We, at the Daily Bitsian, received this mysterious mail from an untraceable, anonymous email ID. We do not quite follow, it’s all very surreal. Do you make any sense of all this? The contents are attached below.
I was told to write about If our Campus is Haunted. Some silly induction procedure for The Daily Bitsian.
But the point is, there is no if. Our campus is truly haunted. A few will pass it off as a joke and many will deny what I have written here. Many more will just feign ignorance. But the Ghostcopter is definitely real. How do I know this you ask? I was there.
It all started on an overcast cloudy day not so long ago on our very own campus. Three excited first years had just finished building their very own Quadcopter. Atmos times were amazing. They assembled early in the morning at the football ground. Maybe it was this act of waking up before noon that displeased the college deities, no one knows for sure what the reason for the ensuing calamity was.
Blissfully unaware of the powers they had stirred, the students watched in amazement as their machination soared into the sky. That was when it all began. The copter started to buck and thrash about, rising steadily all the while. Suddenly, the drone stabilized and the winds stopped blowing. The whirring of 4 tiny propellers was the only sound audible. It slowly turned toward the jungles behind Krishna Bhawan and started flying away. The people who were handling the controls stood frozen in shock. By the time they started to give chase, it had already disappeared into the dense foliage.
Undaunted, for it was worth quite a sum, the three boys ventured into the forest brashly. Only I managed to return alive. I was never able to find their bodies. Their disappearance was covered up by the college, but I know that they don’t believe my story. However, to this day, residents of Ram and Krishna Bhawans whose rooms face that ominous jungle can hear whirring noises in the middle of moonless nights. The whirring of those ghostly blades.
You may choose not to heed this warning of mine, but know that the Ghostcopter lies ever in wait for the poor soul unfortunate enough to trespass into its territory. When the forest is disturbed, and it will be for it is the site of the proposed amphitheatre, the curse will awaken and the trees will once again be watered with blood.
Oh hi again!
We keep receiving these mails! We have no idea what to make of it. This one was sent by a different anonymous ID. Sigh, do let us know if you know what all of this means.
I almost tripped as I rushed down the stairs of the Bhawan, my lungs filling with the cool evening air. It was already dark but I was growing restless after spending the entire day in the dull hollows of my room studying and I desperately needed a quick jog to refresh my mind and body. I took my usual road along the perimeter of the campus walls which are relatively less crowded. Usually, I run in the morning but a long night of T1 preparation left me so groggy that I had to do without it.
I’d never taken this road after sunset. As I let myself relax, treading lightly in the serenity, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was always this quiet and dark in this area during this time. Nevertheless, I decided I could use some serenity to clear my mind. I crossed the hostels and went further, around the academic block, the lights from the hostels growing faint and distant. Above me the sky was a sight to behold. It was a moonless night and the million twinkling stars seemed to be celebrating a glorious victory of which we were oblivious. To my right, beyond the walls that closed the campus off from the world, the sprawling jungle was probably effervescent with stories untold.
From a distance, a faint buzz was audible. I vaguely remembered receiving an email regarding the construction around this area. The buzzing got louder and a second later I heard her scream, and the buzz faded away. She seemed to be right behind me although I was sure I didn’t see or hear anyone around.
I retraced my steps and there she was, sprawled on the tar road in a quickly growing pool of blood, her face contracted with pain as she wept in short, shallow breaths. Horrified, I rushed to her. She was badly injured and losing a lot blood. There was no one around to help us. I pulled out my phone and tried to call a friend but there seemed to be no network. Helpless, I helped her to the ruined structure at the edge of the road, her blood staining my clothes, and promising to bring help, I dashed back in the direction of the workshop where I would certainly find someone who could save her. In the meantime, I also managed to ring up my friend just in case.
Gathering a security guard and two of my friends, we rushed back to where I left her. She was gone! We looked around but she was nowhere to be found.
“Are you sure this is where you left her?”
“Yes, this is the place.” I insisted.
“You said she’s losing a lot of blood.”
“Yes, she is. Can’t you see-” I pointed to where I had found her but there was nothing there. I looked down at my own clothes. They were spotlessly clean.
“But, but that’s impossible!”
Everyone looked at me confused. A chill ran down my spine. Horrified I turned around and ran as fast as I could. In my mind, I could still see her clearly, writhing with pain, her eyes pleading for help, desperate. My friends kept looking at me weird when we met later but no one asked me about it again and in a day or two it was forgotten. But I couldn’t get the incident out of my head.
And sometimes there’s this weird whirring and buzzing sound that I keep associating that day with. I don’t know what it means though.
You see? It’s all very fishy. I surely have to repor…
Editor found dead in her room.
By Nikita Mandapati and Akhil Chellapilla