The Green Lampshade

The summer I turned fourteen, my father’s railway transfer allowed us a stopover in the town of Jalore, a dry, dusty place where the heat shimmered off the roads and the air smelled of burnt earth. We were on our way to the hill station of Mount Abu, and the plan was to rest at the railway’s inspection bungalow before the final leg of the journey. My father, a senior signal inspector, had the authority to use such quarters, and the building stood alone behind the station, a relic from the British era with peeling white paint and a verandah that sagged in the middle.

At first glance, the bungalow was charming in a decrepit way. A row of rooms faced a courtyard overgrown with thorny bushes, and a single neem tree cast a thin shade. We were given a suite of two rooms at the eastern end, separated by a small common bath. The outer room served as a dining space, with a heavy wooden table and four mismatched chairs. The inner room held two iron beds with thin mattresses and a dressing table with a spotted mirror. My mother, always practical, began to unpack while my father brought in the luggage.

As soon as I stepped into the bedroom, a wave of cold air hit me, despite the fact that the room had been closed for hours. The air was stale and thick, and I felt a pressure behind my eyes, as if I had entered a place that was not meant for visitors. I turned to my mother, but she was humming to herself, not noticing anything. I said nothing, but a knot tightened in my stomach.

We ate a quick dinner of rotis and dal that my mother had prepared, and then it was time to sleep. My father took the bed by the window, my mother the one near the door, and I was to sleep on a charpai they had set up in the corner. I lay awake for a long time, listening to the creak of the old building and the distant sound of trains. Just as I was drifting off, I saw a faint green glow from the dressing table. It was the lampshade, an old glass fixture that covered the bulb. The bulb was off, but the shade was emitting a low, sickly light, like a dying firefly.

I blinked, and the glow vanished. I convinced myself it was a trick of the dark, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me. I turned to see if my parents were asleep, and that’s when I saw it. In the corner of the room, by the wardrobe, stood the figure of a young girl in a white frock. She was semi-transparent, and her face was partially obscured by her hair, but I could see that her eyes were dark, empty pits. She was not looking at me, but at the dressing table, as if waiting for something.

I wanted to scream, but my voice was paralyzed. The girl slowly raised her arm and pointed at the dressing table, then at me. She seemed to be mouthing words, but no sound came out. I forced myself to look away, and when I looked back, she was gone. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst. I pulled the blanket over my head and stayed that way until morning.

The next day, I tried to tell my parents, but they laughed it off. My father said, ‘Old buildings have drafts and creaks. Your imagination is too vivid.’ My mother said, ‘You watched too many horror films before bed.’ They dismissed me, but I saw that my mother’s hands trembled slightly as she packed our bags.

As we were leaving, I noticed a small, dusty photograph on the wall of the office where my father signed the register. It showed a group of railway officers from the 1950s, and in the corner of the photo, there was a little girl with a ribbon in her hair. When I asked the caretaker about it, he lowered his voice and said, ‘That is the daughter of the station master from those days. She died in this very bungalow. They say she never left. She waits for a friend to play with, a friend who can see her.’

I shuddered, and as we drove away, I looked back at the bungalow. In the window of the room we had stayed in, I saw a small, pale face pressed against the glass, watching us disappear. I never told my parents, and I never returned. But sometimes, in my dreams, I see that green glow, and I hear a child’s voice calling my name from the darkness.