by Rahul Sharma
**********
For a few moments, there was a lull in the house, all was silent. A soft, careless wind whistled through the glass-less windows. The floor twinkled with shards of glass and china. The few black and white photos that remained on the wall, those of the Claudwick family, continued to gaze blankly into the room.
All of a sudden, a low giggle began to emanate from the closet in the wall. The laughter rose in intensity until it echoed across the empty dining room. With an almighty crash, the closet door burst open and a body tumbled out, crying with mirth. The small made body of the youth rolled around on the floor, laughing.
After several minutes of laughter, Matthew Lawrence rose up to his limited height, wiping his eyes before replacing his glasses on his nose. He viewed the ravaged room with a triumphant glint in his eye. Finally he had had his revenge. And it was SWEET!
With the help of a few simple gadgets, he had succeeded in scaring the living daylights out of his foolish classmates. And that wasn’t even the best part. Matthew walked to a corner, glass crunching under his shoes, and pulled out the camera. The camera was the best part of his scheme. He had recorded every second of the “séance”. The camera would be the ultimate source of embarrassment for the five troublemakers.
Matthew hummed a few bars of Bach to himself as he continued to gaze about the room, overjoyed. Hidden speakers, small range explosives and pulley systems. That was all he had required to teach those brats a lesson they would never forget…
“I,” he said, gazing at the ruins of the room, “am the best ghost ever!!” He grinned at the walls and held his hands out on either side of him, waving to an imaginary crowd. That was when he heard the voice. It was faint at first, but strengthened as it continued talking.
“Well,” said a small voice, coming from somewhere in the middle of the room, “I quite disagree….I think that was a rather crude and inaccurate display of the prowess of us deceased…”
Matthew gazed with mounting horror at the spot, a foot above the table, as a handsome man in his fifties slowly materialized. He had a well kempt, black moustache, wore a double breasted suit and a tall top hat. Only his pale shade of skin and the fact that he was standing a foot above the table, proved his ghostliness.
“Don’t you agree my dear Laura?” The ghost of James Claudwick asked, turning to look at a young lady who was materializing next to him.
Laura Claudwick, shook her head, shaking her long auburn hair over her face. “Pitiful performance indeed. I’m surprise those young ones fell for it!” She looked over Matthew’s shoulder and waved, “Oh, look dear! Sarah and John have come too!”
Matthew, who was already convulsing by this time, turned around. A boy and girl, not older than seventeen, gazed at him with sad smiles.
“Boys in my time never did such pitiful replications.” John said sadly, shaking his head.
His sister, Sarah, looked at Matthew with a naughty glint in her eyes, “Why don’t we teach this little boy what we ghosts actually do to people we dislike? What do you say, Father, Mother?”
Matthew began to whimper as the Claudwick family closed into him from all sides. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his bladder gave way. The four ghosts towered over his covering form, glaring down at him.
“I agree Sarah dear,” James said, giving Matthew an evil grin, “also, it has been a long time since I’ve tormented a mortal.”
**********
Neighbours of 211, Church street said that they heard inhumane screams for hours that night. The next morning, a few brave men entered the house to try and discover the source of the noise.
They found the devastated dining room of the house, with twelve candles on the table. But there was no body, no blood, and no trace of a fight of any sort. So it was concluded that the spirits were not able to rest last night because some fool had brought candles into their resting place. The house was emptied of candles and the men went on their way, eager to get out of the haunted house and begin with their work.
Matthew Lawrence was never seen after that night.
~~~
Just an Ordinary Coward
The world was at war. Chaos was a day to day affair. Six tribes, six elemental tribes, fought viciously to take over the land. Each tribe employed its strengths, its unique weapons and almost all its manpower to grab the title of the supreme ruler of the land.
The six key tribes were derived from the six key elements. Fire, Water, Wind, Ice, Earth and Energy. Two smaller tribes existed as well, two tribes which played little part in the war and suffered most of the consequences: they were the Nulls and then there were the Whites. The Nulls, as the name suggested, were those with absolutely no magical strength. They had suffered all the effects of the world war. But what they had lost in terms of magic, they had gained in terms of physical strength and swordsmanship. The Nulls were brave fighters and often signed pacts with the tribes to fight for them.
The second non-elemental group were the Whites. The Whites were a small clan who did not associate themselves with any elemental clan. They were the few people who had complete mastery of ALL SIX elements, making them the most powerful tribe. But the Whites did not believe in warfare. They only wanted peace. They lived in a small, nomadic colony, moving away from death and destruction.
It all started when Emperor Fraser died. He was the last of the dynasty of White rulers, who had administered the land well. He had adequate representatives from each of the tribes, and everybody dwelt in peace and harmony. The citizens were happy. The tribes were happy. But unfortunately, Fraser did not leave an heir to his throne. He was unmarried and had no children. So chaos broke across the empire. Each of the tribal generals fought fiercely for the title of emperor.
The capital city of the empire was reduced to dust. Violent revolts, bloody civil wars and loud protests eventually resulted in the destruction of the city. Each of the six tribes, too, left the city. Each one journeyed back to their native land. Their natural habitat. The Nulls were forced to settle in camps, open to attacks from the other tribes. The Whites of the empire were mercilessly slaughtered, and their numbers were drastically reduced, so drastically that they had to flee for their lives. They had to leave the luxuries of a city life and go into the wilderness.
And so the war broke out. Each tribe attacking the other tribe for dominance. A few shaky alliances were formed. But they broke down within a few years. The war lasted over thousands of years. Nobody showed any sign of weakness, which is why the gods decided to intervene.
The world did not have actual “gods”- The “gods” where nothing more than one man from each tribe, who had developed his powers to an extreme level, allowing him to dwell in another dimension. Another unique fact about the gods was that they did not quarrel amongst themselves on the basis of tribes. These “gods” watched over the affairs of the world, intervening when they thought necessary. They had watched the war grow stronger and more dangerous and had decided to stop the war before it went out of hand.
The gods, after much discussion and debate, decided to introduce one “Saviour” to the world. They charted and planned the course of the saviour’s life. They decided what weapons to hand to him and when. They carefully chose out his parents and decided that he should be one from a nomadic camp of Nulls. Another thing that the gods confirmed was that nobody would know that the youth was the key to peace until he was of age.
And so, one quiet evening, in one of the Nomadic camps of Nulls, the hero was born.
**********
It was a dusty afternoon. Strong winds blew along the flat plain, blowing up walls of dust into the air. The makeshift camp was pitched beside the disturbed surface of the vast lake. Large waves crashed onto the shore, a murky brown in colour because of the dust. The tents in the camp flapped dangerously, threatening to fly off into the wilderness.
Somewhere at the edge of the makeshift camp of the null’s camp, a teenager was shouting wildly to a herd of cows, trying to herd them
back into the safety of the camp. But the cows paid no attention to their young master- they continued munching on grass, oblivious to the rising storm. The youth tried one more time to call the cows over the wind, but there was no response. Giving up, the cowherd ran towards the closest tent-right at the edge of the camp.
Tom Carson pulled open the front of the tent and entered. It was empty. Softly swearing under his breath, Tom slid back out of his tent and stomped off down towards the centre of the settlement, the storm rising as fast as his temper. Mumbling to himself, he entered the village pub, which was easily the largest structure-it was built out of wood and not canvas.
“Mom? Dad?” he called out, as he edged his way through the crowded pub. After a few minutes search, he found his parents sitting at the counter, listening, enchanted, to a man with a long, white beard. On seeing Tom’s curious face, the old man smiled and said something to his parents. Both his mother and father turned around, looked at him, and smiled warmly.
“Come Tom, let us head to our tent,” his mother said softly, putting an arm around her son, “Professor Tranus has something to tell you.” She gestured at the old man(who was clearly not one from the village), who smiled and nodded at Tom.
Tom Carson stared at the three faces in front of him, his eyes wide. He shook his head a couple of times. He blinked a few times and looked at the faces again. No difference. They all still smiled warmly at him.
“No. it can’t be.” Tom said clearly to the bearded face of Tranus.
“That was my first impulse as well, but after checking, double checking and triple checking, I have concluded that the message that I have received was correct. You ARE the one destined to end the war.”
“No.” repeated Tom. “Such a person would be much more talented than me. He would be the squire’s son, not a cowherd boy! He would be a child with talent, a prodigy! It’s not me!” He saw Tranus open his mouth, about to retaliate. “NO!” Tom shouted, and a crack of thunder from outside reinforced his voice. Before anybody could say anything, Tom left the pub.
He walked quickly in the rain, outside the village, towards the cows, which were still grazing, blissfully unaware of the wild storm.
My temper has been a little short of late, Tom grumpily thought, as he climbed up the nearest tree facing the cattle. Tom wedged himself between two sturdy branches and began to think seriously.
Before he thought too much, he heard a soft flutter of wings over the rushing of the rain and a soft voice called in his ear “Feeling a bit surly?” Tom turned to look. On his shoulder was what could be described as a small pixie. His entire body was feathery, with a feathery wing on each side of his body. His small body tapered down to a single, scaly leg which ended with a talon, much like that of a bird. He had a small toothy mouth at the front of his face below a single, large eye.
Tom called him ‘Jynx’, his private friend. Jynx described himself to be a Cyclops fairy-a fairy with a single eye. Tom met Jynx during his travels with the village, and after befriending him, allowed the little fairy to travel with him. Jynx always visited him when he was alone, tending to the cows, for his parents didn’t know of his existence.
“Have you brought any food?” Jynx asked Tom excitedly. Tom shook his head,
Jynx’s sharp toothed grin faded a little bit. Nevertheless, the little fairy perched himself on his friend’s shoulder and asked in a gentle voice, “What’s up Tom? I sense you are upset, angry, scared and irritated.”
Tom sighed and looked at the little fairy on his shoulder. “Some guy arrived today, some professor guy. He claims that it’s my duty to end the war, to fight for peace. To create a new empire.”
Jynx sensed the youth’s fear in his voice. He cooed softly, trying to comfort him, “but you have known this as well? So what is wrong? For the past four weeks you have played around with your magical talent, despite the fact that you are born to those without magic.”
“You don’t understand the whole thing, do you Jynx? I can do this,” Tom snapped his finger, a small flame appeared at the tip of his index finger. He blew it off, and continued, “But will I able to fight? To kill? To conquer? To blow up troops and cast mighty spells? I doubt it.”
“It sounds more like fear than lack of skills” Jynx quietly retorted, gazing shrewdly at his friend. Tom turned to look at Jynx.
“No! You don’t understand Jynx. Humans are not so simple.” Tom said, his voice pained, “I do not have skills to wield swords and bows and kill people. I am just an ordinary person!!”
Jynx gazed at Tom for a few seconds, “So you would rather let the world suffer than learn a few, maybe difficult, skills?”
Tom said nothing, but he simply glowered at Jynx for trapping him in such a way. He shook his head, showering water on Jynx, “I am NOT going to change the world. I am NO hero.”
Saying so, Tom deftly slid down from his branch and landed on the ground. He tried to call the cows yet again, but they didn’t listen, and he set off back towards his tent, hoping to be firm with his parents and Mr Tranus. As he strode towards the tent, the rain began to cease, just like his temper.
Somewhere above him, a bird of prey was planning on ambushing the boy and began to dive. As he adjusted his weight and began to plummet, there was a strong wind, blowing him off course. But the defiant hawk persevered. His figure resembled an arrowhead as he flew closer and closer to Tom’s head, his speed increasing every second. All of a sudden, there was a flash of lightning. Within half a second, with a loud crack, a bolt of lightning hit the hawk from behind, the hawk was fried to a crisp and dropped to the ground like a stone. Tom was oblivious to this.
Tom slid into the tent to see his parents and their guest, still waiting patiently for him. Tom didn’t meet any of their eyes, he felt shameful. But nevertheless, when Tranus quietly asked him what he had decided, he defiantly shook his head.
“So, you’re NOT interested in training with me? Not interested in freeing the world?” Tranus asked quietly, “your parents have given consent that you may travel and learn with me. They also agree that you are one of extraordinary skill. What say, Tom?”
Tom shook his head yet again. “For the last time, sir, I am just and ORDINARY cowherd.” The thunder outside roared with consent. The tent flapped in the wind, threatening to cave in if the listeners dared to defy the speaker.
~~~
Master of the Trade
Mr Eggson Polkiss was one of the most controversial people in the history of the town. No one knew what he did for a living, but he was filthy rich. Some say he inherited it. Others say he stole it. The truth was, he had accumulated it after years of doing this and that. He used to appear in the papers once in a while, for taking up scenes in a movie, or producing movies. But the thing he was the most famous for were his controversial statements. Every now and then he would state something against someone, or strongly support some law. He once called the educators “Ambitious morons”. This created quite an uproar. Two weeks later, he commented that a bunch of rebellious students he once met “Show us how blissfully unaware our youths are of our splendid educational systems.” This made quite another racket. Especially when put against his previous remark....
All in all, Mr Polkiss was hated by many, and loved by many more. He was often used as a mascot for political campaigning. Today was one such event. Hundreds of people crowded the Main street of the city as they waited on either side of the street for the parade to begin. Millions of leaflets and banners for the Liberators' party crowded every possible surface. The main attraction of the parade was Mr Polkiss and the founder of the Liberators party.
In every large gathering, there were always a few people who absolutely despised the cause, yet, at the time of the event, they happened to find themselves amongst the eager crowds. They often arrived at these events just for the heck of it. Or just to show off to their friends. Bole Kirk was one of these people. No one actually knew why, but he had hated Eggson Polkiss from the moment he became famous.
Bole had always thought that Eggson did not deserve the fame and attention and money that he got, he always felt that the money could have gone towards those who were more in need of it, such as himself.
On the morning of the day, despite all his hatred and ill feelings toward Polkiss, Bole inevitably found himself surrounded by excited fans at the parade. But he had come prepared with a plan. Today was no leisure trip. Armed with a backpack, he had a schedule to follow.
Bole Kirk purposefully strode through the babbling crowd toward a building. He entered the Bank of Georgeson to be greeted with a smile by the teller. “Hello sir, how may I help you?” Bole returned the smile, but shook his head “sorry, just gotta use the restroom, I'm in a hurry today,” he nodded towards the door, and the crowd outside, “All the excitement and activity.” The teller then noticed Bole's backpack. “Would you like to leave that in the cloak room sir?” he asked, indicating the backpack.
Bole vigorously shook his head. “No thank you, I don't trust anyone with my camera. Sorry.” he said. He then asked the teller where the bathroom was, though he already knew, he was shown the staircase and given the directions. With a smile of thanks, he trudged up the stairs. Once he reached the upstairs corridor, he dashed toward a supply closet. He found what he needed and reached the restroom entrance. He peeked into the room. It was empty. Bole breathed a sigh of relief; his task would be much easier.
He unfolded the 'Cleaning in Progress' sign in front of the door, entered the restroom and locked the door behind him. Now he had to get to work. He walked over to the counter of wash basins and laid his backpack on it. The first thing he did was as planned; he pulled out the dark roll from his backpack and stuck it on to the window next to the counter. While doing so, Bole was too anxious to look outside the window.
