The Pizza at the Door

At last, the rain began. For the past two days the clouds had done nothing but tease the city. Every afternoon the sky would darken, the wind would rise, and for a few hopeful moments it would seem as though a proper storm was finally about to arrive. Then, just as suddenly, the clouds would drift away, leaving behind only humidity and disappointment. But not today. Today the rain had finally decided to stay. Honestly, it was probably for the best. If I had spent the entire day trapped inside my office under artificial air-conditioning, I would never have been able to enjoy this atmosphere properly. Evening was approaching, though the thick blanket of clouds had already extinguished most of the daylight. The world outside my apartment window looked gray and distant, blurred behind sheets of rain. A rainy evening. A day off. An empty apartment. What more could a writer ask for? For the first time in weeks I felt optimistic. I absolutely had to come up with a story idea tonight. The deadline for the magazine article was getting dangerously close, and despite trying every possible trick, I hadn't managed to develop even the smallest plot. Not a single interesting thought had visited my head in days. So I made myself a large mug of coffee, opened my old notebook, and settled onto the couch. The problem, unfortunately, remained the same. What exactly was I supposed to write about? The atmosphere outside naturally pushed my imagination toward horror. Rain always does that to me. Besides, whenever I sit down to write, ghosts arrive much more easily than romance. Love stories have never shown much interest in visiting my brain. Ghosts, on the other hand, seem perfectly comfortable there. I've been fascinated by them since childhood. Ironically, I am also terrified of them. Even now, as a grown adult, I sometimes sleep with a light on if I'm alone. Otherwise my imagination starts working against me. I'll be lying in bed and suddenly become convinced that someone is standing beside me, silently watching. If my foot accidentally slips off the edge of the mattress, I'll immediately imagine a hand reaching out from underneath the bed, ready to grab my ankle. Ridiculous thoughts. Yet frightening all the same. Perhaps that's why I've always loved collecting ghost stories. Whenever relatives visit, whenever friends gather for tea, whenever family reunions become boring, I inevitably steer the conversation toward supernatural experiences. It doesn't matter whether the story happened to them personally or was told to them by someone else. I want to hear it. And surprisingly, almost everyone seems to have one. Some are obvious exaggerations. Some are probably misunderstandings. But occasionally there are stories that leave behind an uncomfortable feeling. Stories that refuse to be explained away. Maybe ghosts aren't real. But fear certainly is. That reminds me of my cousin, Biltu. If there is one person in my family who fears absolutely nothing, it's him. Not just ghosts. Anything. The man would probably challenge a tiger to a wrestling match if someone dared him. One rainy evening at my uncle's house, a group of us were sitting together chatting when I casually brought up the topic of ghosts. As expected, Biltu immediately rolled his eyes. "Ghosts?" he said. "Nonsense. I've spent nights in abandoned houses. I've slept in old cremation grounds on bets. I've walked through graveyards at midnight. Never seen a single ghost." I laughed. "Maybe they just didn't want to meet you. If one actually appeared in front of you, we'd see how brave you really are." The reaction was immediate. Biltu sat upright. "Oh, if that's your argument," he said, "then listen to this." Across the room another cousin, Piklu, suddenly looked up. The moment Biltu mentioned his name, I noticed an odd expression pass across his face. "You're talking about that road, aren't you?" Piklu asked quietly. Biltu nodded. "Exactly that road." For the first time all evening, the room became silent. Even the rain outside seemed to grow louder. And then Biltu began telling us about the road that nobody in the village dared to use after sunset...