The Gift
Page 1
THE GIFT
Copyright 2016 Chandrapal Khasiya
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
About the Author
Connect with Chandrapal Khasiya
Acknowledgements
Thanking Tejas Kemkar and Amit Pandey for tolerating my works from school days till graduation.
A special thanks to ADIT's Volcano Team 2014 for keeping me inspired and pushing me to move forward. This is an outcome of your wishes.
Heartily thanking Kaushal Desai for suggesting to turn this story into an e-book.
And to all lovely readers without whom I would not have been able to complete story after story.
Last but not the least, to my Sony VAIO
Chapter One
“You ruined my life!”
“Please, at least listen to me.”
“Listen to you? What do you think of yourself?”
“Hush, our son will hear.”
“Let him hear. I don’t care. I doubt even if he is our son.”
“For God’s sake, please don’t speak ill about him.”
Rajan clutched the edge of his bed, the soft mattress curled under his tight grip. Fear paralyzed him as he heard the rising quarrel behind the closed door. He wanted to push himself up and wished to stop the fight of his parents. However, he failed to muster enough courage. What could a child of eleven possibly do to cease the affairs of adults?
And then, as if his wish was granted, the noise stopped, abruptly.
Rajan sighed patiently, waiting for her mother to enter his room and hug him tightly, assuring that everything was alright. Though deep down he knew only miracle could repair his parents’ relationship. And he didn’t intend to make it right. All he wished was to…His thoughts vanished as he noticed the knob of the door was turning, fading light of the setting sun from the balcony shining on its brass edge.
“Maa,” Rajan said, “is that you?”
The door clicked, and its hinges made a tiring sound as it swung open. Bright light flooded inside the room, blinding the boy. Rajan struggled to open his eyes, adjusting with the sudden outbreak of brightness. For a moment he thought he saw his mother at doorway, then he realized the silhouette had manly features. “Father?”
The shadowed figure stepped ahead, and the light behind him dimmed. Silence fell across the room, a kind of silence that instills horror in one’s heart. Rajan remained rigid as a stone on his bed, his mind numbed, unable to comprehend what to do next.
“Were you expecting someone else?” the man said in deep voice.
Rajan shook his head, nervously. Words began to form in his throat, and when they reached at tip of his tongue, the grandfather clock at his left began to chime, announcing the time of seven in evening.
One! Two!
Rajan rubbed his eyes, they still hurt from the glare. He blinked harder for a couple of times until his vision cleared. A cold spike of fear stabbed him as he realized that the man standing in front of him was not his father.
Three! Four!
The man was a haunting figure, fully clad in black, and his face was shrouded by the golden mask. Rajan stared with disbelief at the eye sockets of the masked fear. They were empty, like pools of darkness. Ominous and sinister.
Five! Six!
The masked man produced a long knife from folds of his overcoat. He rose the weapon, its steel glowing golden in the vanishing sunlight. “Happy B’day, Rajan!”
Seven!
The clock chimed for the final time, and the man struck his fatal blow, slashing the knife across Rajan’s chest.