**It was mid-December. Christmas was on its way and a lot of gaiety filled up the chilly air. Everyone in my family were in a cheerful mood, except for me, the unhappiest one in the house. I had a severe cold and so was confined to my room. I had to spend those days indoors and gaze out of my window, wistfully, for hours, watching people enjoying themselves.**
**Since I had nothing much to do, I decided to clean my bookshelf. I hadn’t been in touch with my books for long, so dust had settled on them. While dusting the books, I found one of my old diaries, where I had penned down many of my thrilling experiences. While leafing through the dog-eared pages and scanning the hasty squiggles, I found myself immersed in a stream of memories. Suddenly, I remembered a spooky incident that had happened years ago, at the Armenian Church in Kolkata.**
**I still remember the day; it was a dim winter morning and the sun hadn’t really shown up. We had decided to visit the church at the historical Armenian Street of Kolkata. From ancient times, the Armenians had built up a strong trading relationship with India and since then, they were known as the “Merchant Princes of India”.**
**As we entered the spartan place, a sudden chill ran down my spine. I was all the more spooked when I heard from my dad that the church had also served as a burial ground for the Armenian community. It housed the oldest ever known grave of Rezabeebeh, the wife of an Armenian trader, the late Charitable Sookias, who died in Calcutta on July 11, 1630 A.D. There was a huge mahogany door at the church, embellished with gems, behind which stood the old and historic statue of the holy Christ.**
**I was suddenly anxious to leave behind my parents and run off to explore the graveyard all alone. I did not want anyone else to disturb the place’s tranquillity. So, I tip-toed to the back of the church and decided to run off to the graveyard. As I moved a step forward, I suddenly heard a rattling noise. Distracted by the noise, I looked down. Oh my God! I was standing on top of the centuries’ old grave of Rezabeebeh! I immediately moved back and looked around to see if anyone was stalking me. All around me, the grass and the vast gloomy sky unfurled in dusky shades of green and blue. A lone squirrel bounced along the beautiful filigree of the tree branches, clutching a nut, until it darted away and the direction of my gaze changed. Suddenly, I felt something on my shoulder. It seemed like the soft touch of a woman! Could that be of my mom – as she was the only woman who had accompanied me? Was it really a touch? I turned back and found no one around me. I then looked at my shoulder. Lo, it was a dry leaf that lay calmly! A leaf on my shoulder had scared me so much! What a fool I was! I laughed to myself.**
**For a moment everything was fine. But as the third church bell rang, I started having peculiar sensations again. I could hear the sound of soft footsteps. This made my blood turn into ice. I clenched my fists tightly, sweat beaded my forehead. I could vaguely see a fair damsel, garbed in the traditional Armenian attire of white embroidered silk and a red mirror-worked veil, with coins tinkling down her forehead! I knew that something eerie was going on. I managed to gather courage and turn back. Not a single soul appeared before my eyes! This time, I did not find it funny. I was in a dilemma. If I turned back, angry rebukes would be awaiting me, and if I stayed any longer in the graveyard, I would have to face more trouble! But I had no time to decide. My legs were automatically pulling me towards the church. And then finally, I spotted my parents! That was the end of perhaps the most frightful experience of my life.**
