by Rahul Sharma
On the top of a high building, a young lad pressed himself against a pillar, hiding from the rain. The thunder roared in rage as the wind changed in order to drench the boy with rain, but he quickly shifted his angle on the pillar so he remained fairly dry.
His face showed an odd mix of fear and determination. Ever so slowly, the boy shifted his gaze away from the dark clouds around him. He spied the half open door a few metres away from the small structure under which he was. He looked up at the sky again. A blinding flash of lightning, a deafening roar of thunder: Almost as though the clouds were angry. The boy also noticed that a few kilometres away, in any direction, the skies were perfectly clear.
Paling a little, the boy turned in the direction of the half opened door, which led away from the terrace. It was about three or four metres away, but to the young boy it felt like several miles. He took a few steps forward, leaving the cover of the stone pillar, and got drenched within seconds. The rain drops felt like needles against his skin. He began to shiver with cold and fear.
“You’re not gonna get me.” He mumbled indistinctly under his breath, as he stood defiantly in the rain. He planted his feet firmly in the ground, refusing to be blown even a step backwards by the buffeting winds. He summoned up as much energy as he could and took a step forward, against the wind. “Ha.” He muttered softly.
The moment the soft word left his lips, the wind intensified. It blew with a force never experienced in these parts of the country. The boy was thrown backwards onto the ground. For a few seconds he remained on the ground, winded by the fall. Finally with an almighty grunt, he lifted himself and cast himself back behind the pillar.
Just a short dash to the door, he thought, bracing himself. But the door seemed farther away than ever. As the thunder roared like a monster, the boy made up his mind. He knew that the rain would continue throughout the night if he didn’t move. That was the price of insulting the gods. He had personally learnt his lesson, but he knew that he could not plead or beg the rain to stop. His fate lay in the sprint to the door.
Steeling himself once and for all, the boy ran for it. The rain knew immediately. Sensing his moving form, the rain poured harder than ever and the wind blew like a hurricane. The boy had to splash through ankle deep water to reach the door, and that was the reason he couldn’t make it.
The water below his feet pushed him towards the edge as well, throwing him off balance. The wind took advantage of this temporary blunder. With the force of an express train, the wind slammed into the boy’s side, hurling him over the parapet and sending him plummeting down ten floors.
With a sickening crunch, the boy hit the ground. As though to ensure that the boy was dead, a bolt of lightning flew down from the heavens and electrocuted his body, setting fire to the underbrush where he lay, in the process.
The moment the boy stopped breathing, the rain began to cease. The wind intensity and lightning and thunder began to reduce. The storm began to subside. But as the clouds began to dissolve, a final rumble of thunder echoed across the area. Along with the thunder came a voice, a voice so low and loud that it merged with the thunder itself, A voice so strong and powerful that it seemed to emerge from the rain cloud itself. The voice said, “NEVER INSULT THE GODS.”
~~~
Ghosts
“Its all absolute balderdash!” declared James, as the five teenagers strolled down the street. “Ghosts do NOT exist. People just use them to scare others from houses and thus avoid any visitors….and maybe even to avoid property tax…” he chuckled at his own joke. He ran his hand through his spiky black hair and looked at Rebecca, who was walking next to him. “But dear Rebecca would probably curse me to live in the underworld if I contradict her beliefs, so I’ll keep my opinions to myself…”
Rebecca however, was staring, with glazed eyes, at the orange sky above her. Thinking of what they had planned to do; wondering if it was the right thing. Her hands instinctively clutched the beaded necklace she wore around her neck for safety, grabbing the cross that dangled down from it. It was definitely a little out of character for her to attempt something so risky, but since she was the one who had the strongest belief in ghosts, she had to prove it to her friends. Her eyes shifted to Number 211, Church Street, silhouetted by the setting sun. She prayed to her stars and continued striding confidently towards it.
Rudolf, or Rudy for short, had no opinion on ghosts. He was not religious and had never had any reason to comment on the existence of ghosts. He was tagging along only because he had had a rather boring day and hanging out James and the squad could make anyone’s day interesting. He pulled up the hood of his jacket and shivered, it was going to be a cold night.
Stephen was a thinker by nature. As he gazed at the little house at the end of the road, he marvelled at how extraordinarily ordinary it looked. It had a small iron gate, with a rather small post box beside it. The little house sat at the other end of the relatively short driveway. It was no mansion as most “haunted” houses are said to be. It was a small, cosy looking, two bedroom house. There were no ravens, no dead trees and no skeletons in the front yard, only waist high grass, interspersed with parthenium and flower bushes. The house wasn’t rotting or covered in ivy, it was rather white and in one piece, with peeling paint and grimy windows though. He marvelled at how peaceful it was and he found himself wishing to live in such a quiet house during his old age. Stephen mumbled a few lines of Shakespeare under his breath and hoped that he would not have the misfortune to see a ghost that evening.
Rosie, who was known as Joe for her boyish behaviour, strode determinedly in front of her friends. She was the pioneer of this mission, so it was almost an unspoken agreement that she was to lead them into the house. As she walked on, she noticed that her laces were untied. She paused and considered whether to tie them up or not. To hell with it, she thought, if we DO get into trouble with REAL ghosts, we’re going to need a lot more than tied laces to come out alive. She cast a glance over her shoulder and checked if any of her friends had chickened out. Not yet. Adrenaline pumping through her body, Joe called out to her friends in a mock-formal voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen we have reached our destination. All passengers are advised to keep their wills prepared in case of an emergency. All cell phones are to be switched off during the séance and all visiting spirits must be treated courteously. Any attempts to contact the devil will result in immediate excommunication. In case one of you is possessed, the others must show no mercy and hack them to bits using their pocket knives.” She flashed a grin at her fellow explorers, who were now rather pale-faced. “We wish you a happy, peaceful and possession free day!” Saying this, she kicked open the gate and marched up the driveway.
The five trotted up the driveway in the fading light, unsheathing their flashlights as they went. As they all assembled at the desolate porch, they pushed Rudy to the front of the group, to face the door. At six feet tall, Rudy, who worked out every day, was considered the muscleman of the group. With a grunt, he slammed his shoulder into the door, which, after a little resistance, gave way with a bang. The door flew open and Rudy was thrown into the dusty interior of the house, followed by his cheering friends.
The moment he broke into the house, Rudy turned around and examined the door. It was weak. Too weak. He voiced out his concern, but his ecstatic team mates waved it aside. “It’s an old, unoccupied house, whadya expect?” Joe pointed out as she, like the others, switched on her flashlight and began exploring the house.
Rudy shut the door behind him and began exploring the house with the others. From the entrance, they tromped down a narrow passage into a compact living room, which lead to a cramped dining room with a rather weak looking circular table in the middle. The grey walls were adorned with several black and white photos of rather formidable looking people.
“Okay people,” Joe began authoritatively, “We look around for half an hour tops, and we come back here to begin our séance. No touching and NO
stealing. We’ll regroup here in half an hour and conduct the séance here. Rudy, you can leave the bag here if you want, I doubt anyone will steal it…” Saying this, she tromped out of the room up the stairs. She needn’t have set a deadline and a meeting point, because everyone stuck together throughout.
Fifteen minutes later, the five of them, satisfied with their exploration, sat down on the filthy bed in one of the tiny upstairs bedroom and rested in the light of their flashlights.
“Ignore the skittering sounds,” said James haughtily to his friends, “those are just the sounds of the spirits running away from my awesome presence.” Everyone sniggered.
“More like they’re the rats running away from you out of disgust” Joe retorted, causing more chuckling. James kept quiet.
Suddenly, Stephen spoke, his voice soft, “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not aware of why this place is considered haunted, care to fill us in, Rebecca?”
Rebecca looked at Stephen, took a deep breath, and began her narration in a low and dramatic voice, “This house was built about forty years a go, by Sir James Claudwick, a veteran of the war. He put his heart, soul, and all his money into the building of this house, so he could live happily with his wife and children. But there was only one small problem”
“What was that?”
“On this very spot, a hundred years ago, there was a burial ground. Foundation digging revealed bones, skeletons and some rather intact bodies. The church declared that it was unholy to build a house on the old graveyard but Claudwick, having spent all his money on the project, proceeded. The house was built into what it is today, though not in as bad a condition.” She shook her hair out of her eyes, readjusted her position and continued. “A month after moving into the house, Mr Claudwick died. Nobody knows how. He was found dead in this very bedroom, alone and with an expression of horror on his face.”
She paused for a moment and allowed the horror to sink in. The four teenagers looked around the room, trying to picture the tall, moustached, prim and proper Mr Claudwick lying dead in that very bedroom several years ago. After a rather frightened silence, Rebecca continued her story.
“The priest just gave a big fat ‘I told you so’ and refused to conduct Claudwick’s last rights. It is rumoured that Claudwick’s body is still in the attic of this house, but nobody is brave enough to go check. And we are NOT going to check” she added harshly to Joe and James, who showed every sign of wanting to go and look for a dead body.
“So what happened next? Did everybody else die mysterious deaths as well? That is SO cliché”
“Shut it James, I’m telling the story here” Rebecca snapped before continuing in a low, mysterious voice, “So Mrs Claudwick lived a widow’s life with her two children. But by the age of thirty five, she began considering remarriage. Soon she wanted to get over her dead husband by marrying a young man, Harold Martin, who was in the navy. His parents approved, her parents were dead, so the date was fixed and the wedding preparations were made with full gusto. However, the night before the wedding, evil struck again.
“Harold was spending the night in the house; the children were sharing the room across the hall. On the morning of the wedding, both the children were found dead, stabbed in several places, and Harold was covered in their blood, though there was no evidence whatsoever of Harold being the murderer.”
There were several gasps throughout the room as Rebecca paused dramatically. Rudy looked a delicate shade of green in the torchlight and Stephen seemed to regret asking the question. Joe was staring wide eyed at Rebecca. James, however, was listening with sceptical interest, with an amused expression on his face.
“Well, as you can expect, Mrs Claudwick was devastated and the wedding was called off immediately. The man, Harold Martin, who swore that he was innocent, fled, and was never heard of after that. Mrs Claudwick wanted to leave the house, now that she had no family left. But nobody wanted to buy the house because of its gruesome history. So, with a heavy property tax to pay, and no source of income, Laura Claudwick ran steadily out of money. Until one day she was found dead on the floor of that very bathroom.” There was a collective intake of breath as everyone turned to look at the bathroom door. After a moment of pause, Rebecca continued, “There was no evidence of any kind of drug consumption and coroners were unable to come up with a satisfactory cause of her death.
“They buried her in the local graveyard and debated what to do with this house. Nobody wanted to buy it, nobody was brave enough to tear it down, so it was left as it is now, desolate, unoccupied, and supposedly possessed.”
The story was over. Unable to handle the deafening silence around them, all five of them began to get up and stretch their limbs. After a few seconds, Joe marched up to the door and declared in a low, excited voice, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the séance!!”
The five young adults trooped down the staircase, their flashlights lighting every surface in around them with caution, in search of any traces of ghostly existence. They arranged themselves around the circular dining table, while Rudy pulled out candles, a loaf of bread, and a crystal ball from his shoulder bag and set them on the table.
Rebecca began to arrange the items with a sense of purpose. Six candles around the loaf of bread, six around the crystal ball. She pulled out a cigarette lighter from her pocket and began lighting the candles. “Yo James, close the curtains, make sure all doors to this room are shut. The rest of you, take your seats.”
James went around drawing the curtains and shutting doors, noticing a closet door in the wall as he went around the room. He resolved to check it for corpses later. Everybody else tested out the rickety chairs with their weight, they held their weight with rather protesting groans.
Within a few minutes, the candles were lit, and everyone had taken their places around the table. Rebecca instructed everyone to hold hands and began conducting the séance in the light of the flickering candles.
“Great Spirits that reside in this house, forgive us for our rude entry. We wish to commune with Sir James Claudwick. Come, Sir James Claudwick, and talk to us.”
There was a tense pause as all five waited for a reaction. Even James, who doubted the existence of ghosts, had his ears pricked for any sound of a presence. Rebecca tried calling again. And then it happened.
There was a loud bang and the tinkling of glass as a window flew open and shattered. The scariest part was that it was not windy outside. James made an attempt to get up to close the window but Rebecca and Stephen firmly gripped his hands.
“Do NOT attempt to break the circle,” she warned, her face pale, “if you break the circle there’s a greater chance of something going wrong.” James resumed his seat, his eyes wide.
Five sets of eyes gazed at the loaf of bread and the crystal ball in the middle of the table, unsure of what to expect. All of a sudden there was a loud voice which made all five of them jump out of their skins. It was a crisp, masculine, harsh voice with a slight British accent.
“Rebecca Walters,” The voice called, in an arrogant, authoritative tone, “what is your purpose of summoning me from my sleep?”
Rudy quickly glanced around the table to see who the spirit was “talking through”, but nobody seemed to be possessed. Rebecca was shivering violently. James was pale and sweaty in the face, all traces of haughtiness gone. Joe was clutching her friends’ hands like a frightened toddler, her eyes darting rapidly all over the room, looking for a sign of the otherworldly. Stephen had his eyes narrowed to slits, ready to shut them in case of an emergency. Rudy himself, the calmest and boldest of the lot, too, found his teeth chattering involuntarily. The voice seemed to emanate from the walls of the room itself.
“I-we…..is…..is that…..Sir James…Claudwick?” Rebecca asked tentatively.
The tiny room shook as the walls uttered a roar of rage, “You first disturb my slumber, then you ask me for my identity?! This is preposterous! You will suffer the consequences!!” There were several tin
kling noises as four sorry looking vases shattered simultaneously. Stephen uttered a small whimper.
The sound of heavy, angry breathing filled the room. “My name,” the voice said slowly, “is Jerry Lawrence. I left your world six months ago, thanks to a domestic accident.”
There was a sharp intake of breath around the table as the name was sounded. Mr Lawrence was the father of their classmate. James and Matthew Lawrence were almost sworn enemies. The entire gang had been involved in pulling a massive prank on Matthew, just days after his father’s death. James’ eyes became as wide as saucers when he heard the name. His teeth chattered violently and he strongly resisted the urge to throw up. Rebecca looked at James, and prayed that he would come out of this safe and alive…
“I sense guilt,” whispered the voice, which was still emanating from the room as a whole. “I smell guilt. Who here feels guilty? OWN UP!” The last two words were roared in a thunderous voice, causing several photographs to fall off the walls and shatter. James jumped violently at the noises; the spirit seemed to detect his presence.
“James Smith!” James froze, paralyzed with terror. He couldn’t even shiver. The voice was now a slow rasp, still coming from an undeterminable source. “You seem filled with emotion. Guilt? Is that….repentance? Oh, I see, you’ve been troubling my son, and now you’re contacting me? How stupid are you people?” His voice was rising in pitch, intensity and anger by the word. “I think I shall teach you kids a lesson…”
There was a loud thud as one of the chairs in the corner of the room flew up into the air and crashed back onto the floor. Mirthless laughter began to echo through the room, deafening all the occupants. The windows began to burst into shards of glass as every window exploded. Joe screamed. The door leading to the kitchen broke into splinters, showering the gang with wood shavings. Stephen broke the circle, and bounded towards the door. Rudy, Joe and James were not far behind him. Rebecca, devastated by her friends’ sudden escape, scooped up the crystal ball, the shoulder bag, and hurried out after them, almost hyperventilating, tears flowing down her cheeks. The five ran as fast as they could, as far as they could, away from the house.
