Ok, i will narrate my experience you can decide whether it was paranormal or not. Sorry some of you may find it lengthy. I am a big believer of paranormal, and may be this is the reason that i have had a couple of paranormal experiences.

Who Knocks?’ ‘I who was beautiful Beyond all dreams to restore, I from the roots of the dark thorn am hither And knock on the door.’

Lines from Walter De La Mare’s The Ghost haunt my memory as I take a walk back to the past. People usually refer to the past as dead and buried. Is it really so?

It was a cold night in Deogarh, Jharkhand. I was in Class V then. We were supposed to go to a party at a friend’s house about one-and-a-half kilometres away. My mother was working in the local school. Mum and Dad were supposed to reach the house of Barry Uncle, our host while I was to be accompanied by our caretaker, Ramu.

It was a moonlit night. Deogarh is surrounded by lovely hills and trees. The silhouette of trees in the moonlight is one combination I love. Ramu had an upset stomach after eating thirty-seven pakoras the day before. So I was going alone but I did not feel lonely. The moon was travelling with me. I could see it moving across the branches as I walked. The gentle laughter of a lady suddenly pierced the charming silence of the night air.

A girl in bright red appeared suddenly, ‘Why do you keep looking up to your left while you walk?

I was looking at the moon,’ I answered, rather embarrassed at having my romance with the moon noticed.

The girl asked, You are going to the party, right?”

“How do you know?

“It is a small place. People know each other. I will give you company.”

“So kind of you.

So we talked, laughed and joked for the next twenty minutes. 1 noticed her carefully. Red blouse, red and white skirt, light make up, bright red shoes. A small red bag. The lipstick was a bit too bright. She had amazing grace in the way she walked. Her lively but gentle laughter had the freshness of a mountain spring. We were discussing hobbies. She said she liked collecting old photographs. Why old?’ I asked.

She looked at me queerly and answered, ‘Old photographs have lots of hidden and forgotten stories.

“All right, I said.

Barry Uncle’s house was decorated beautifully. Music and lights welcomed us. Suddenly, the girl stopped smiling. She turned around. ‘What is wrong?’ I asked her.

I prefer the moonlight. I will not go in,’ she said and started walking away.

At least take this jacket,’ I offered her. She was my height and I knew about chivalry. She gave me a mysterious smile, wore the jacket, and walked into the darkness.

In the party, I grooved to the music for some time. I needed to have a wash. While moving towards the washroom, I suddenly came across a photograph of Barry Uncle with the stranger I had just met. “That’s my niece, Mary. She died two years ago in a tragic accident,’ Barry Uncle said, with a note of sadness in his voice. She is buried in the graveyard behind St Michael’s Church,’ he added.

This is indeed an experience that I would not dare to forget……………….