Swarag – Ghost story (1)

Hi Friends,

Am BIg Fan of Helly shah and Tejaswi.Both are versatile actors

Sorry , as in my story only four to five characters would be there and there no story of swalak,swasan raglak or ragsan sorry once again it is mere story of swa and rag
It was a warm summer evening in July when Swara first saw the ghost. At the time, she didn’t know it was a ghost, but she had her suspicions. What she thought she saw was a shadow passing behind the darkened window of the old garage in the back yard. Then again, it wasn’t so much a shadow, after all it was getting dark out, but more a hint of motion; something that didn’t quite make sense. She already suspected the garage was haunted. It was old and dingy, and her mother told her to stay out of it. That made it even more mysterious.
Swara paused a moment as a breeze rustled through the leaves of the Aspen trees and fluttering her blond pony-tail dangling from the back of her head. She wore her favorite colour: pink pants and a pink and white tee-shirt. She glanced about the darkening yard. A dog barked in the distance, but other than that it was quiet and spooky, and there was no one in sight. She tiptoed through the soft grass to the door of the garage, her eyes fixed on the dark window, her ears tuned to catch any sounds. She reached the door, her hand extended towards the knob. Her fingers brushed the dull brass handle, and she took one tentative step closer.

“Swara!” She jumped back from the door as if shocked. “Swara! Time for bed!” It was her mother calling from the house.
Swara hesitated and glanced at the dark window. She leaned closer to the door and pressed her ear against its wooden surface. Holding her breath, she listened for a long moment. There was a sound. It was a slow, regular patter — like footsteps. As she listened, it grew louder as if the walker was approaching the door. She laid her hand on the door knob. The sound, now very close, stopped with a scraping shuffle. Then it became silent. She imagined she could hear someone breathing on the other side of the door.
“Swara!” her mother yelled again from the house.
She heard a rattling noise through the door and felt the knob twist ever so slightly in her hand. She jumped back. Had it really moved? As if confirming her imagination, it began to turn.
“Swara! Get in here now!”
Swara turned and ran as fast as she could, not daring to look back at the dark garage.
The next day, Swara gobbled up her breakfast and ran from the house. She went into the back yard and stood next to the Coconut trees in the exact spot she stood the night before. She stared long at the dark window and waited for something, anything, to happen. She stood for several minutes before sighing. It was silly, of course. There were no such things as ghosts. She walked to the door and placed her hand on the knob. Drawing a deep breath, she opened it and stepped inside.
The interior of the garage was dark and dusty. Without looking, she passed her hand over the wall just inside the door feeling for a light switch. She found it and flipped it. Nothing happened. She flipped the switch up and down several times, but the light didn’t work. Swara took another step inside and stretched her neck to peek around the door.
There were numerous, barely distinguishable shapes in the scant light from the open door, but nothing moved inside the garage. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she could make out some of the objects. Against the far wall was what looked like a couch covered by a dusty sheet. Next to it was a trunk and a bicycle that was so old she only remembered seeing something like it in old movies. She could see stacks of cardboard boxes leaning precariously against the back wall. A thin beam of sunlight streamed through the window, and what little was illuminated was covered in a thick coating of dust. She took a couple more steps inside while keeping her hand on the knob. She heard a crunch and looked down at her feet. She had stepped on a dried leaf. The sound echoed in the stillness of the garage.
The window was painted black on the inside except for a small spot scraped in the paint that allowed a beam of sunlight to shine through. The open door let enough light in to see things a little better. She walked to the stack of boxes against the back wall.
Reaching up well above her head, she took a shoe box sitting at the top of one stack. As she tipped it down, a thin layer of dust slid from the top of the box and hit her in the face. Swara blinked her eyes and drew a breath through her nose. That was a mistake; she ended up with a nose full of dust. Holding the box with one hand, she rubbed her nose furiously with her free hand. Her eyes fluttered, her mouth dropping open.

“AAASSSHHHOOOOOO!” she sneezed, the explosion of sound echoed through the garage.
“Bless you.”
Swara turned expecting to see her mother standing at the door. But there was no one else in the garage. She dropped the shoe box, its contents scattering across the floor.
“W-who’s there?” Swara said.
There was no reply. After a moment, Swara relaxed and giggled. She heard a soft laugh in return. At first she thought it was the echo of her own laugh, but it didn’t sound right. The voice was deeper than her own, and it was scratchy like a man’s. Swara took a step back, her smile faded and her eyes widened.
“Who is that?” Her voice sounded small in the garage. “Mom?”
Swara walked to the door and peered out into the bright summer morning. There was no one in sight. She frowned and looked back into the garage. That’s when she saw it.
At first she thought it was a wisp of dust stirred by her passing or by a breeze from the open door. But it moved oddly – not like any wisp of dust she ever saw. It moved from the back of the garage towards the door and spun like a little dust devil. As it passed through the beam of sunlight coming from the window, it seemed to have different colours. The sun illuminated a light brown almost solid shape that dissolved back to dust when the light no longer touched it.
Swara stumbled back out the door as the animated whirl-wind moved closer. When it reached the door and the sunlight fell on it, it solidified and changed colour. Swara suddenly found herself looking into the face of a man. He was dark skinned and seemed old from the wrinkles that creased his face. He had long black hair tied into a pony tail on one side of his head. He wore brown trousers and shirt, a necklace of teeth, and a great crown of feathers circled his head and fell down his back. He looked like the pictures of Indians she had seen in her school text books.
He smiled down at her.

“I am Chief Rajat Sharma,” he said.
Swara screamed and fell backward onto the grass outside the garage door. In a moment, the chief dissolved and the dust that made up his image floated down to cover the ground in front of the door.