The Call of the Black Shroud | True Horror Story
True Horror Story Summary: This horror story, set in a village in Samsun, tells the nightmare of a man who goes to the village after his grandfather’s death. Black shrouds and strange events blur the line between reality and dream.
My home was in the İlkadım district of Samsun. We lived close to my parents. I woke up around 4 AM to the sound of my phone ringing; it was my father. Saying “I hope it’s good news,” I answered the phone. My father told me that my grandfather had passed away and he was preparing to go to his house. I was shocked. “Wait for me, I’m coming too,” I said and hung up. I woke up my wife, Burcu, told her my grandfather had died, and that we needed to go to the village. Burcu quickly got up, packed a small suitcase, and we set off. Halfway there, I called my father and asked, “Where are you?” My father replied, “We’ve already left, you come directly to the village.” His voice sounded a bit strange. I brushed it off, thinking it was because he had lost his father.
We arrived in the village towards dawn. The village seemed deserted. My grandfather’s house was at the very top of the hill. I walked up the slope to his house. Only my father was at the door. He was standing in front of the house, staring blankly around. “Why is no one here, Dad?” I asked. My father just said, “I don’t know.” Something was off with Burcu too; she hadn’t spoken the whole way, and her occasional smirk was driving me crazy. When I asked, “Where is Grandpa, Dad?” he replied, “Inside.” I went inside to see him. My grandfather was lying on the floor, wrapped in a black shroud. I went back outside and asked my father, “Why did you wrap Grandpa in a black shroud?” My father said it had to be done that way. “Must be a village custom,” I thought. I asked my father, “When will we bury Grandpa?” He said, “We’ll wait for the night.”
Finally, unable to bear this absurdity any longer, I complained, “Are you people crazy? Black shrouds, burying at night, doing things without faith or community!” and left the house, heading down to the village square. I smoked a cigarette, looking at the houses. A lot of time passed as I admired the view, but strangely, I hadn’t seen a single person in the village. The sky filled with dark clouds, the surroundings began to darken, and a light fog rolled in. I started walking back up the steep slope towards the house. For a moment, my eyes caught my father and Burcu standing at the end of the path. Both were wrapped in black shrouds. They were holding pickaxes and shovels, waiting at the end of the path. “Good God! Are they insane? The man must have lost his mind after his father’s death. Let’s say my dad went crazy, but why is Burcu going along with him?” I thought.
Then suddenly, my phone rang. It was my father. I felt fear down to my bones. I looked up at my father and Burcu at the head of the path. They were still there. With trembling hands, I answered the phone and said, “Hello.” It was my father’s voice on the phone: “Son, your grandfather came to visit us. Burcu is here too. You come over after work,” he said. It was as if my tongue was tied; I just stood there, unable to say anything. After my father said “Hello son, are you there?” a few times, he hung up. My phone fell from my hand. I looked up again at the figures I thought were Burcu and my father. Simultaneously, they raised their index fingers and said something in deep, terrifying voices, just like in horror movies. In panic, I ran into the hazelnut grove across the path. I was running, but it was no use; no matter how far I thought I got, they would suddenly appear in front of me. When they appeared, I changed direction and ran the other way. Then suddenly, my foot stumbled, and I started rolling down the hill. The terrain was so steep I couldn’t stop, only slowed down by hitting hazelnut trees. Where the slope ended, I fell into a stream and stopped. I had hit my head hard. I could barely open my eyes. Through my slightly opened eyes, the last thing I saw was those two figures standing on the opposite bank of the stream, staring at me with terrifying gazes.
I was inside my service van. I usually had two hours of free time before picking up the factory workers, and I would sleep in the van. I was so relieved that it was all a dream… until I sat up from the seat I was lying on. I was in pain as I straightened up. My clothes were wet, and I was covered in mud. I couldn’t understand what had happened to me and started crying in fear. I looked for my phone but couldn’t find it. I asked a passerby if I could use their phone. Amidst the man’s astonished looks, I called my father and asked him to come and get me. When my father arrived, I was still crying. He took me to the hospital for the cuts and bruises on my body, and I was examined. My head needed stitches, and I was sent home with medication. When I told my father what happened, he didn’t believe me at first; he thought I had been mugged. But when he saw me insistently repeating the same things, he either believed me or wanted me to think he did. To prove it to him, I told him I had dropped my phone near the large rock below my grandfather’s house. “Call your uncle to check,” I said. My father’s uncle lived near my grandfather’s house. My father called him, “Uncle, sorry to bother you, but could you do me a favor? Can you check near the rock below my father’s house? Is there a phone around there?” After talking for a bit, he hung up. About 15 minutes later, my father’s phone rang. It was his uncle. My father’s face fell, turning white as a sheet. My phone was right there on the ground, exactly where I described it. We couldn’t make sense of any of this. We found a knowledgeable hoca (religious scholar/exorcist) and had some procedures done. I never experienced anything like it again after that day.
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