The Last Right Turn

It was the summer of 1987, and Ravi, Arjun, Suresh, and Vikram had decided to escape the oppressive heat of the city with a trip to the coast. The beach at Dumas was their usual haunt, a stretch of sand that seemed to go on forever, with waves that crashed with a soothing rhythm. They arrived at five in the evening, when the sun was still high but the sea breeze offered some relief. They swam until the sky turned orange, then made their way to a small hotel nearby for dinner.

The hotel, called the Sea Breeze, was a modest place, but their food was good and the beer was cold. They laughed and talked about old times, and the drinking went on longer than they had planned. By the time they stumbled out of the hotel, it was nearly midnight. The road home was about an hour’s drive, but they knew a shortcut that avoided the main highway and, more importantly, the police checkpoints that were common on weekend nights.

Ravi, who had been the most careful about his drinking, took the wheel. The others were in high spirits, singing along to the radio, but as they left the coastal road and turned inland, the atmosphere changed. The streetlights became sparse, and soon they were enveloped by the darkness of the rural landscape. The road narrowed, and on either side, dense fields of sugarcane loomed, whispering secrets in the wind.

After about forty minutes, they approached a junction. The map in Ravi’s mind told him to take the right turn, which would lead them through the old town and then to the highway. But as he slowed down, the headlights illuminated a small chapel on the right, its white walls gleaming in the night. Just behind it, a cemetery stretched, its tombstones like crooked teeth in the dim light. On the left, a grove of old banyan trees twisted into gnarled shapes, their roots crawling across the ground.

The men fell silent. Suresh, from the backseat, said, ‘I’ve never noticed this church before.’ ‘Me neither,’ Arjun added, peering through the window. Ravi shrugged, ‘It’s probably been here for years. Let’s go.’ He turned the steering wheel to the right, but as he did, the car’s headlights flickered, and the engine coughed. Then it died.

The silence that followed was deafening. They were stranded in the middle of nowhere, the church and cemetery looming ahead. Vikram, who had been silent, finally spoke, ‘Why did we have to take this route?’ Ravi grumbled, ‘Because it’s the shortcut. We’ll have to push the car.’

They got out, and the night air was chill despite the summer heat. The stars above were bright, but they did little to illuminate the surroundings. They started pushing the car, but it wouldn’t budge. ‘It’s like the brakes are locked,’ Suresh said, panting. Ravi checked the wheel, but they were free. ‘Maybe we can get help from the church,’ Arjun suggested, pointing to the faint light that seemed to glow from within the chapel’s windows.

They approached the church, and the door creaked open on its own. Inside, the pews were dusty, and a single candle flickered on the altar. The air was thick with the smell of incense and something else, something earthy and sweet. They called out, ‘Hello?’ No answer. But then they heard a sound, a low hum, like a lullaby sung by a distant voice.

They followed the sound to a door at the side of the altar, which led to a narrow staircase descending into the crypt. The hum grew louder. Against their better judgment, they descended. The steps were worn, and the stone walls were damp. At the bottom, a small chamber opened up, and there, in the center, was an old stone coffin. The humming was coming from inside.

Suddenly, the humming stopped, and a voice whispered, ‘You should not have come.’ They froze. Then the lid of the coffin slid back with a grinding sound, and a figure rose. It was not a human figure, but something made of shadows, with hollow eyes that seemed to drink the light. ‘I have been waiting,’ it said, ‘for new souls to join me.’

The men tried to run, but their feet were rooted to the floor. The shadow figure grew, towering above them, and its voice echoed in their minds, ‘You have taken the last right turn. There is no way back.’

They woke the next morning on the beach, the sun rising over the sea. They were lying in the sand, cold and disoriented. Ravi, still holding the car keys, looked at the others. They were all there, but their eyes were vacant. They didn’t speak. They got into the car, which was parked a few feet away, and drove home in silence. From that day on, they were different. They never spoke of that night, and they avoided that junction at all costs.

Years later, my father, Vikram, would tell me fragments of that story, always ending with a warning: ‘Never take the last right turn after midnight. Some places are not meant for the living.’ And I believed him, because I saw the fear in his eyes, and I knew that some roads lead to places where even shadows are afraid to tread.