Young Writers Make Their Mark.

Port Shepstone Islamic School.

Creativity in Motion…

Zaheer Karodia’s story unfolds in the haunting quiet that follows the death of a beloved brother. Adam, unable to accept Sam’s sudden passing, moves through a home thick with grief—every object a reminder, every silence a weight. But on the third night, the boundary between memory and reality fractures. Sam appears at the foot of Adam’s bed, dripping river water and uttering a single, chilling instruction: “Under the workbench.”

What follows is a gripping descent into family secrets, guilt, and the supernatural. Adam’s search leads him to a hidden box beneath the basement concrete, revealing photographs, a confession, and the terrible truth behind Sam’s death. As the story intensifies, Sam’s ghostly presence shifts from fear to protection, guiding Adam through danger as their father’s dark actions close in. The climax at the old bridge—where rain, memory, and fate collide—delivers a powerful emotional blow, showing how love can persist even beyond death.

Zaheer’s writing is atmospheric, mature, and deeply evocative, capturing both the terror and tenderness of a brother’s final act of love.

• Abdullah Sujee

Apparition of the Deceased

By Zaheer Karodia. Grade 9. 2026

The rain hadn’t stopped the whole week they put my brother in the ground. Mud stuck to everyone’s shoes like it wanted us to stay there by him. Mom kept saying it was an accident, with her voice sounding almost empty. It appears she was trying to force the words to become true by repeating them enough times. I wanted to believe her. I desperately wanted to believe that Sam was simply unlucky; that there was no one to blame and no terrible truth waiting to be discovered, but every time I looked at Mom, the pain in her eyes remained visible. She had lost her beloved son, and I had lost my brother.

My name is Adam and Sam was my older brother. He was my best friend too, even though I didn’t really tell him that.

After the funeral, I couldn’t fall asleep. The house felt unfamiliar in a way I couldn’t quite explain. It was too quiet as if holding its breath and waiting for something to eventuate. Everywhere I looked, every object reminded me of Sam. His shoes were still by the front door and his jacket still hung where he had last left it. I kept expecting him to walk through the front door, to complain about the weather and ask what was for dinner tonight. Reality would simply remind me that he was never coming home.

On the third night, the floorboards outside my room creaked and my whole body stiffened. The hallway light was off even though Mom had recently started leaving it on nightly. My heart started hammering so hard that I could feel it in my throat. The door slowly drifted open. To my horror, at the end of the bed stood none other than Sam. Water dripped from his jeans onto the carpet. A cold wave rolled through me from my chest down to my legs. I found myself unable to move; unable to even draw a full breath.

Sam didn’t look at me. He simply stared past my head and said, “Under the workbench.” Then, he disappeared without a trace. What remained behind was his wet footprints and the uncanny scent of the river.

I sat there trembling, staring into the vast darkness and anticipating his return, even though deep down, I was afraid he would. A part of me longed for him to stay. He still was my brother after all. I had just buried him and somehow, he had come back to me. Even if he was merely a spirit, I would have given anything to hear him say my name just once again. I remained conflicted as to whether I was more frightened by his eerie presence or by the thought of losing him all over again.

I convinced myself it was just grief. I had read off the internet that people often experienced a series of hallucinations when dealing with the loss of a loved one. I remained firm on the belief that my mind simply couldn’t accept Sam’s untimely death yet he returned every night without fail. Every time, he stood in the same place, dripping wet and his pale eyes staring somewhere beyond me. He repeated the same words: “Under the workbench, Adam.”

By the fourth night, I was more terrified of what he wanted me to uncover than I was of him. The wet footprints would vanish by morning but the dread and fear stayed with me throughout the hours of daylight.

On the fifth night, I mustered up the courage and followed him even though every part of my body screamed not to. He walked through the kitchen and made his way down the basement stairs with his footsteps barely audible. My legs felt weak under me the whole way. When we finally reached, he pointed towards the concrete beneath Dad’s workbench and urged me to uncover Dad’s horrible doings. Suddenly, my legs gave way, and I collapsed onto the cold floor. Sooner or later, I regained my composure, but my chest remained tight with fear. Initially, the concrete seemed completely normal. For a moment, I considered walking away. Almost.

Instead, I fetched the crowbar located in the garage. My hands were still shaking when the first piece of concrete broke off too easily. Underneath it lay a metal box with no lock. Inside were blurry shots of a dark road, a car half-submerged in a ditch and the remains of an old bridge railing. In another photograph, Dad’s truck was parked nearby.

Under the pictures was a note of Dad’s handwriting which read:
“I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. The kid had swerved. I wanted to warn him to stay far away from our family. The bridge was wet, and the railing was old. Then, suddenly, no railing remained.”

The date on the note was three days before Sam had unfortunately died. I remained motionless on the floor. I sat there until my legs went numb. Everything clicked into place in the worst possible manner. Dad had caused another boy’s death and Sam must have found out. A sick feeling slowly spread through my stomach and remained there.

Sam’s voice cut through the silence. I heard his voice come from the stairs behind me. I immediately turned around and found him standing there, pale and dripping wet. He told me he had somehow found the box but when he questioned Dad regarding it, Dad threatened him into silence because he knew the truth would destroy their family. Sam had refused. My skin crawled and I somehow couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze for long enough. I was terrified of him but beneath the fear lied something else. It was grief. God, I missed him so much.

I wanted to ask him a thousand questions. I wanted to apologise for every stupid argument we ever had. I wanted one more ordinary day with him, one more conversation, just one more chance to express the brotherly love I had never been able to put into words.

Suddenly the front door upstairs opened, abruptly disrupting the emotional atmosphere. Dad had come home. I covered the hole as best as I could and rushed upstairs with dirt still beneath my fingernails. We enjoyed dinner in front of the television while Dad talked about work and the weather as if nothing in the world was wrong. He behaved as if Sam never existed, as if his room upstairs wasn’t waiting for someone who would never return home. I couldn’t shake off the feeling of disgust I felt for my dad.

When Dad finally retreated to his room, I quietly made my way outside to the driveway. The truck was unlocked and inside was a glove box. It resisted for a moment before opening. There was a map with a red circle around a town located two hours north. There was also a printed news article regarding a teenager who had recently survived a near-miss on the same road. The name appeared highlighted. Strange enough, it was the same last name as the boy from the photographs.

Next to it was a small black box containing a needle and an unlabelled bottle. My mouth went dry. I had sensed a presence behind me. I steadily closed the glove box and turned around. To my horror, I found Dad standing at the porch with his arms crossed. He approached me slowly.

“You shouldn’t have gone looking,” he said. His voice was alarmingly calm, almost tired.
“Sam had found out about the first boy. He simply wouldn’t let go. I only took him to the bridge to frighten him into silence. Then, the railing broke. I tried to grab him but… I was too late.”

He looked at me directly. “Now, you’ve found enough to become a problem too.”

I stared at my father, the man I had trusted my entire life and suddenly, I was petrified of him. In the dark window behind him, I caught a sight of Sam’s face for a split second. His eyes were pale, observing me. In that moment, I assured Dad he was right and then sprinted away. I ran down the road with my bare feet slapping against the wet pavement. Behind me, the sound of the truck starting echoed throughout the atmosphere and the bright headlights cut through the darkness. I crashed into the trees as branches tore at my arm. The river roared somewhere to my right, swollen and violent from the rain. My lungs burned, like flames raging inside my chest but I remained valiant and kept on running. Deep down, I wanted my brother back.

Sam was waiting for me at the edge of the old bridge. Seeing him made my stomach turn but this time, I wasn’t sure if I was afraid of him anymore. Under the moonlight, he looked almost real.

For one terrible moment, I wanted to run into his arms. I wanted to hear him laugh and to argue with him over the stupidest matters. I wanted to return to the days when I thought I had all the time in the world with him. Reality struck hard and I realised I couldn’t.

He told me I couldn’t go back. Dad would say I had lost my mind from grief. Mom would merely side with him, and so would everyone else. Then, he brought forward the worst part. My name had already been written down on the list. The moment I located the box; I had become a problem that needed to be dealt with.

The truck lights flickered between the trees and my name lingered throughout the forest. Dad had caught up and panic instantly surged through me.

The truth had become an unbearable burden which I couldn’t carry nor give back. Living with it meant becoming a part of it or becoming the next victim. I thought of Mom, and I thought of Sam. I suddenly realised that all those nights I had been afraid of my brother; afraid of the person I thought had returned to haunt me, never realising he had returned to ensure my safety. Sam tried to save me; just as I had wished I could have saved him, but we were both too late.

A sudden crack in the ground snapped me back to reality. The old bridge was beginning to crumble due to the relentless and unforgiving rain. My foot slipped. I tried to grasp for anything which could steady me. I reached desperately for the railing, but the weakened metal splintered beneath my hand.

The railing had weakened from years of rain and neglect. For one horrifying moment, I was falling, just like Sam. The river took me in fast and final. As I fell to my doom, I finally understood what Sam must have felt during his final moments.

Fear. Then complete silence.

As the water closed over me, I saw Sam’s face staring at me from above, his pale face looking down upon me. For the first time, I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Sometimes, the final act of love is returning from the dead; not to haunt someone but rather to save the person you never stopped watching over.

The End

Zaheer Karodia. Grade 9. 2026