He was a good storyteller.
…he woke up with a grueling thirst and sauntered to the kitchen. The audience of 5 kids, all younger to him, sat by the tree with rapt attention. On the seventh floor of Nayantara Apartments, he was alone in the flat as he reached for the refrigerator. One kid lapsed into reverie. The sky was spooky, but he failed to notice as his eyes were wobbly. The golden laughing Buddha statue, sitting with no qualms on top of the fridge could see the sky, but not what Nikhil saw next.
The attention had climbed a notch higher. It was a woman draped in glittery white sari. He lowered his hand holding the bottle. His eyes changed glance in a trice on the banyan tree where she sat with no support. One wry smile was enough. He dropped dead. The kid had come out of daydreaming while others released mild gasps. It was revealed later that Nikhil had died of heart attack. And what you are seeing behind me is that tree. Notice the three red-thread wound nails used by the tantrik. And that is the apartment. He gestured.
The kid finally spoke, with immaculate innocence. Nikhil dada died of heartack and he was alone. Then who told you the story?
[This is a retelling of an old horror (ghost) story that originated in early 2000s regarding a young boy’s mysterious death at the Nayantara Apartments, Sector No.: 7, Airoli, Navi Mumbai. Source of the original story is unknown.]