Bangali ghosts vie for the fishes

That night, the wind howled like the wolves as Shyam and Alameen rowed silently, their boat traversing through the misty air and the water rippling gently beneath them. Their nets were full, heavy with the night's catch, both men were excited to go home and consume a nourishing meal after days of barely good catches–when suddenly, a faint flicker of light caught Alameen's eye. At first, it was barely noticeable, like a firefly lost in the mist. But as they traversed further down the river, the light grew brighter, floating just above the water's surface–pale and wavering, like a candle burning low in the night.

"Bhoot." Shyam breathed, as Alameen shook, anxiously.

The light danced closer, and as it approached, the mist curled unnaturally, as if alive. A woman emerged, her skin translucent, robes tattered and wet. Her hollow, red eyes bore into them, and her voice came in a whisper, carried by the fog. "The fish… they are mine."

Suddenly, a loud thud echoed from the other side of the boat. A slimy figure crawled aboard, his bulging eyes gleamed as he reached for the nets. "Fish! I shall devour!"

The woman's glow flared, her eyes narrowing. "They belong to the marsh, mechho!"

"They're mine, widow!" he croaked, stuffing a fish into his mouth.

Shyam and Alameen were shaking, when a tall figure appeared at the boat's bow—an old man, dressed in white. "Such vulgar behavior," he scolded. "Have some dignity, Mechho and Shakchunni."

"Oh, old brahmadaitya, you are Brahmin. You can have all the fish you want, leave some for us," said the slimy ghost.

Shyam and Alameen clasped each other's hands, anxious. As the spirits continued bickering, a giggle echoed through the mist. A child-like specter danced on the boat, flipping the nets and sending fishes flying. "So many fish! Let's play!" he shrieked, tugging at Shyam's shirt. Shyam had shrieked back too–clinging to Alameen in fear.

Just then, a foul stench filled the air. From the shadows, suddenly emerged a pishach, his red eyes gleaming with hunger. "Forget the fish, I want the flesh."

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An evening of spooks and screams

Shyam and Alameen froze, terror gripping them as the spirits surrounded them. Suddenly remembering a tale his father told him–that one could fool ghosts and save their lives–Shyam desperately cried out: "Why not have a contest? Show us your powers, and whoever impresses us most will take all the fish!"

The ghosts paused, as if intrigued. The woman's mist swirled violently, the mechho bhoot commanded the river to erupt with fish, brahmadaitya stilled the waters, and pechho bhoot flew around, giggling. The pishach glared with red eyes when he lunged for the men, but brahmadaitya's hands glued him to the boat. The old man winked at them, as if signaling they could leave.

As the spirits showed off their powers, Shyam whispered to Alameen, "Let's go. Now." Quietly, they slipped into the water, wading to safety, leaving the ghosts to argue among themselves.

This is one of the top entries for this month's Khero Khata, Star Books and Literature's writing corner.

Sabrina Sazzad is a contributor to Star Books and Literature. Reach out to her by email for spooks at sabrinasazzad07@gmail.com.