstories

An interview with the author of JustUtter's first ever released horror book series named "Bhoota Gappa". This interview will not only let readers know more about, the origin and inspiration of these horror stories but also the challenges of fear and ruthlessness of the inner soul that unravels the story of the main character "Azagka".  Available Now in both paperback and hardcover Watch The Trailer Now!! Why did you write "2minhorrorstories"?   As an afternoon ritual back in my childhood days, my grandmother used to always narrate us stories about ghosts, witches, and unexplained incidents from her childhood, youth, to her middle age.    Those stories, enabled me to enter into a realm of a parallel dimension, that had some power beyond realism. It created a sense of fear, but at the same time the thrill lingered around for days, turning me into an adventurous soul that pushed my intentions beyond being scared and thus overpowering my inner ...
Post a Comment
Read more

भूता गप्पा : कमरे के बाहर जो था…(पटना स्टोरीज )

मैं उन दिनों हॉस्टल में दोस्तों के साथ खूब मस्ती किया करता था। कॉलेज के दिन वैसे भी बड़े मज़ेदार होते हैं। दोस्तों का झुंड हमेशा साथ रहता, न समय की परवाह होती, न किसी रोक-टोक की चिंता। बेफिक्री और हँसी के धुएँ से पूरा कैंपस गूंजता रहता। एक रात, हम सब राजू के कमरे में जमा थे। ओल्ड मंक की आखिरी बूंद तक सब कुछ खत्म हो गया। तभी किसी ने कहा, "अरे, मेरे बेड के नीचे एक बोतल है… लेकिन उसके लिए स्टोर रूम से होकर जाना पड़ेगा, जहाँ खिड़कियों से अजीब आवाजें आती हैं।" किसी जूनियर को भेजने की बात चली। मैं पहले थोड़ा हिचकिचाया, फिर हँसते हुए मान गया। "क्या होगा ज़्यादा से ज़्यादा? कोई आवाज़ तो यही लोग निकालेंगे।" जैसे ही मैं निकला, हमारे ग्रुप का एक सीनियर चुपचाप मेरे पीछे हो लिया और दरवाज़े के पीछे छिप गया। जब मैं स्टोर रूम पहुँचा, तो मुस्कुराते हुए पीछे मुड़ा क्योंकि मुझे लगा कोई आवाज़ जरूर लगाएगा। उन दिनों किसी के पास मोबाइल नहीं था। हॉस्टल में जगह-जगह एक-दो लैंडलाइन फोन लगे थे। लेकिन मुझे स्टोर रूम के अंदर से घंटी की आवाज़ सुनाई दी। अजीब बात यह थी कि वहां कभी फोन र...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Morgue Shift: A Chilling Night at IGH Hospital, Rourkela

There are jobs that demand courage—not just of the body, but of the mind. Being a nurse is one such job, and sometimes, the fear doesn’t come from the diagnosis or the pain—it comes from silence, from shadows, and from the unseen. This is a true account of a night shift I will never forget. Festival Night. Empty Corridors. One Dead Body. It was a festive evening in Rourkela, and most of the hospital staff had taken leave or left early. I was on duty at IGH Hospital as a male nurse. Late at night, I received the responsibility of transporting a deceased patient to the morgue—alone. Usually, someone from the morgue team assists with the process. But that night, there was no one available. I was told a security guard would be present near the morgue to help, if needed. With no other option, I took a stretcher and began the slow, solitary walk through the long, dimly lit hospital corridor. The Eyes in the Dark The hallway was quieter than usual, with only the occasional bark of a dog or a ...
Post a Comment
Read more