I still remember that day as if it was yesterday. I was 12 years old and was doing what other twelve years old kids would do, smoking and hanging out with my punters. Why can we not see ghosts? by Rees Gargi

The Story

I was in seventh grade at that time and participated in a summer camp with other cool kids in my class. It was three days, three nights trip somewhere I don’t care enough to remember. We would play sports and wander freely in the day and would play around the campfire telling stories and sleep over each other in the night, like some drunk idiots. Or kids.

I remember that night distinctly as I was the scapegoat in a massive conspiracy those knuckleheads knitted for me. For a summer evening, it sure was chilling. It was cold as a tomb that night. But we could not care less, a pack of ten-some kids.

Someone had spread rumors of an abandoned graveyard nearby. By the news, few kids peed in their pants. But I was standing in the braver crowd.

I took the opportunity as a challenge when someone put a bounty over the head of a ghost. Challenge was to tag a grave, in the deepest and darkest corner of the graveyard park with underwear. Silly kids.

Of course, the graveyard was not abandoned, I could see a source of light at one end, probably a lantern, but I decided to keep the information to myself.

I was the first (and only) one to do the challenge. Walking through the dead people and putting underwear on a grave. Disrespecting enough, but we were just kids.

So, before I could start my journey, a cold breeze went by. Enough to shake a bunch of twelve years old boys like withered leaves.

They decided to leave; it was a foolish quest after all. But I was determined. Fear of the dead was least of my concerns. I did not believe in ghosts.

I indeed do now. Evidence speaks.

So, I decided to take a walk in the graveyard. Sure, I was scared a little bit, but more of stray dogs than of lost souls.

There was a swing near the gate of the park. Most kids had already left. Too scared to even stay. Although, since childhood, I found ghost stories and horror books foolish. Until the swing started moving.

There was a squeak from one of the kids. He motioned others to leave as well, but few of them mustered some courage. Probably because I was about to go inside and they just can’t leave me. I remember how the swing was moving. It was dark and windy, but the to-fro motion of the swing seemed more than just the wind. 4 Kids decided to guard the gate as I walked inside.

If ghosts were real, they can’t be scary. They are already dead, what hope do they get scaring or killing others. This was my first remark on the paranormal. It formed there, near the gate of the graveyard.

And as I walked, I swear I could hear some weird noises. Like leaves cracking, metal cranking, or like someone is breathing behind my neck.

Warm, rhythmic breaths. It could not be wind.

Something was breathing heavily, as I started walking with brisk steps.

I still was not scared enough to run. Dead could not breathe. If it was not fear to affect my senses, it was definitely an animal. Tall enough to reach my neck, sneaky enough not to touch me.


There was no one behind me. As I walked deeper into the park, weird things began to happen. I suddenly felt weight around my calves as if the gravity was more strong there than anywhere else. I could hear bats giggling and screeching. It became harder and harder to walk deeper into the nursery. But I managed to follow the light I saw from outside the park.

Soon enough, although, I realized no lantern or lamp was hanging inside anywhere. The light was coming across the graveyard fences. It was abandoned, indeed.

Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck got cold and stood up straight. I could feel the goosebumps on my arms too. It was not supposed to be this cold.

I was scared to death. I knew ghosts did not exist, I know it was just fear to play me, but I was standing alone in the middle of a graveyard at 3AM, I could not see anything but darkness. The grass was knee-height. 

And I wanted to cry for help.

I remember waking the next morning in my camp with all kids surrounding me. One of them said, “you’re crazy.”

I was safe, somehow. But to this date, I do not remember how I returned back to my camp. I know I did not collapse. Neither fainted.

But I was there. On my sleep bag, sitting. Heart still was beating rapidly.

What was that?

The theory of the Eighth color

I’ve talked about this before, read that entire theory in detail there. To sum up that article, the human can only see some of all colors (in easier words), and there are many things around us that we cannot see.

Maybe ghost of past or impressions of the future. Spooky, isn’t it?

So if they are real, ghosts fall into the domain of this “eighth color” and thus invisible to us.

But are ghosts real?

Well, that discussion is for some another day, but I’ll throw a hint at you: YES!, they are.

I am on Instagram @reesgargi.
Read Encountering Ghosts in India (horror-adventure fiction) on RGB.

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