The Hauntings and The Silver Bullet
Just a short note of introduction before I relate a true hair-raising incident that happened to me on one of my many rides into the wild.
I have spent many years in the Indian Jungles, camping, biking and travelling on foot to different places and I still do. Many people have asked me if I had any occult and haunting experiences during these years of adventure. I have really no idea why the occult and haunting experiences should be associated with my rides into the wild, but some how it is so. I have had a few curious experiences myself, one of which I am about to relate and I have little reason to doubt it. Just for the record, I am no authority on the occult and I think it’s very foolish for anyone to express an opinion on a subject he knows incompletely. I only wish to document a personal experience. You are free to make your own deductions.
The pillion moon was a sign of comfort, for the dark highway hid its contents well. The road unwilling revealed itself only to the sombre beam of the Royal Enfield. We rode and the road continued.
Life has a way of carrying forth itself with an absolute bliss of ignorance. It was late – 12:45 pm and my concerned travelling companion Siegfred, was now drowsy. There was a light drizzle and having ridden the whole day we were in no mood of facing another downpour. The so called short-cut route was living up to its name as far as a bad road could go. The challenge was broadly met by our dear old Bullet. The clouds thickened and the reflection of the moon on my silver bullet started to fade away. We thumped on; the road covered with thick jungles on either side, which occasionally gave way to a rushing stream that crossed the path. There was no sign of any human habitation. Our only option would be to camp off the road – pitch our tent in the shelter of the forest. But trusting the bullet with her reassuring thump we edged on the now boulder strewn track. The rocks on the ‘Kutcha’ road cut into the tyres of the bullet while the sandy stretches made the going heavy. In the rainy season these sandy sections make it very entertaining for a tired biker with a sense of humour, if there is such a man, for he will slide and skid from side to side or perhaps get bogged down if he is not careful. Suddenly something reflected off the light from the head lamps, and as we drew near we could distinguish a small structure a little off the track. I got the bullet to halt directly in front of the structure that now looked like a desolate bungalow. The least we would do was take shelter in the veranda instead of going through the tedious process of pitching the tent. I revved the bike a bit so that the caretaker or whoever present would come out to inspect the racket. Nothing happened though; everything was silent except for the wood crickets, who chirped ceaselessly from their hidden shelters amongst the fallen leaves. Deciding to have a look around we pushed open the rusted gate and walked into the compound, which was covered with overgrown grass. The bungalow looked abandoned, and it had a rather large veranda that encircled the entire house. I whispered to Sieg that he should check the outhouse that was to the left of the bungalow and started toward the veranda. The windows were secured well; there was a rather large old padlock that shone in the light of my pocket torch. Glancing back to have a look at Sieg, I could see his torch light prance about in the dark some distance away. I decided to walk the right length of veranda and double up to met Sieg at the outhouse. Half way through I kept looking back, getting this eerie feeling of being watched. I quickened my steps and on reached the back of the bungalow expecting to see Sieg’s torch light. But there was no sign of him – only the dark outline of the outhouse that stood there hidden in the overgrown vegetation. Suddenly this feeling of being completely alone descended over me, my heart started pounding and I quickly retraced my steps to the front of the building screaming out to Sieg all the time. I was met with stark silence this time – not even the friendly chirps of the crickets.
The clouds had cleared and some of the moonlight lit up the surroundings in an eerie glow. My heart was now thumping like an Enfield on the roll. Sieg was missing and I was standing in this desolate place in the middle of nowhere. The poor light of my pocket torch round revealed nothing but the overgrown garden that threaten to reach out and consume me any moment. A good minute had passed; a hundred dreadful thoughts were racing through my head at top speed. Glancing at the bike, the moonlight reflecting off her silver paint, she was the only consoling sight. Impulsively I started walking slowly towards the Enfield in a hope to sound the horn that Sieg might hear. I looked back and then 20 feet from the bike I saw a figure standing beyond on the road and it was not Sieg! The towering dark figure of a human was facing me and every hair of my body was standing. I froze when suddenly a hand from behind touched my shoulder. Every bone in my body shivered. I turned round in a flash to face whatever was there! It was Siegfred and he had the most terrified look on his face. I held him back and pointed at the figure, which continued to stare back. We could not make out much, for it blended in with the shadows. It stood there for a few seconds which seem like hours and then vanished suddenly into the night!
There was no time for words or explanations, we raced to the bike and in a desperate kick the engine roared to life. We must have covered the dirt track to the main road in record-breaking time. We rode for a long, long time, covering as much distance as possible from that dreadful place. Since then much discussion has laid claim to every detail of that night. There was never a conclusive answer. Supernatural experiences are that way and one has to leave it there. Let’s conclude it in the name of Travel… I believe that my “Silver Bullet” that stood between us and that strange apparition saved the day.