The Sin That Followed Me Home

A Prank in the Dark, A Nightmare for Life

“I once committed a terrible sin.”

Sujit took a sip of his hot tea, his thick glasses fogging up slightly from the steam.

We all exchanged curious glances. Sobhan Sahab, our ever-enthusiastic cashier, even shifted in his seat, clearing his throat in anticipation.

It was the first Thursday of the month, our regular gathering at Sobhan Sahab’s house. Five of us—me, Sobhan Sahab, Rashid, Suman, and the newest addition, Sujit—were huddled together, sipping tea and sharing stories. The cozy living room was alive with laughter and conversations, the aroma of shrimp curry still lingering in the air from dinner.

Rashid, our eternal bachelor, leaned forward with a smirk. “A sin, huh? What did you do? Steal candy from a child?”

Suman chuckled, shaking his head. “Or maybe you cheated on an exam?”

But Sujit didn’t laugh. He swirled the tea in his cup, his face darkening.

“I played a prank,” he said finally. “A stupid, childish prank. And it cost me more than I ever imagined.”

The room fell silent. Even the usual clinking of spoons against cups ceased.

Sujit adjusted his glasses and began his story.

---

The Prank That Wasn’t Just a Prank

It was my final year at university. I lived in a cheap, dingy flat in Kakoli with two roommates—Shaon, my best friend, and Nurul, a quiet guy from a small town who had just moved in.

Nurul was naive, almost comically so. He was afraid of the dark, believed in ghosts, and had an annoying habit of whispering prayers whenever he heard strange noises at night.

One night, Shaon and I were out for tea at a roadside stall when I had a brilliant idea.

“Let’s scare Nurul,” I said.

Shaon’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “You mean… really scare him?”

I grinned. “Like, make him believe he’s seeing something unnatural.”

It was the kind of childish fun that seemed harmless at the time. We didn’t think twice.

Our apartment was old, and there was a half-roof on the second floor—technically part of the landlord’s house. Nurul’s window overlooked this rooftop, and at night, it was pitch dark.

That night, around 2 AM, we climbed onto the rooftop and positioned ourselves outside his window. The silence of the late night was thick, heavy. The moon was half-full, casting eerie shadows.

Shaon knocked lightly on the windowpane. Tap. Tap.

A pause.

We heard rustling inside. Then a hesitant voice.

“Who’s there?”

Shaon grinned and knocked again. Tap. Tap.

Nurul’s breathing became audible. His voice shook.

“Sujit bhai? Shaon bhai?”

We didn’t answer.

Instead, Shaon turned on his flashlight and shone it directly on his own face, from below his chin, casting monstrous shadows. His eyes bulged, his mouth stretched into a grotesque grin.

Then, just as we planned, he flicked the light off.

Silence.

Then—

THUD.

The sound of something heavy hitting the floor inside.

We peeked through the window.

Nurul lay sprawled on the ground, his eyes rolled back, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then we burst into laughter.

“He fainted? Seriously?” I gasped, holding my stomach.

We ran back to our room, still laughing, assuming Nurul would wake up eventually.

The next morning, he was pale, silent. He barely ate.

And then… the nightmare began.

---

The Thing That Watched from the Roof

That night, around the same time, I heard knocking at our door. Dhup-dhup.

I opened it to find Nurul, trembling.

“They’re calling me,” he whispered.

I frowned. “Who?”

“Them.”

My skin prickled. “What are you talking about?”

His face was deathly pale. “The ones on the roof. They’ve been watching me.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “Nurul, listen—”

“I heard them whispering,” he cut me off. “They know my name. They’re waiting.”

I exchanged glances with Shaon. It was time to tell him the truth.

“Nurul, we pranked you,” I admitted. “It was us on the roof. We were just messing with you.”

But Nurul didn’t react.

His lips parted, as if wanting to say something. Then he turned and walked back to his room without a word.

That should’ve been the end of it.

It wasn’t.

---

A Shadow in the Corner

Two nights later, I woke up feeling… wrong.

The air in the room was dense, suffocating. I turned on my side—and froze.

In the corner, near the closet, stood a figure.

Tall. Slender.

Motionless.

I tried to breathe, but my chest was heavy, as if something was sitting on it.

The figure took a step forward.

I gasped. The darkness around it shifted like liquid.

My mouth opened to scream, but no sound came out.

Then—

Knock. Knock.

The door.

The shadow vanished.

I lunged out of bed, yanked the door open, and found Nurul, shaking like a leaf.

“They were in my room,” he whispered.

My blood ran cold.

From that night on, we weren’t alone in that apartment.

The knocks continued, always at 2 AM.

The whispers, the flickering lights, the shadow in the corner that never fully disappeared.

One night, Nurul packed his bags and left without a word.

Shaon and I moved out soon after.

But even now, sometimes, in the dead of night—

I hear the knock.

And I wonder…

Did we invite something in that night?

Or had it always been waiting?

---

Sujit’s tea had gone cold.

We sat in stunned silence.

Then, slowly, Sobhan Sahab exhaled. “Well… that’s a hell of a story.”

Rashid chuckled nervously. “Good one, Sujit.”

Suman forced a laugh. “Yeah, nice horror fiction.”

Sujit didn’t smile.

He set his cup down, stood up, and buttoned his coat.

Before walking out the door, he turned back to us.

“I wish it was just a story,” he said. “I really do.”

Then he left.

And for some reason, none of us stayed much longer that night.