Titleless short story

The hexagonal wall clock showed the time as 11:30 PM. He was waiting for his friend to return home from a party. Sleep was sitting on top of him; seducing him; forcing him to oblige to the inevitable. But who would open the door for him? So he pushed sleep from his head and tried to lift his brows as much as possible, bent his neck up and down, twisted it clock wise and another twist counter clock wise. Now sleep would not disturb him for some time. With that he opened his laptop and started writing a story. He thought long for a title. Since nothing came to his mind, He simply started typing those words.

"I have never told you about my fears. It changes from time to time. When I was a kid, it was darkness. More than the curiosity to reach out into the darkness and find out what is lurking there, the fear that something mysterious and monstrous might reach out and grab me with its hands or whatever it has, was more profound. Nothing allayed that fear. Have I told you that I even had Nocturnal Enuresis? No. I didn't It’s called bed wetting But it was years back. Now my fears have evolved though.
People thought that School would change me. But it didn't It worsened me. The bullying of the kids, condescending looks of those teachers etc made me hate school like anything.
Have they ever pulled your pants inside the classroom? They did that to me.
The person I fear the most in school is V (Let’s call him that). ‘V’ was the son of the head of school. You know how it is, the pampering they give to him, as if the head of school would shower them with bonuses for pampering his son. He always took the role of a gang leader.
I forgot to tell you something. I was aged 12 that time. I feared the very sight of him.
After growing up a little, the fear of human beings started to subside. But a new fear started growing inside me. That’s Sciaphobia. Have you heard of that? It’s called the fear of shadows."

The clock now read 00:15 AM. He was very much satisfied with what he had typed. Now there was no sign of sleep in his eyes. He opened the door to see if there was any sign of his friend. Not a trace. The cold night was extremely still with a graveyard silence. The steady breeze touched his face and again brought sleep in him. He closed his eyes for a second and suddenly opened when he felt someone move in front of him. He felt someone scurried for cover, with a fear of getting caught. He slowly went back inside and bolted the door. He took out his cell phone and dialed his friend. No answer. To take his mind of this, he continued with his story.

“Initially the shadows were causing all kind of problems at night. Just imagine how horrible it would be to walk home from office in the middle of the night. I don’t have a brother to call upon to accompany me, no parent to wait for my arrival, just a friend who gets drunk and sleeps before I come home. Walking those 1000 meters from the bus stop to my home was like walking on a tight rope without anything to balance. That’s when the phobia intensified.

I always felt that someone was following me. I felt that the monster that tried to grab me all those years back, has come back to finish the job it started.

I ask myself ‘Why will anyone follow you?’ I say to kidnap me or rape me. When did man start raping another man? You’re right. The probability is less but who knows what one is capable of doing when he becomes desperate. So when such thoughts creep into my mind, all those years’ fear comes back to haunt me, torture me.

All I need to do is look back. No one would be there. I can breathe easy. But what if someone was really there? So I never did that. The last thing I needed was to give a face to my monster. So I fasten my steps. That was the moment when I looked at the pace of the shadow running with me. I suddenly halted in the middle of the road and just fell down. I tried getting away from the shadow but it kept following me. Taunting and teasing me. I don’t know where I got the guts. I just closed my eyes and hit hard at the shadow. I just got up and ran as fast as I could without opening my eyes. ”

The story was taking shape. The time was almost 00:45 AM and still no sign of his friend. He tried calling him again. He expected the response. No answer. He immersed himself into the story once more. At that moment, there was a slight knock on the door. It wasn't a banging though. It was caressing knock. It looks like someone was studying the door, waiting to break it. He slowly went to the door and kept his ears on the door. This time there was no trace of that sound. He wanted to open the door to allay his apprehensions. So slowly he opened it, inserted his face into the opening and peeked outside. That same cool breeze touched his face and instantly brought the sensation of sleep. His eyes started to doze off. The eye lids acted like a screen that was ready for “curtains down”.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

He suddenly opened his eyes and saw that it was 1 AM and his phone was ringing. It was his friend. He said he’ll be back in an hour. In the background he could hear a women’s voice. It wasn't rocket science. He understood what was happening. So he continued with the story.

“I felt normal only after reaching home. The confines of my home somehow felt secure. I entered the house and bolted the door .I was still panting. At that moment there was rustling on the door. Since my back was to the door, I moved my body 90 degrees and pressed my ear on the door. That faint sound was still there. I thought, had the monster followed me to my house? I turned my body back to the initial posture and was suddenly startled. Again it was just my shadow.

I pressed my ear at the door again, straining myself to grasp the sounds. I heard something.

Footsteps

Footsteps running for cover. They are trying to hide from me.

But why do they have to hide?

I got the answer in another couple of seconds. Strategically, the ideal time to attack the prey is when it’s not expecting it.

Two hands entered through the door and started strangling me. The hands were hairy and it gave the feel of a butcher’s hand. Although the hand was human-like, the nails were not nails. Am I confusing you? It was claws. Can you imagine a monster with a human hand and claws?

I felt its claws tearing into my neck and counting the nerves. I felt the flowing of blood down my stomach to the groin area. I don’t know why. I didn't make any noise. But when its sharp claws cut one of my nerves, I couldn't resist longer. I just shouted as loud as I could. I never knew that I could shout like that.

Suddenly everything stopped, my nerves were still intact. The monstrous hand was nowhere to be seen. It was all happening in my mind. In that instant, I failed to realize that my pants were wet. ”

It was almost 1:45 AM. His friend should be here any moment. He read everything once and was satisfied with the flow.

Bang. Bang. Bang

Someone was banging the door. All the panic that was hidden inside him came back again. He didn't know whether to go to the door or hide somewhere. He decided to confront the monster this time. He slowly went to the door and kept his ear on the door. The monster put its hands out and grabbed his neck. The pain was excruciating from the beginning. Without thinking, he shouted as hard as he could.

Suddenly 2 people grabbed him from behind and made him sit down. 1 person took out a syringe and filled it with medicine. The needle pierced his skin and the sedative started mixing with the blood.

Dr.Arun threw the syringe in the bin and looked at Selva and enquired “Anything new today?”

“No doctor “said Selva looking at a paper. “It’s the same story.”

“Ok. Let him sleep for some time. Keep a close watch on him”

“I’m sorry. I had to stop the story abruptly. You know I was terrified. On that fateful night I had reached home by 11:30 PM and to keep my mind off my fear I started writing. My friend did come back home drunk and he saved me from that monster.

I slept happily that night without any fear. It was probably the first time in my whole life. But the next day when I wake up, I’m in this place. These doctors say that I’m mentally unstable. They also say that I killed my friend that night. It seems I’m recollecting those events again and again.
You know something, I haven’t told them about the monster.

They don’t know the things this monster can accomplish. But I know. It killed my friend. I’ll find that monster and destroy it.

But I don’t know its face, right? How will I identify it?

Simple

I’ll kill everyone who was responsible for creating this monster.

Please don’t tell them my plans. It’s our little secret.

I still couldn't ’think of a title for the story.”

Politico Religious Haunting - My latest Short Story

The mob moved in on him with ferocious venom. All they wanted to do was set precedence. Their mind had already been preoccupied with thousands of thoughts. But the most popular one was "Teach this b*st*rd a lesson!" He was standing on a rectangular stage, which was atleast 3 feet from the ground. The vantage point was more than enough to spot the deluge of people shouting something and approaching his stage. He had no place to escape. He knew the end was inevitable. The approaching crowd stopped in front of his stage. One angry young man, "Vinayakrao" holding an axe, came on to the stage.

Vinayakrao turned to the crowd and shouted "SILENCE".

Like obedient children, there was stunned silence. "How should this traitorous b*st*rd be killed?"

"Let’s lynch him right here" came an instant reply from the second row.

"Let’s cut him to pieces and serve his meat to all his monsters!" came another retort from somewhere in the fifth or sixth row.

Vinayakrao then gazed in his direction and smiled. The smile gave away the intent.

"Ok! Let’s hang him"

Two comrades of Vinayakrao stepped onto the stage. They lashed at him from behind. The force behind the shot instantly knocked him forward and he fell on his face. They carried him to a corner where the stakes and rope were already in place for his execution. They placed the rope around his neck and tightened the noose.

During all this the crowd was shouting some sort of slogans. Initially he couldn't understand the slogan but once the noose tightened, the slogans increased to a fever pitch. Now he understood everything.

Vinayakrao gave his signal. The entire crowd was shouting "Bharat m..."

Kamal woke with a jolt. There was sweat dripping from his temples. He looked around the room. There was no mob, no stakes and no lynching. This dream seems to be incessant, occurring every night. He looked at his wife sleeping peacefully. He couldn't tell her about this dream. He doesn't want to undergo her interrogation. He thought of the man, who was coordinating his execution. He was surprised that he could still feel that man's anger. There was something familiar about that man's name. He tried to remember it but he couldn't. But the familiarity still nagged him.

He looked at the bedside clock. It was 2:30 AM. He got up from the bed and walked to the refrigerator. He could hear his wife and daughter screaming at him for drinking ice cold water. His throat and especially the tonsils have this remarkable quality to make him suffer. They always make sure that severe cold and high fever attack him. The worst part is the mucus, which turns into an awful green. But that was least of his worries at the moment.

He gulped down the water and sat on the dining chair next to the fridge. Again his thoughts turned to the mystery man from the dreams. "I've to talk to someone about this. Sham...or....hmmmm.... Sid....But will they take this seriously? What about a psychiatrist? He might also mock me. But that's a bit secure".

Life is not heaven for political leaders. It becomes hell when that party has a religious ideology. People on the outside have a different perception about the lives of political leaders. Kamal never bothers about those perceptions. He believes in his religion and the welfare of his people takes precedence over any other thing. Anyone who commits blasphemy, or tries to be sacrilegious, deserves according to him decapitation or castration. His party men have been striving hard to prove that they are a better class of "Fanatics" than him. He loves that term "Fanatic". "This is the age of identity, brothers! Good or bad, every individual wants that" he used to say to his fellow comrades. He does have that identity. Good or bad is another question. That identity was bestowed upon him by the corporate media, who loves such characters. People might also use the word "Fanatic", when they refer to him but deep down in their heart, they do love him because he has got what many lack. An Identity.

Kamal went back to his bed with a relief that a visit to the doctor would solve his problem. This time too, the dreams repeated in the same sequence but with an alternate ending. Instead of hanging, they immolated him.

The next morning he dialed his childhood friend, Karamchand, now a popular psychiatrist. The appointment was booked at 2 PM that same day. Finally if there is one man who'll understand what he's going through, then that's Karamchand.

Karamchand's hospital was located in one of the affluent places in the city. Kamal went inside the building which seemed have its roots in the Indo-Islamic architecture. A pishtaq similar to the one in Taj Mahal welcomed him. Kamal did doubt karamchand's religious allegiance. Kamal was pointed to a seat in the waiting area by the beautiful receptionist. The walls in the waiting area were adorned with the pictures of Mahatma Gandhi, Sigmund Freud, Martin Luther King Jr. and Karl Marx.

After 15 minutes, he was asked by that receptionist to follow her to the hospital's inner sanctum. The building was constructed in such a way that there were 2 separate pathways for entry and exit. This enables the much needed privacy of the patients. A door with a leaf-like nameplate greeted him. The area above the midrib contained the doctor's name and the portion below contained this quote.

"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark. The real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."

The door opened to reveal the mid 40 man with a face that Amul would be happy to have in their adverts. "His face hasn't changed at all" thought Kamal.

"Hello My friend. How great to see you. Please sit down"

"Hey Whitey. I'm very good". Whitey was the epithet used by all his friends. Indians have this strange habbit of 

associating fair and white in the same context.

After the pleasantries had been exchanged, kamal explained his problem.

"I'm unable to sleep at night. I'm getting all sorts of dreams"

"What sort of dream?" implored Karamchand.

"I'm... hmmmmm....I end up in a place.......some kind of ground...... its familiar though.... There are people... 

hmmmm... shouting some slogans...... then.... Kill me". He finished the sentence with a kind of stammering that he hadn't felt before.

"Ok. Calm down buddy. How often do you get these Nightmares?"

"Every day for the past 6 months!"

"hmmmm ok. Are you sure it’s just during these last 6 months?"

"Yes"

Karamchand thought for a moment and said "See kamal, these nightmares are believed to be manifestations of our mind. It’s the recollection of events that could have happened some time in your life. You don't have to worry too much about it. We'll start the treatment next week"

"Thank you. But everything was familiar, the place, the crowd and.... hmmmmm... even the executioner." The sweat has again started dripping. "I'm really afraid" he said with a slight tremor in his voice.

"Hey come on. Do not give up. It’s normal in case of almost all human beings. Some accept it and some don't. Your mind is just recollecting something you saw somewhere in your life. It could be real or something you saw in a film.” He paused and said “In the worst case it could be guilt". His face became very serious when he uttered the last sentence.

He continued "Let’s say you did something wrong and the consequence would have been severe to some. You start feeling bad for it and your mind gives the same punishment to you." He paused like a tiger ready to pounce on its prey and laughed aloud "But that's not possible because I know you. I can't imagine you killing someone" and he laughed again.

After that kamal did not comprehend whatever Karamchand said. No one can imagine Kamal killing someone but he knows that’s not true. But how can he admit it?

While walking out of the hospital, he couldn't help but think about the people they had murdered. He usually called it as "Politico religious killings". He tried hard to recollect the name of his executioner. But he couldn't.

He took out his mobile to check the messages and missed calls. There were 2 missed calls from his subordinate. There was a single message from an unknown number. He opened the message and it read:

"We urge you all to celebrate the son of the soil Nathuram 'Vinayakrao' Godse. The man who slayed the Mahatma 'double agent' Gandhi. Today, Jan 30 is the day to celebrate this unsung hero. Jai Hind"

“Stupids. Even in today’s world such morons exist, who doesn't understand the sacrifices of Gandhi” thought Kamal. But something rang in his mind. Something was trying hard to come out of his mind.

Yes.

Yes.

The name is familiar.

Yes. It’s the same name.

He quickly dialed his subordinate.

"I remember a journalist was killed by an unknown group. What's the name of the journalist?" He dare not ask it directly owing to the love and affection of government to put him behind bars. That would be a confession.

After hearing the name, the sweating just increased on his temples.