Girl’s PG prank (Horror)

The Gurgaon-Mehrauli horror incident left Joy in a permanently altered state of mind. He simply couldn't process what had happened. At one point, he even sought therapy. Most of us assumed he was going through a recovery phase, but only he knew what was truly going on inside him. Life was never the same for him again. He became obsessed with uncovering the mysteries of life—both the stories that were told and the ones that remained unheard.

I met him last winter in Noida. It was a pleasant evening, gathering with old friends over drinks and cigarettes. Some in the group didn’t drink, but the conversations flowed effortlessly. That evening, we discovered Joy had spent some time in the wilderness. He shared tales of rural legends and obscure mysteries, but one story nearly froze my spine.

It was a story from Pune, about a girls' hostel in a renowned institute. The beginning of the academic year had brought many bright new faces. Some students managed to secure spots in the college hostel, while others had to find accommodations in private apartments—places commonly known as "messes." The term took on its true meaning in such settings, as I had come to learn firsthand.

Now, let me introduce you to Mae—a brilliant and enthusiastic young woman from Manipur, in Northeast India. She had shattered academic records, and her presence inspired admiration from the men on campus and envy from the women. Mae was the talk of the college complex.

Despite her intelligence and charm, Mae struggled with loneliness. She longed for companionship from people who shared her cultural background—a common feeling at the start of a new journey. Over time, new places become home, but the transition isn't always easy. She also found it difficult to adjust to hostel life, which was vastly different from the comforts of her home. This period can break a person or push them to excel. Mae was the latter—strong-willed and determined. She had never given up in life, not even when she had to face the silent battles within the girls' hostel. Some of her hostelmates resented her, especially those who had been dumped by their boyfriends, who were drawn to Mae. Yet, within a month, she had won over half the people in the hostel. The other half, however, conspired in the shadows.

Mae’s dormitory housed eight girls, with bunk beds arranged in sets of two. She had a habit of taking a shower late at night, long after the others had fallen asleep. Then, she would climb into her bed, switch on her reading light, retrieve her favourite book from under her pillow, and read for 30 to 45 minutes before drifting off to sleep.

Riya, the mastermind behind Mae’s silent adversaries, was obsessed with bringing her down as if she had been born for this one purpose. Frustrated by Mae’s resilience, she devised a sinister prank. She instructed her gang to steal a severed human hand from the institute’s laboratory specimen jar. Once they acquired it, Riya placed the cold, lifeless hand beneath Mae’s pillow, anticipating that she would scream hysterically upon discovering it. The other girls, pretending to be asleep, were ready to wake up and mock her. The plan was executed that very night.

At precisely 10:45 PM, with the lights out, Mae followed her usual routine. She took a shower, climbed into bed, and began towel-drying her hair. She was humming a song—her voice as melodious as a nightingale’s. The other girls lay motionless, feigning sleep, waiting for the inevitable shriek.

But it never came.

Silence filled the room. The anticipation grew unbearable, but no one dared to turn around and check. Minutes passed. Finally, unable to contain her curiosity, Riya turned to look at Mae.

And then, she screamed.

The others quickly switched on the lights and turned toward Mae. What they saw made the ground slip from beneath their feet. Mae was sitting in her bed, devouring the severed hand—the very one placed under her pillow in place of her book.

No one moved. No one spoke. Time seemed frozen.

Mae was later admitted to a psychiatric institution, where doctors declared that she would require indefinite treatment. The trauma of expecting her favourite book and instead finding something so horrifying had snapped something inside her mind, shattering her sanity beyond repair.

Riya and her gang were punished, but the damage had already been done—irreversible, intolerable.

And so, this story, too, was buried—by the authorities, by time.