No Moon Day - Short Story #10

Sometimes, the divine is more scarier than the evil.

I grew up in a rural village with a population of over 130 residents. Our village is agriculture centric with plenty of rice fields. Most of us are farmers who worked in the field all day long. Basically our village consisted of several thatched roof houses that had cow sheds on the courtyard. Dairy farming was also one of our livelihood. Goats and cows roamed in the fields all day. My father owned an acre of rice farm and we had around seven cows that produced litres of milk. Every morning at 4:30, my father would start milking the cows and be done with it by 6am. He would then set off on his moped with two big tin containers of milk to sell it in the town market which was roughly 20 Kms away from our village. This was repeated again in the evening. We had a few labourers to look after the work in the field as well.

The village school was where I spent most of my time. I aspired to become very successful in life and move to a city as was the dream of every kid in the village. But I knew that for ambitions to become real, one had to work hard. And today my efforts have paid off. I live in a cosmopolitan city and I work as a civil engineer in a construction company.

One important thing I have to mention about my village is the Devi temple. Legend has it that Devi, the Goddess, is the guardian of our village who manifested herself generations ago to protect the village from an evil spirit that brought misery to its residents. The story has been passed over from my ancestors. It goes like this, children of the village were dying under mysterious circumstances. First it was shoved away as an unfortunate event. But then more children began to die of fever and strangely the young cattle, calves and kids began to die too. No one knew what was the cause of this fever that would not abate to any local medicines. Then the wells started drying up and the crops began to wither. The village heads, on consulting the local astrologer, found out that an evil spirit had found refuge in the village and was causing the people to suffer anguish.

This went on for sometime and no amount of rituals and prayers by the villagers helped improve the situation. One day, a saint who was on a pilgrimage stopped by the village to rest. When the villagers came running to him and asked for solace, the saint who was moved by their request, invoked the aid of the Almighty and mediated. He recited various hyms and mantras for days. He ate no food nor drank a drop of water. It seems that he meditated from a full moon day to a no moon day, a fortnight. When he opened his eyes on the 14th day, the villagers anxiously waited for his response. He requested the villagers to search the nearby forest for the biggest boulder they could find and bring it back to the village. By afternoon, a few men transported a 5 foot boulder the size of two men combined. The saint asked it to be placed in the centre of a barren field. He advised the villagers that a guardian would come to save them all. He laid down a few conditions as well. Starting the same day, every no moon day after 8pm, when the sun has completely set, no one will dare step outside from their houses. Every resident regardless of age had to lock themselves inside their house, no travelling, no peeking from windows, nothing until the crack of dawn. The villagers readily agreed and asked for the saint's blessings. 

That same day, after sunset, the last thing the villagers saw was the saint meditating near the boulder that was set up on the field. He had marked it with yellow turmeric powder. All the villagers had tucked themselves in their houses before 8. Back in those days, there was no electricity and all the lamps had been doused. A blanket of darkness spread across the village. All of a sudden, from nowhere there was lightning and thunder, a huge storm picked up and howled over the village making a shrill noise. It went on for a while, then everything became dead silent. The cattle, or what was left of them became restless and made noises. Still no one dared to step outside. Then they heard it. Footsteps. Someone walking, it was that of a female as the footsteps were accompanied by jingles of small bells. As if someone was wearing anklets on their heels. Frightened yet amazed the villagers prayed for change. The next day, they were in for a huge surprise.

The saint was nowhere to be seen, a huge crack was found on the boulder. On further examination, the loose parts of the boulder cracked up to reveal a figurine. It was a female form. Convinced that it was the act of a supreme force, people were overjoyed. The lightning that had struck on the boulder was a deliberate act from God himself. A sculptor was called who carved a beautiful statue out of it and a sanctum sanctorum was built around it.  Thus, the shrine of Devi came into being.

It rained continuously for days, filling up all the wells. New crops grew and thankfully, the mysterious deaths ceased. Even today, on no moon day, the rule is followed. It has been passed over from the previous generations. It is the day, the Goddess herself appears and walks around the village warding off evil spirits. Anyone who refused to stay in and wandered off would only invite her wrath. 

One could ask why should we be afraid of a good force. Why fear God? But in various hindu scriptures, if you see, you will realize that a lot of Gods and Goddesses are ferocious in nature and they take an avatar of extreme fierceness to overpower evil which in nature is again vicious. The God is then calmed down and brought to a state of tranquility through various rituals and prayers performed by holy men.

I myself have heard footsteps accompanied with the sound of small bells. I would be dead scared, at the same time a sense of security would fall over me. But till date I am unable to figure out, whether this whole footstep sound is psychological. I basically grew up with the story. For all you know, it might be the sound of the bells tied on the necks of the cattle. But I never wanted to question it. I never wanted to be the idiot rebel and I respected the holy traditions of my village. Various rumours have been cooked up over the ages. That people who have disobeyed and stepped out have only met death on facing the Goddess. In fact, my grandfather, who passed away once told me about his friend who got drunk on one no moon day and purposely wandered off to check for himself if the whole story was true. The next day they found his body by the river bank. There were no eyes in the socket. No blood, no gore. Can you imagine, no eyes in the socket, just hollow space. I have no proof to validate the stories. They might have been fabricated to scare the youngsters of the village. 

Coming to the main part of the story, when I was fifteen, I had my cousin visit us from the city. Schools were closed for vacation and my cousin who was the same age as mine came to live the village life. Unlike his parents who were well mannered, he was a brat. He was spoilt to the core and the village was his playground as city life restrictions were invalid here. He would pull the tails of cows, make mud pies and throw them in the well, steal eggs from the coops, pelt stones at chickens and act like a good boy in front of his parents. He would make fun of my dressing style and show off in front of my friends. He always argued and sought importance in any game we played and would keep hitting the younger kids. Me, being shy, I was powerless and moreover as a child, you are taught to give importance to guests. But Sharan, my cousin was uncontrollable. I usually stood there watching how can a human be so restless. 

Sharan knew well of the village tradition. He would listen in amazement to the story of Devi and repeatedly keep asking questions of How and Why. He would visit the temple and ask the priest for his version of the story. He would scare little kids, pretending to be the Goddess himself and run after them. Then came the day. The day that changed everything. It was a No Moon day and my parents along with Sharan's had to go to the nearby city for a wedding. They weren't supposed to be back until the next day. I never had the slightest idea of what Sharan was planning to do. To me it was another normal day as I was so used to the tradition. I mean how difficult is it to stay indoors after eight for one night? But destiny had other plans. My parents left, casually asking me to secure the doors before eight. Since this was a regular practice, no one made a big deal out of it. But Sharan was hiding his excitement. I failed to recognize that. I was alone with Sharan and dinner was long over, we were preparing to go to bed.

That night, at around quarter to eight, I had locked all doors and I could see houses turning off their lights as I was about to shut windows. The curfew had been set. As I was about to switch off lights, Sharan stood there with a huge grin, his hands akimbo. The minute I turned off the lights, everything became dark. Then I heard Sharan say, "Do you know what I am going to do now?". With a sense of panic, I feared I was about to hear the worst. "I am going to investigate! I am Sherlock Holmes and you shall be Dr. Watson. Let's go and see if the story of Devi is true". I refused. I told him calmly that to disrespect the tradition is to disrespect the Goddess herself and asked him to be wise. Sharan scoffed at me and said that I was immature and silly. "Do you know why they made up this story? So that the elders can go out, gamble and get drunk without their wives knowing. Don't be so naive, you are such a simpleton". I could feel my heart thumping, I realised Sharan was not joking about going outside and I was convinced he would do it. I swallowed my pride and begged him not to go. That was when I realised, deep inside, I somehow believed the legend. I believed in the Goddess. I believed she actually walked around the village guarding it. However irrational it might sound, I believed in it.

It was dark and my eyes were adjusting to the environment around me. I could see Sharan standing near the door reaching for the locks. I heard him open the latch. I was paralysed with fear. My head went heavy and I could not move. I heard myself whispering in the quietness of the whole village, "Sharannnnn, Noooo". It was too late, I heard him giggle and he had already crossed the bamboo gate that lay in front of my house. I heard the gate swish and Sharan was gone.

Even today, I get goosebumps when I think of that moment, when I crumbled to the ground as I closed the door, my heart leaping off my chest, I could not comprehend what had just happened. Everything was fine, until Sharan made that decision. Why would he? It never occurred to me that he was this playful. I could have been extra careful if I had known. Numerous thoughts started to come to my head. I was scared something might happen to him, I was afraid that the tradition was broken. What would happen now? What would my parents say? what answer would I give to Sharan's parents. Not knowing the answers to these questions raised my fears and I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek. Then one more. Before I knew I was sobbing. Then I prayed. I prayed to Devi. I prayed for forgiveness. I prayed for mercy. If there was something called praying your heart out, this was it. Never had I wanted something so much in life. I prayed repeatedly for his safety and mercy chanting a mantra that was meant for the Goddess. 

When I woke up, I realised that there was daylight around me. It took me only seconds to hit reality. I immediately looked around, I had lay asleep on the floor near the door, covered in a blanket. On the cot was Sharan, fast asleep. The joy I felt inside could not be expressed. I woke him up immediately. He looked at me and first turned to the other side to sleep. But then woke up with a start. He started laughing. He called me a fool, followed by some names. He now stood up on the cot and started to jump wrapping the blanket around him. "You villagers are fools. Dumb nitwits. Devi it seems. I saw nothing yesterday. You and your fake Goddess. You have been living a lie. I can't believe you people still heed to such superstitions". I felt infuriated because he had insulted something I believed in. I kept quiet. I warned him that I would tell the parents about what he did. Suddenly Sharan started shaking all over. "Boo, yessss, I am sooo scareddd now.... Brrrr". He laughed like a donkey braying.

That same day, he was off roaming in the village. He teased me immensely. It got very irritating. "Someone is a scaredy cat, someone is a pussy cat". He would imitate in a female voice, "Boooo, I am Devi, worship me now, you stupid slaves". When my parents returned, I did not breathe a word about this. To be honest, I was scared of the consequences I had to deal with if they ever came to know. Sharan would mellow down and glance at me, I think he was a little afraid of the fact that I would complain. Maybe he felt that in the presence of his parents. 

The next day, the trio left. Sharan hit me hard on the back and laughed as if he had achieved something great. I was just happy he was leaving. They bid goodbye and left early in the morning by bus. Two days later, we received a bad news. It jolted my whole body. Sharan had encountered a bad accident. He was on his way to the market on his father's motorcycle. He got involved in a head on head collision with a lorry on the highway. The news was so terrible. I heard my father sobbing uncontrollably as he was relaying the news to us. The one sentence that he said, still lingers in my mind, "They had to scrape his body pieces off the highway".

Even today, no one apart from me knows what happened that night. I never told anyone, never had the guts to do so. I refuse to find a connection between the incident and his death, but again every cell in my body wants to believe in punishment. But why so harsh? Sometimes, I think what kind of a person would have Sharan grown up to become? I remember the words of my grandfather. "Nothing is hidden from her, she is the protector, she is the guardian, she knows your future, she knows your past, disrespecting her will only bring doom upon you". 

I don't know what to believe and what not to. I moved out from my village one year after the incident to join high school in the city. From there I moved to another city and I've been hopping ever since. I still visit my village, my parents live there. The tradition is still on. People still claim they hear footsteps on No Moon nights, slow footsteps with the sound of bells. She guards her village and somewhere deep inside, I believe that.

Who was she? - Short Story #9

Let me tell you about the weird story of my life. It might sound absolutely insane and even irrelevant. But I am a little frightened and I need to take it out somewhere. A couple of years ago, I had gone to Blackpool on a holiday for a weekend getaway with friends. Blackpool is a fun place to chill. There's a nice beach, plenty of places to get booze, fun fairs, extravagant shows and plays, all sorts of pubs and clubs etc. It's like a carnival out there and a lot of crowd is present during the festive season.

We arrived on a Friday night, spent the evening in a pub and got ourselves drunk. Woke up late on a Saturday, walked around the place, explored the beach, swam a little and got tanned, spent the evening visiting various shows and got drunk again in the evening. The last day being a Sunday, I woke up early and in spite of a slight hangover, I decided to take a quick stroll and make use of the British summer. We were put up in a cozy hostel and all my friends were sound asleep.

The crowd never seemed to cease and the streets were packed with tourists. There were various street performers entertaining the crowd. Jugglers, magicians, drummers, men in giant bunny costumes, clowns on unicycles and all other fantasy world characters you can think of. Various cafes were open for business with the aroma of fresh coffee and croissants filling the streets, gambling houses, gypsy fortunetellers, candy stores. But one store caught my attention. 'The shop of Illusion'. Obviously, it was a shop that sold magic stuff. I went in to have a look as such things always fired up my enthusiasm.

The shop wasn't too crowded. There was an old lady behind the counter who smiled as I walked in. I could see all sorts of DIY magic kits, prank toys, candies, scented candles, souvenirs of all types, costumes for kids and adults, some books on magic tricks, odd show piece objects, grotesque looking statues and some artworks in really nice antique frames. Now art always happened to interest me. So I took time looking and most of them were actual hand painted artwork rather than printed canvas. Then my eyes fell on it. The painting that changed my life. 

It was a medium sized art piece, an oil painting with skilful brush strokes of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Trust me when I say this. That painting was so mesmerising it actually gave me goose bumps as I stood there appreciating the masterpiece.  There she was, standing on the balcony in a side posture with two hands on the railing facing the sea, with a full moon in the background, her face looking at me as if I had just called her name. It seemed as if she turned to see who it was that called, distracting her from the beautiful scenery she was enjoying. She was wearing a white sleeveless nightgown, face illuminated by the moonlight, which was radiantly glowing, the sea far away reflecting the moon and the beach empty but well lit in a night sans darkness.

But it was the face that made me fall in love with the painting. If she were a real woman, which I assume she is because the artist would have used a model, I'd instantly fall in love with that person. In fact, I think the woman in the painting was far more beautiful than the real life model would have been. This painting deserved to be kept in a museum. I was surprised to find it in a small shop that sold cheap magic tricks. I scanned the whole painting to find the name of the artist, there was nothing. I lifted the whole painting and looked behind, nothing again. The women from behind the counter who was watching me all this while walked up to me and told me it cost £30. I was shocked. 

I had expected it to cost no less than a few hundred pounds. Maybe even thousands. Any art lover would have wanted this painting. I wasted no time, I asked her to get it packed for me. It was the deal of a lifetime and I was so happy that I had walked into this shop. The old woman packed the frame with the painting on a large sheet of paper and tied it with some thin strings. I paid her the money. She told me that I was lucky because this was an original artwork by her own grandfather. I was shocked again. I asked her why was she selling off family property. She replied to me very slowly, her grandfather had hid this in his mansion and it was recently discovered as the place was being torn down. She had decided to sell it. I bet she knew nothing about art. I smiled at her and quickly snatched the package that was the painting and made an exit saying a hasty ‘thank you’. I feared she would change her mind and ask for the painting back.

I was extremely pleased with myself on the way to the hostel. My friends asked me what it was that I had purchased, but I let no one touch my newfound treasure and refused to show them what it was. It kind of irked them but they had other interests to attend to. We left Blackpool later in the evening. Off we drove to Cardiff, where the wall in my bedroom waited to be adorned with this beautiful painting.

The next day, I hung it on the wall. It was mine now. I stood there staring at it. Looking at it intently, I realised that the face was now smiling. I hadn't noticed that before. There was something about the beautiful face, it was so life like. I went on with my usual activities for the day. The next morning, I woke up and my eyes fell on the painting first thing because I had placed it right across my bed. She was smiling. I was damn sure now. It was a smile; maybe it was because I was getting familiar with the face. That day, I remember being extremely happy. My mood was elevated and I was strangely content with all the things in my life. I got all-philosophical about life and its greatness. I smiled at people, they smiled back at me. Everything seemed so in place. Every morning I'd wake up and glance at the painting. I never got tired of it. Never. The more I looked at it, I felt rich on the inside. Everything at work was good; my personal life was at its best. What more could I want? 

And it changed one day. I woke up as usual, happened to glance at the painting and got up to head to the bathroom when it struck me. Something was unusual. I looked at the painting. The smile. It was gone. I rubbed my eyes and went to have a closer look. The smile on the face was actually gone. It was now how I remembered it from when I first bought the painting. Expressionless. Emotionless. I shrugged it off as something psychological. I went to work the same day. But could not get the smile off my mind. Was I imagining things? It started to actually make me restless. When I got back home, the first thing I did was to have a look at the painting. Nothing had changed. The smile was gone.

I didn't dare mention about this to anyone in the house fearing I'd be the laughing stock. I woke up the next day to see the same thing. I called in my mother and asked her to have a look at the painting. So she did. I asked her whether the woman was smiling? She gave me a look and turned her head towards the painting. She told me that no one could tell if she was smiling or whining, it seemed perfectly normal, as in a normal expression. That's the thing that bothered me a lot. To me, the woman had ceased to smile and today, she looked cold. She looked sad. Definitely not happy. The other thing that bothered me was my own restlessness. Why was I getting so worked out on a mere painting? That day everything turned upside down. The company I worked for announced major cutbacks and told us that they would be letting 20 to 25 employees off. It was just the beginning. 

Every single day I woke up, the woman in the painting looked even worse. There was severe sadness on her face. Needless to say, things at work were not well at all. I became grumpy. There were rumours that my job contract would be cancelled. It was like the world was toppling down on me. A few people had already lost their jobs. The atmosphere at work reflected on my personality as well. I became angrier, got frustrated quite often and started to lose my temper at certain issues. In two weeks time, I got my bad news. I had lost my job. We all know the fates of those who lost jobs during the recession.

It took me a few days to realise the severity of what had just happened. I found myself applying for new jobs. I found myself unemployed. My family seemed to understand what was going on, but I failed to find solace in them. I started drinking. Soon, it became a regular habit. This affected my relationship as well. I lost my self-confidence. I was losing myself.

The painting. I spent hours in my room just staring at it. She was angry now. I could tell. She looked angry when I was drunk. She looked angrier when I was sober. And I knew for sure my eyes were not playing tricks on me. The painting was a reflection of my mood. One particular night, I got so drunk and on the way back home, I got pulled over by a cop. My alcohol level was obviously too high and I was told that I'd be arrested. I punched the cop in the face. It turned ugly and the next thing I remember was a bolt of electric current passing through my body making me numb. I woke up in jail the next day.

I was let out on bail after a week. When I came home, I realised the person I had become from the person I was. I had changed. I had changed a lot. Friends usually described me as a soft and shy person. Some even refused to believe that I had been arrested. I found the painting in my bedroom. The look on her face. She looked furious. It scared me for a second. I knew for a fact that this was not the face that was when I had purchased it. Definitely not. I had that much of sanity left in me to understand the fact that something was wrong with the painting. I took it down immediately. I packed it neat and nice and left it in the attic. I did not want it hung on my room anymore. But I remember looking at it one last time. And I remember the woman looking back at me. She looked sympathetic. I packed it neat and nice and left it in the attic. In a few months, I had forgotten about the painting. I was told later that it was sold off in a yard sale. Strangely, it didn't bother me anymore. Things were turbulent for a short while, but changes came. In a few weeks time, I found a job. It wasn't the best job, but considering the things that were happening around me, I was told I was lucky to land in a job. I served 100 hours of community service as punishment; at least the case was closed after. Years passed. Life went on.

Now, one week ago, something happened that gave me the shivers. I read about this tragic news in the paper. Some maniac in America, a lone gunman opened fire in a university killing 32 people. The newspaper had printed the photo of the suspected killer, a picture of a lean guy holding a baby in his arms. He was a normal looking guy, photo taken by his wife probably in his own house. What made me restless was not his picture, but the painting hanging on the wall of that living room.

Das - Short Story #8

My brother and I were big time pranksters when we were really young. We were known as the DevDas brothers. Dev is my name and Das was my fraternal twin brother. I was elder to him by 12 minutes. We were born in Toronto where Dad and Mom had set up an Indian restaurant in the late eighties. We grew up in Canada. In the year 1999, Das and me had our first trip to India to see our grandparents. We were 12 years old then.

Our grandparents lived in a remote but a beautiful village. The village was like a wonderful painting with green trees, several huts, some temples, a river and brown mountains in the background. My grandfather had the biggest house in the village. It was the only concrete house in the village with a bathroom. Dev and I were shocked to learn that usually people bathed in the river and took a dump in the forest.

We stayed there for 45 days fascinated by everything we saw and everywhere we went. We became friends with one Mr. Mani, who was the only person in the village who could speak little English, after my grandfather of course. Mr. Mani worked in the telegram office. He was our neighbour and would visit us on his way back home and tell us scary stories with his broken English. 

After sunset, the whole village would be dark with as there were no streetlights. Actually there were no streets, just one main road that went through the village and ended near the riverbank. The houses had lanterns and fireflies hovered around them. There were frequent power cuts and electricity was scarce.

But the house we stayed in had tube lights; grandfather was quite a well to do man. It was a two-storey house. The ground floor was where we stayed and the first floor had three rooms and a large hall usually for guests. Most of the time it was locked.

The house was quite eerie by itself. We had a large garden and a car park in the front, the house had a veranda where we used to sit and talk with Mr. Mani. The ground floor had four rooms, a hall and a kitchen and a backyard where the bathroom was located. You needed to carry a lantern to the bathroom, as it had no lights. If you were one of the 'easily scared' kind person, you would not dare go to the bathroom at night.

One evening, a few relatives came to visit us. A cousin of ours, Jeev, who was a year younger to us, came along. We were sitting on the veranda listening to Mr. Mani's story. He was telling us about a damned spirit that roamed the village. Her name was 'Yekshi' whose husband was a drunkard and abused her daily. One day when her husband was bit by a snake and he was dying, she ran from house to house begging for someone to come help her husband. But everyone turned her away. Even a young grandfather didn't bother but slammed doors on her. Nobody cared for the drunkard. The man succumbed to the venom. This sent the woman to a state of shock and she hung herself. It was later revealed that she was 2 months pregnant. Mr. Mani said that her spirit roamed the village seeking revenge. Infact there had been several miscarriages and still borns in the village a few years after her death. An astrologer from the nearby village when consulted said that an evil spirit was the reason behind this and suggested a ritual. A ritual was conducted in the village temple and the priest who performed it told the villagers that every year a similar ritual had to be conducted to keep the evil spirit away. From then, things turned normal.

Jeev was little scared by the story, but pretended to be brave, but the both of us were eager to learn more about Yekshi. That evening after dinner, when all the adults were talking adult stuff, Das, Jeev and I decided to go to the first floor and sleep in the hall, as the breeze there was cool. Suddenly, Das came up with an idea. We all had heard about the oujja board, but never knew if it really worked. He wanted to see if her spirit would respond to the ouja board. But the question was where to get a board from. So Das went down and got a sheet of paper and a pen and candles. He made a rough oujja board on the paper with alphabets and placed a coin. The candle was lit and Das put the coin in the center and started to ask questions. We all placed our index finger on the coin touching it. He asked, "Are there any spirits wandering nearby, please respond?” Nothing happened. "Is Yekshi here, we are summoning you here, we have questions for you. Are you there?” Nothing yet. After a few more questions. We gave up.

We could see Jeev was sweating with fear. The both of us could see that he was controlling his emotions because if he said he was scared, then we'd laugh and call him a pussy. Das smirked at me and I understood he was up to something. We spread our mats on the hall and went to sleep in an hour. The three of us chose to sleep in the same hall whereas the rest slept below us in their rooms.

Das slept in the middle, Jeev on his right and me on the left. We were trying to fall asleep talking about the latest movies, Das started to groan and shiver. He was mumbling something the both of us could not hear. His arms and limbs were twitching. His whispering grew louder and he was saying gibberish. I was controlling my laughter because I knew he was trying to scare Jeev. Suddenly, Das sat up. In the dark I could see Jeev standing up, but I could not see his face clearly. He backed a bit. I was still lying down, breaking into laughs. Jeev was telling us, "stop it, it's not funny". Das was now sitting cross-legged and was moving his upper body to and fro as if possessed. I was in laughs now. He was making weird noises like low grumbling which went 'Hrrrmmmmm, Hrrrmmmm". I stood up and crept behind Jeev to scare him. But he held my hands tight and told me, "Dev, something’s not right, call everyone now, I'm scared". I was in hysterics now. But Das was full on with his acting, his noises growing louder. I asked him to stop, as it would wake the others. Jeev ran downstairs, stumbling in the dark. I patted Das, asking him to stop because Jeev ran away. But he kept on. He was shaking violently now and groaning very loud now. "Stop it Das, I'm not even scared. You are going to wake everyone up". I expected him to laugh with me, but he went on. It was so un-Das. Then it happened. He spoke in a female voice, that of a mature female. It scared the shit out of me. He asked, "Why?" and kept screaming the same thing over and over.

I switched on the lights to find that the light bulbs were not working. There was no electricity. A few people came running up the stairs. I could make out dad in the dark, Grandpa was carrying a lantern, a few uncles came with him, Jeev came up too with my mother and some aunties in the house. They pushed me aside. Mom caught hold of me and was forcing me downstairs and I was resisting. All the males had gathered around Das now. He was too violent now, screaming at the top of his voice. I was unable to grasp the situation. Why did he not stop? It was not funny anymore. Dad shouted at me and all the women who had gathered there. Mom pushed Jeev and me down the stairs now. I went not before having a glimpse of his face in the faint light. His eyeballs had gone up and his eyes were white and he was drooling, shaking and screaming, but still sitting cross-legged.

We were waiting downstairs when all of a sudden, an uncle came running down and went straight out of the house. We could here screams now. I could hear grandfather shouting, "Go away, go away now". This went on for five minutes. Electricity returned and the whole house was now flooded with light. Grandma was sitting on her wheelchair listening curiously to what was going on. The uncle who had gone out came running back, this time with the temple priest. He was carrying a few things that looked like a whip, a small pot and something folded in an old newspaper. They looked dead serious and ran up. The rest of us including Jeev waited down. We looked at each other, but didn't say a word. Mom and few aunties were weeping and talking among themselves.

Upstairs, everything turned pin drop silent. Then screams. There was shouting and I could hear Das screaming. My heart was thumping now. A few people had gathered outside the house now. Mr. Mani was there too looking at me with wide eyes. 

A few minutes later all the screaming stopped. We could hear them coming down. They carried a passed out Das. There was white foam in his mouth now. They put him in a car and drove away. I didn't sleep that night. I slept next to mom, and she was holding me close to her. I think I would have dozed off at dawn. When I woke up, I was alone and was sleeping on a bed covered with blankets. No one was around. 

I went to the hall to see all my aunties and mom sitting in the hall crying. Jeev was there too. Dad, Grandpa and the other uncles were standing there still, not talking. Grandma was on her wheelchair with her hand on the forehead. She was weeping. I stood there confused. Then I saw, I saw what I had missed. Lying on the hall was Das. His head was wrapped in a white shawl revealing only his face and the body covered in white. He was dead. Everyone had gathered around him. I fainted.

Das had died of epilepsy. He never had epilepsy in the first place. It was his first attack ever and had uncontrollable seizures on the way to the hospital. He died even before they reached the hospital. The return trip to Toronto was one of the worst trips I ever had. I never visited India again even though Das was cremated there. Life turned normal in a year. We missed Das terribly. Mom could never move on. They never asked me about that day.

I studied to become a doctor and now work in a reputed hospital in Boston. My parents still live in Toronto. I am married to a ballet dancer and we had our first baby last week. We named him Das.

Static - Short Story #7

I  have a serious hypnic jerk problem. A hypnic jerk is a sudden muscle twitch that occurs involuntarily while one drifts off to sleep and jerks one awake. Just like that falling sensation you have in a dream and you are woken up with a jerk. It is quite normal and quite a lot of people experience it. It is said that the muscles relax when falling asleep and the body sees changes in temperature and breathing. The brain misinterprets this as a sign of falling and thus the sudden jerk. In a way it is just another reflex to allow the body to function. 

I started experiencing this almost every night and started to get frustrated because I would have to wait to fall asleep after a hypnic jerk. And as I was about to fall asleep again, I would experience another one. Eventually, I'd drift off to dreamland, but only after a series of twitches. There was nothing I could do about it. I consulted a doctor who told me that I had an unhealthy lifestyle and should give up drinking and smoking and start exercising. Now that was a difficult thing to do for someone in college. 

One day, I was lying in bed, having trouble sleeping. That's when I got a weird idea. I decided to film myself falling asleep. I booted up my laptop and switched on the webcam and set it on a table in such a way that it would film me in the sleeping position from my left side. I also set up my handycam on a tripod, a few inches from my feet thus filming me in a vertical position. I chose 'night mode' and hit record on both and went to sleep. I was actually excited as I always wanted to see how it looked when I got these hypnic jerks. I was so excited that I didn't fall asleep till 4 a.m. My mind was racing and bursting with thoughts. I was also tired and wanted to badly fall asleep but couldn't. So I switched of both the cams and went back to bed. I was actually camera conscious and this was barring me from falling asleep. Once I turned them off, everything went back to normal. I barely got two hours of sleep before the alarm started ringing.

That day in college, I had football practice and our team went for drinks later in the evening. When I reached home at around 11 p.m., I was dead tired and wanted to hit bed badly. I gathered the strength to shower, felt sleepier and went straight to bed, not before turning on both my cams. This time I slept like a baby. I woke up at six again cursing the alarm, hitting the snooze button and buried myself under the blanket. Then I woke up jumping to see if the cams were still recording. 

Yes! they had. I turned them off. I quickly browsed my laptop and found the video I was looking for. It was a large file and was 7 hours long. It took a while to load and I quickly skimmed the video to see if there was anything strange. But to my disappointment, there was nothing big. Most of the time, it was me lying stationary occasionally changing sleeping positions. The hypnic jerks did not occur nor had I felt anything the last night maybe because I was really tired and also because of the lack of sleep from the previous day. I did not bother looking at what the handycam had recorded from a different angle. I just took down the tripod and put my cam back into the kit and forgot about it. 

A month had passed or so. My friend was leaving on a trip to Rome and he asked me if he could borrow my cam. I readily agreed and said I'd give it to him later that evening. So I was home later that day watching a movie on the internet when my friend arrived and was honking from his car. I looked out of the window and he shouted for me and asked for the cam. I shouted back, told him I'd bring it down and hurriedly went to find my camera. I found it and quickly checked if it had the batteries, charger etc. Then I remembered the footage I had recorded. Obviously I did not want anyone to see what I had filmed and was about to delete it. But something told me to take a quick look at the video. I played it on playback mode and watched myself sleeping on the small LCD. Fast forwarded it for a couple of minutes. My friend was honking madly. Then I saw movement. I rewinded to look closely and played again. What followed horrified me.

On the small screen, I could see it clearly. And what I had seen could not be unseen. I was lying there sleeping normally. Then I started to move, I woke up sitting on my bed. Eyes wide open. It was a cold stare looking straight into the camera, which meant I was now looking at myself on the cam looking back at me. I just sat there on the bed staring and then there was this creepy smile. My heart was pounding hard. I was smiling, tilting my head left and right staring straight into the cam. Then it went static. Nothing but static. I fast forwarded to find nothing. I rewinded to play the same thing again even though I was scared to death. Nothing. More static. I could not find what I had just watched. My friend was shouting my name from below. I ignored him and switched off my cam and switched it on. This time, I could not find the file. My whole head started to feel heavy and I was palpitating. I could not find that video file. The last file I had recorded was some birthday party. I checked and rechecked. I removed the battery, put it on and tried again. Nothing at all. That video I had recorded of me sleeping was gone.

I was standing in shock when my friend slapped me on my back and bought me to reality. He shouted asking me what was taking so long. I just handed him the cam saying nothing. He was in a hurry. He snatched it, called me a weirdo and left. I just stood there not knowing what to do. I opened my laptop and played the video that I had recorded. I played it for a while, then in fast motion. But it was normal. It had recorded everything till the last minute until the moment I woke up and stopped recording. 

Till date, I have no idea what I saw. But when I think of that creepy face of mine smiling, it gives me the jitters. I would easily dismiss this as a hallucination. But I was not drunk, I was normal on that day and seriously, it scared the shit out of me. Everyday I go to bed dreading to fall asleep. And I never turn off the lights. Never.

Karma - Short Story #6

My mother died just before my tenth birthday. I was at school when dad came to pick me up during the middle of a class session. I had no idea what was going on. He was crying and driving. When we reached home, I was informed by my aunty that my mother had passed away and was in heaven with God. I did not see her body. Later I learnt she was burnt alive in terrible car accident.

My Dad remarried in an year. I did not like my step mother from day one. She never spoke. She never disturbed me. Most of the time I was left alone in my room. I would only go down for breakfast, then leave for school. On return, I'd head back and lock myself in my room. She made no effort to spend time with me nor did I. Dad would check on me in the evening and ask me to come down for supper. We would be silent at the table except for some occasional questions from dad. My stepmother would not even make eye contact with me. She was very weird.

I slept with my door unlocked. It was dad's orders. A month after my stepmother moved in, she started to act strange. One night, I woke up from my sleep suddenly to find her standing by the door watching me. I had no idea for how long she had been standing there. But it was pretty late in the night. I was shocked, I tried to scream, but no sound came. It was because I was paralysed with fear. Then she left. Walked away just like that. I had trouble sleeping again, but slowly fell asleep by dawn.

This happened more than once. I caught her standing by the door at night a few more times. We never spoke. I would pull my covers and pretend to sleep until I heard her leaving. I always wanted to speak about this to dad. But the right time never came. One evening, when I returned from school. I saw my stepmother sitting on a chair near the table staring straight ahead at the wall. She did not move. She sat so still, one could assume she was dead. As I climbed the stairs for my room, I looked down to see if she was staring at anything in particular. No, nothing. Just the wall. It sort of creeped me out. An hour later, I came down again to find her sitting in the same position. I was convinced she was dead. I called her name. She turned her head in slow motion and looked at me. The face was expressionless. She just stared into my eyes. I started to feel uncomfortable. I went back to my room. That was the first time I had ever spoken to her. I had called her name, Jane.

Then one night a few weeks later, I was tossing and turning in my bed. I casually turned to look at the door and there she was standing. I lay still on my bed frozen. She walked towards me. Only my eyeballs moved. My heart started beating rapidly. She was standing next to me. All of a sudden she took a pillow lying next to me and pressed it flat on my face. I entered shock mode. She was suffocating me. I remember struggling for breath. Not a single sound came out. My hands and legs were trashing the bed having no control. She was strong and I could not resist or fight back. I was losing consciousness. Then blackness engulfed me. Everything became dark.

I don't remember anything that happened after. It was still dark. But I started hearing voices. Distorted voices of people laughing and talking. I could hear a strong heartbeat. A rhythmic heartbeat. I tried to open my eyes, but it was so dark that I had no idea if I had actually opened my eyes. I could not feel my hands or legs. I felt very different. 

The voices grew louder. I could actually hear dad. I started to hear a female voice too. There was laughter. I could sense joy and happiness. I kept drifting into reality and dreams. I dreamt of nothing though. It was more like a blackout. Then more voices. I never felt hungry, I never felt pain. I never felt myself.

I don't know how much time had passed. But my hearing got louder and louder. It was dark as usual. Was I in coma? What happened to me? She tried to kill me. I assumed I was in a hospital being treated. Definitely not dead. I was alive because I was still thinking. 

I kept hearing dad's voice, I could not make out what he was speaking. I could slowly feel myself moving. I could feel my body parts twitching. Not sure which one though. I was recovering. I hoped I would come into my senses soon. The sound of heartbeat was louder now. It felt like an echo. 

More blackout, then consciousness, then voices. It kept on repeating. Then my body started to move. I was feeling heavy. I was feeling tight. It felt like I was being squeezed. I was in pain. Deep pain. I heard crying. I felt the temperature changing. Light. My eyes. They felt different. It was blurred. I heard my dad's voice. He was shouting. What was he saying? "It's okay Jane, Stay with me Jane." Jane? That was my step mothers name. What on earth was going on.?

Then it struck like lightning, Everything in one nanosecond. The harsh crying, the light, the voices, I was stuck in the body of something else. A baby. A baby in the process of birth. I was being born. Again. To my stepmother. I could feel myself now. But only crying voices came out. I shouted for words. Nothing, more wailing. But I was only halfway out. How did all this happen? I was being born to someone who had killed me? That meant I had died. But I had the same mind. I had to kill her. She should not live.

I stopped moving. I could wiggle my legs. I heard myself crying. This was not my real body, Only my mind was mine. I was still thinking. What I tried to speak came out as mere noises. I cried in pain. "Push Jane, Push.", came multiple voices. "Jesus Christ, the baby is stuck half way" came a voice, "Doctor, she's losing blood pressure, there's a haemorrhage", someone screamed. I stopped wiggling, I found control of my body. I refused to move. But something involuntarily was making me move. I resisted. I resisted as hard as I could. "Doctor, we are losing her, do something" came a voice. "Jane, wake up, Jane please push, Jane, Jane", that was my father shouting. Even in such a moment of insanity, I knew if I did not come out of her womb completely, she would die soon. More voices of shouting and screaming along with my crying.

I succeeded. She died. I lived. I knew I had killed her. There was pin drop silence. "I am sorry sir, we tried our best, she lost excessive blood, the baby is fine.", came a voice. I smiled in my mind, but all that came out of my mouth was the sound of crying. Then there was darkness. I was beginning to lose consciousness again. I felt tired. As I was drifting to a dream like state, I was reminded of what my grandmother once said, "A new born knows of its previous life when it comes to the world. It cries and wails because it remembers everything from its past birth but cannot express it. It forgets and takes a new life after its first sleep. When they wake up, they know nothing of their past.

Shoe shiner - Short Story #5

The most interesting thing happened to me today. I was as usual waiting on High Street for a customer calling out to random people who wanted their shoes to be polished. "Half a penny for shining your shoes sir, have a seat sir", I kept yelling hoping someone with dirty shoes would walk by. Usually, if I worked till afternoon, I'd make enough to buy myself a loaf of bread and some tea. But the weather seemed gloomy and my stomach was already growling with hunger. The war had made everything in the country expensive and I was finding it difficult to earn a few pennies.

 It was quite cold and I checked my pocket watch. It showed 8 am. One would say it was rather quite odd for an orphan like me to own a pocket watch. But that was the only thing my mother left me before she discarded her mortal coil. On the rear of the watch was engraved the initials R.W. It was a gold plated watch with a silver chain. It apparently belonged to my father who I had never seen. My mother had never married and an illegitimate affair resulted in my birth. Even on her death bed, she did not disclose anything to me. So I remained a bastard. One day I hoped to find the owner of the pocket watch. I would never sell it, even if I had to die of poverty.

"Young lad, are you going to stare at your fancy watch all day or even bother shining my shoes" came the voice. I looked up to see a well dressed gentleman in his thirties holding a newspaper staring at me waiting for a reply. "Yes, Yes, please sir" I stammered, "Please sit sir", motioning him to sit on the high chair. His face was very familiar and I was staring at him with wide eyes. He took a seat and started to read his paper. I started to polish his shoe.

"The Germans are mad, they may bomb London anytime" he said, without taking the paper off. "Fear not young lad, you are not going to die yet" he kept talking folding his newspaper now and looking directly at me. "The war is a bad thing sir" I said. "Indeed, it is. How old are you son?", he asked. "Ten years old, sir", I replied. "Tsk Tsk, you must be having a hard time poor lad", he said switching his leg as I was finished with one shoe. "One day I will be rich like you sir." I said, smiling with confidence. "Oh! that is the ambition of every young lad here. But success is not for all, it is for a selected few." he said, almost sadistically. "What do you do sir?", I asked. "Who me?, Oh, I am just a time traveller. I travel back in time to set things right.", he said. I chuckled and got finished with both his shoes.

 "All done sir!", I looked up to see him smiling at me, his face looking even more familiar. "Alright then, keep this 10£ note" he said handing me a big note. I was shocked. "But, sir, it just cost you a penny, I don't have change for such a big amount, I am sorry sir.", I said hoping he had some spare pennies in his pocket. I was afraid he would walk away without paying me anything. A lot of customers did that and I would just stand there helpless. "Oh, keep it. It's for you boy. Your life is about to change with what I just gave you.", he laughed, more sadistically this time. "But sir, I cannot accept this, it is too much" I replied, I had never touched a 10£ note in my life until then, and my hands were trembling already. "Boy, don't argue with me, I have places to go" as he said this, he took out his pocket watch to check the time and I stood there watching as if hypnotised. It looked exactly like mine, silver chain and the watch itself gold plated. On the rear were the initials R.W. "Use that money wisely, it is your bridge to your future. See you soon.", he winked, patted my back and walked away.

I just stood there holding the money. Could it have been a replica, or someone else had the same pocket watch that looked like mine. But it was way too similar. Then it struck me. The familiar face. It was mine. An older version of my face. I tried to find the man again. But he had disappeared among the crowd.

Chaos - Short Story #4

My grandfather was quite an eccentric man. He was full of stories and I was very fond of him. He was a lepidoterologist, someone who studies butterflies and he spent a lot of his time in a butterfly farm. He would sit for hours and stare at these exotic insects. "You know, butterflies were actually called flutterby", he would say filling his pipe with tobacco. He called me Nehu, a more affectionate form of my name, Neha. I was his favourite grandchild too, also because I was the only girl child in the family. I had two elder brothers and my cousins were all males too. My grandfather fought a lot for my rights. His wife expired when she was in her 40's. He wanted me to study and get a good job, go abroad and was against marriage at an early age. It is quite surprising for someone from an older generation to have this ideology. My own parents were narrow minded, not my grandfather, he was a very practical man.  

He died a month ago, he was hospitalised as he had complained of chest pain. When I went to visit him, things had turned worse, he was losing memory and his pulse was dropping. He smiled slightly as he saw me. I was in tears, he motioned for me to come closer and whispered in a frail voice, "Remember, butterflies taste with their feet", he let out a faint chuckle. My grandfather told me a lot of facts. Mostly of how he served the British Army in WWII but they were also other random things. But this was out of the ordinary. He struggled to tell me this as if it was very important. Seemed as if he was waiting for me to tell this. He died in a matter of minutes after my visit. Those were also his last words. He had lived for 80 long years. 

His death depressed me a lot. I was already battling depression because I had finished my higher studies and was looking for a job. My degree in engineering seemed futile. I had been job hunting for over an year now To make things worse, my parents were looking for a boy and trying to get me married. This is the plight of any Indian girl my age, and to be frank, 25 is too young to get married. I missed my grandfather, he would disagree with my parents and would have stood by me. I did not want to get married to someone my parents chose and end up a housewife. 

His death was just the beginning of strange things to happen. It must have been two weeks after his death, I was returning home from an interview which my parents knew nothing of. I was waiting for the bus when I got a call from an unknown number. "Hello, this is Amitabh Bachan from Kaun Banega Crorepati" said the familiar voice. I was perplexed. "Oh, Hello, Oh my God, hello...how are you Sir?" I stammered. "I'm doing great Miss Neha, your friend, Nitu is on the hot seat with me and she is on her last life line. She is one question away from winning One crore Rupees! The next voice you will hear is Nitu's, you have 30 seconds, good luck!" he said. My bus came, I walked away one hand holding the phone tightly to my ear and the other plugging my other ear. "Neha", came Nitu's voice, "Where do butterflies have their taste sensors? A. Tongue, B. Proboscis, C. Wings, D. Feet." Before she could repeat the question, I knew the answer. " D. Feet, It's the feet!" I replied. Nitu was repeating her question again, apparently she was too nervous and did not hear me. "Feet, feet", I screamed. "Are you sure?" came her voice and with that the call snapped. I just stood there still holding the phone. Some curious bystanders were looking at me, after all I was screaming into the phone. I waited for my bus, my heart beating fast. I was hoping she answered correctly, Nitu had informed me about her selection last week. I never knew she had made it to the hot seat.

What came to mind immediately was the hospital scene. My grandfather. Was this a coincidence? I had a million questions in my head. My bus arrived and I boarded it. I called my friends and let them know about Nitu. I was waiting for her to call. I reached home and told my parents. They were surprised too. My phone rang, it was Nitu. "Hello" I said, "I won, I won Neha. Oh my God, I won!!!" she screamed. That was a night to remember.

The next morning, my inbox was flooded with Nitu's messages. She could not stop thanking me. She came home in the afternoon with some Gulab jamuns. She gave me an anaconda hug and started to describe the whole event. I was happy for her and she was on cloud nine. I couldn't stop thinking of my grandfather. If not for him, I would not have known the answer. Somethings in life don't have an explanation.

Three weeks would have passed. A cold war was on at home, I was not speaking to my parents due to their constant compulsion to get married. An argument led to a fight. I was fighting the urge to run away from home. Truth is I had nowhere to go. At least not until I got a job. Nitu's arrival one morning kind of defused the situation. She was beaming with a huge smile on her face. "Neha, I have a surprise for you, come out with me" she said. For a moment I thought she got me a job. A good job offer or an interview. I had not heard back from my gazillion interviews. None were successful. "What is it Nitu?", I asked. "I have a little something for you, a token of gratitude!", she replied. I followed her to the porch. On my parking spot was standing a brand new car, decorated with a ribbon and a bouquet. It was a 'Tata Nano'. "Nitu, your new car! wow! looks stunning" I said. "No, dum dum, not my car. It's for you" she replied laughing. "What??” I was shocked. “Why? You shouldn't have" I said feeling a bit uneasy. "Shut up Neha" she said, "I owe you at least this much". She gave me a hug and my parents arrived to look. They were talking with Nitu telling her it was unnecessary. But Nitu was stubborn, she insisted it was out of her happiness and said we had to accept it no matter what. I stood there not knowing what to do. It was an awkward situation. Had I really done anything to deserve this? "Come lets go for a ride, here are the keys" she said. I just wanted her to be happy and obliged. We drove around our colony and parked at a coffee shop. I tried to convince her to take the car back, she wouldn't listen. I gave up and we talked for hours.

A month or two slipped away. So now I had a car for myself, thanks to Nitu. My family already owned a Ford and now parking got a bit more cramped in our porch. My happiness was short lived. My parents were leaving photos of eligible grooms on my bed now. We were still not on talking terms. All my interviews yielded with a negative result and I was getting fed up with life. If this continued, I would eventually get married and sulk for the rest of my life. I thought of my grandfather. "Women need to be empowered. My Nehu will work and be independent", he would say. I shed a silent tear and tried to read a book but could not focus. Later in the evening, a friend of mine urged me to go out with her for a movie. I agreed. After some shopping and a movie, I dropped my friend where she lived and was on the way back home. It was after nine and the streets were getting emptier. Then it happened.

I was entering the main road from a cut road turning right, my signal was green. I did not see the speeding car approach, the car jumped the red signal at high speed and headed straight for me. I turned my head just in time to see it coming and right away I stepped on the gas. Too late. The impact was unavoidable. I closed my eyes, I heard a loud crash, the shattering of glass and I remember my body being thrown to the other side. I lost my consciousness.

I woke up in the hospital. My left leg was in a cast. My left shoulder was bandaged and the arm in a sling. I had a dislocated shoulder, fractured arm and a fractured leg. The doctors had inserted a steel rod in my leg which they said they would remove once the bones healed. Luckily my head suffered only minor bruises. I learnt what happened. The speeding car collided just inches away from the driver seat hitting the rear passenger door, because I had stepped up on the gas, the impact threw me from my seat to the other end of the car. My car swiveled and stopped in the middle of the intersection badly damaged. The speeding car after colliding with mine, did not stop until it hit the signal post. The sole occupant of the car died. His head hit the steering wheel killing him on the spot. People who witnessed the event said I was lucky to be alive.

Another month passed. I was on complete bed rest. Mom and dad did not mention a word about marriage. Nitu visited me often and was always in tears. She felt guilty. I consoled her telling her it was not her fault until one day I got fed up and screamed at her, "You are not responsible Nitu, I was driving. Now don't ever raise this topic again". The screaming seemed to have some effect on her. A few more weeks passed, I was healing well and the doctor said I would be ready in a month or so. The cast on my leg remained. My damaged car was beyond repair, it was sent for scrap and the insurance money was claimed. 

Hope came in the form of a telephone call. I was asked to attend an interview the following week. I lost count of how many interviews I had attended. Some companies never returned a call, some sent me a letter saying I was not selected and wished me luck. Some sent a letter saying I was unsuccessful but said they had saved my application in the database in case a similar opportunity arises in the future. I prepared hard for my upcoming interview, my first after the accident. The post was not quite relevant to what I had studied, but with some training, I could still do it. 

The day came, I boarded a taxi my dad had arranged. With crutches and a cast I was slow to get in. Clearly my dad was unhappy with me attending this interview, but he didn't show. Maybe because he thought this attempt too would be in vain. 

There were quite a few candidates waiting. My turn came and I slowly walked with crutches in one hand a folder in the other. There were two people sitting behind a desk browsing through papers. The usual formal greeting took place and I took a seat. They introduced themselves, one was the Chief HR Officer and the other was the COO himself. They asked me nothing about my leg. Were they too busy too notice? They went straight to some questions, asked me a little about my background, work experience, which I had none except for an internship I had done in the US. After taking notes and shuffling through papers the HR person spoke, "You know your CV is slightly off for this kind of a job". That exact minute, I lost all hope. But I still went on, "Sir, I believe some training will seriously help me get on track". The COO cut me off with another question, "What happened to you leg?" he asked. I told them everything, keeping it as brief as possible. Both men looked at each other. The COO's eyes were watery and looked as if he was about to cry. The other guy, patted his back and offered him some tissues. I was quite surprised. My story is that sad? Well, I'm alive, I mean its not that bad for a fully grown man to get emotional. The COO spoke, "My son died in that accident. He was drunk that night, that fateful night claimed his life, I thank God that the other victim, yourself, was spared". 

I had no words. I did not know what to say. "I'm sorry", I managed to say. The COO was in tears now. The other man was silent just staring at the desk. He spoke again, "My son made a mistake, you had to pay. The least I can do is get you a job here, we already have an eligible candidate, but for once let me ditch company rules and give way to my conscience. I'm sure we can train you in a couple of months and fit you in. You can expect an appointment letter soon. All the best". Saying this, he got up and left the room. The HRO got up and we shook hands. I felt weird. Happy and sad. Both at the same time. Is that even possible?

When I told my parents they were stunned and in disbelief. Most parents would have been happy for me. Not mine. Now they had to find a better groom for me, someone on par with my job. Grandfather would have been so happy. I missed him the most. My appointment letter arrived after three days. I joined the following week. My salary was more than that of what my dad and brothers earned combined. I don't remember feeling happier. 

A few months passed. One day at work, during lunch, I was sitting on the lawn with my colleague eating my home made chapatthi. We were seriously discussing about an upcoming event that we were supposed to organise. Suddenly a big butterfly with bright orange wings flew by from nowhere and sat on my fingers. It just sat there, opened its wings wide, closed them, opened them again and took off. I stood up and looked for it, trying to track it, but it was nowhere to be seen. 

My grandfather believed in the chaos theory. "It's not a theory dear, not to me. It's an effect" he had said. "These butterflies hold keys to all future events that unfold, such beautiful creatures". The old man who used to sit on a bench, smoking his pipe, gazing at those butterflies in the farm as if they were telling him something is no more. All that is left of him are memories. I'm not the only one who misses him, those butterflies miss him too.

   

Elevator - Short Story #3

My flat was on the second floor of an old 10-storey building. I am 16 years old now. Back when I was really young, my building was quite okay. But then it started to get infested with cockroaches, the pipes leaked, the paint started wearing off and there was this dampness in every room and I don’t know why. My mom has been urging my dad to move out to a better place. Poor dad, he’s been waiting for his promotion for the past two years. “Soon things will change”, would always be his optimistic reply to my mom’s constant nagging. I didn't really mind. Half the time, I was in school, then tuition  and then by the time I came home, I’d be dead tired. I would have dinner and go straight to bed. I was even getting used to the cockroaches. Initially I used to swat them with my slippers, as days passed I began to shove them away from me only to find them returning 5 minutes later. 

My building had two lifts in the lobby and a staircase. The stairs don’t have a single bulb lit in them and they are never used by anyone. I've never been to the terrace or any floor higher than the 2^nd for quite a long time. There is a reason for this.

When I was 6 years old, I wandered off from the lobby and entered a vacant lift. I pressed 2, but the lift did not stop at two, it went straight to 10 and opened. I stepped out for a moment. If my parents had found out I had gone all the way up without an adult, I’d get nice spankings. I was just standing there on the corridor, when an old woman opened her main door and came out. She wore an apron and seemed normal to me. She walked towards me and smiled. Pinching my cheeks, she asked for my name. I gladly gave it. She invited me in to her house and told me she had just finished baking a banana cake. And I could really smell banana from her house, like those banana bubble gums. It was a strong smell and it filled my nose. I told her I should be going back to my mom, she refused to let me go and shoved me into her house and locked the door. “I will take you to mommy, try my banana cake small boy.” The house had no furniture and that seemed strange. But this smell of banana was overwhelming and I was starting to feel sick.

What happened after changed my life. The woman removed her apron, threw it on the floor. I was facing her back ready to follow her into the kitchen. She turned back, her face expressing anger, eyes fiery red and from nowhere she seemed to have a thousand wrinkles on her face. She caught me by my neck and tightened her grip. “How many times have I told you, how many times?” she was screaming at me. “You won’t let me rest huh? You won’t let an old lady sleep huh?” I was gasping for breath and tears started rolling down my cheeks. “You need to be punished, you young disrespectful brat.” I fainted. That was my first blackout ever.

When I woke up, mom and dad were standing next to me. I was in a hospital. A huge but scary teddy bear holding a heart was sitting next to me. Mom was in tears and dad was consoling her. I felt fine until mom saw me and kissed me all over my face.

Years passed and I almost forgot about my childhood incident. A teenager has other issues to worry about. But I made sure I never visited the 10^th floor again. I never found out what happened the other day. Life went on.

Then it all came back. It was a Sunday evening and I was returning after a date with my girlfriend. I pushed the call button and waited thinking about my first kiss. The lift opened, I stepped in and pushed 2. I was smiling and I was in love. Things changed so quickly. The lift didn't stop at 2. I realized this when a something in me went ‘RED ALERT MODE’. It was taking too long for the lift to reach 2^nd floor. When I looked up, it was 4, then 5 and I kept pressing 2, then ‘STOP’ button, nothing happened.

6…

7…

I pressed the Emergency bell, nothing at all. My adrenaline kicked in and so did some sense. I pressed 9.

8…

The 9^th floor button was lit. I was praying. “Oh please stop at 9, stop at 9.”

9…

Didn't stop,

10 and then a ping sound.

I was sweating and scared to death. All my childhood memories of the event came back. The corridor had no lights. Not a single one and it was pitch black. I pressed 2. Kept pushing the button, the damned lift doors would not close. Looked like the lift broke down. The doors were wide open as if asking me to step out.

Then I heard a door open. And the corridor filled with a familiar smell. Banana. My heart was thumping hard. I knew it was a matter of seconds before I had to see what I didn't want to see.

I got an idea, when you are in danger, your brain works at super sonic speed. The staircase door was just next to the lift, all I had to do was get out and turn right and head straight for the stair doors.

I had no time to think anymore, by impulse, I stepped out and as I was about to open the stair doors hoping it would be unlocked, I got a glimpse of a shadowy figure approaching. Even in the dark, I knew exactly what it was. The banana smell was even stronger now.

I pushed open the stair doors, more darkness. But I ran, ran all the way down. Sprinting the stairs hoping I wouldn't crash down fracturing a leg. I took several flight of stairs at once. I ran till I was gasping for breath. I had run all the way to ground floor in a matter of minutes. Did not realize I had passed the second floor.

I was so relieved to see light, to see people staring at me with a concerned look. I had no balls to take the lift to my floor again. I was panting and no words came out.  Took a few breaths. Struggling for words, I told the watchman who looked pale now to get my dad from the house.

In two minutes both dad and mom were down looking severely upset and shocked. They were asking me what was wrong. I was in tears now, “Please, just take me home.. take me home.” A crowd had gathered by now.

This time I was accompanied by my parents and the watchman who had no idea what was going on? Once at home, I gulped down a bottle of water. My mom was in tears now and dad was demanding an explanation. In my head, I was thinking no one would believe what I had to say. I kept quiet. I told them I was feeling fine now and wanted to rest. “I just got scared, I will speak tomorrow. I need to sleep.” Dad was not convinced, “Did you have a fight? Did anyone get hurt? Tell me, what happened?” I assured him everything was fine now, “I need to rest, please, I need privacy.” Saying this, I went to my room and locked from the inside. I heard a lot of murmuring outside.

I went to bed and fell asleep. The next morning at breakfast I told them what happened. Both mom and dad were just staring at me the whole time. Never said a single word. I was dreading they would now take me to a psychiatrist. I didn't go to school that day. I didn't step out of my house. In the evening when dad came home, he told us we were shifting to a new house in two days.

I never boarded the lift alone. Even while moving my stuff. My new house is a villa. No lifts. Just two floors. A few months later I overheard a conversation between mom and dad. “The old hag had died the night when we found him unconscious”, said dad. “I don’t want to talk about it, our son had nothing to do with her death”, mom was sulking. “He may have discovered the body, that’s why he fainted. He’s just scared. This is all past tense now. Don’t ever let him know.” My dad replied, “Like I have any desire to tell him, why would I traumatize him. It’s all over now.”

I didn't sleep for a few nights. The last I heard about the building was when my dad informed it had been torn down. “Rest in Peace, Bitch.” That’s all I thought of.