The Taxi Ride: and Other Spooky Stories

by Priyanka Sivaramakrishnan

  I’m 11 years old! Sneha is seven. Why should I take her to play with my friends? She can’t run fast. She won’t be able to keep up with us, Arjun thought.

  His family had moved into a new apartment recently. It was in a quiet neighbourhood, far from the main road. Arjun’s father had joked that the area was a graveyard many years ago. As the city expanded, builders needed more land to construct houses. They chose to dig up the graves, he said. Arjun laughed it off. Sneha did not find it funny.

  Their apartment was located in between two bungalows. The compound on the right had tall trees and a well-kept garden. Arjun had spotted parrots on the guava trees early in the morning.

  The house on the left was different. It was a big, grey bungalow that looked like it contained 10 rooms. All the windows were shut. Their wooden frames were scratched and faded. The compound was filled with weeds and thick, untidy bushes. Nobody in the area remembered the house ever being occupied. A common wall ran between Arjun’s apartment and this house. It was broken by a small, rusted gate at the corner. The gate was always locked.

  Arjun passed by it as he went to meet his friends. Rohan, Nisha, and Vanya were in different schools but they lived in the same building. They played together every evening. Arjun thought about the look on his sister’s face as he had shut the door and hurriedly pushed the thought away.

  “How about a game of Blind Man’s Buff? Arjun, you go first,” Rohan said, as Arjun came up to them.

  Vanya and Nisha agreed. Vanya tied the blindfold and spun Arjun on the spot. The boy counted to 10 and walked with his hands stretched out.

  Sneha was watching TV upstairs. She was bored. She could hear Arjun’s friends calling out to him but she didn’t hear him respond.

  Curious to see what was going on, she went to the balcony on the opposite side of the house. She dragged a low stool forward and stood on it to look past the railing. Arjun was nowhere to be seen.

  Sneha spotted a withered branch swaying in the breeze. It was right above the gate leading to the grey bungalow. She looked down and noticed that the rusted latch on the gate had slid open.

  “Arjun!” she screamed and ran down.

  Rohan, Nisha, and Vanya looked confused when she met them downstairs. Sneha pointed to the gate. They understood instantly. All four children tried to push the gate open but it was jammed. A tangle of weeds and branches pushed against the gate on the other side. They called for help. No one came. Their security guard was away on his tea break and hadn’t returned. The children dimly realised that it was close to sunset.

  Vanya fetched an old set of tools that her father kept in the garage. Rohan found a discarded plastic bottle with some water in it and a small can of petrol that his father had left in the supplies room that morning.

  Vanya hacked at the weeds with a tyre wrench from her father’s tool kit. Soon, she was able to clear a hole big enough for Sneha to squeeze through. Sneha crouched down and jumped to the other side.

  As she straightened up, the grey house seemed quieter than ever. The weeds were nearly as tall as her. The ground was coated with layers of dirt and old brown leaves. The bushes made eerie noises as they shook with the breeze. Sneha looked back. For an instant, she couldn’t see the hole through which she had come in. She shook herself and looked again. She could now see the wrench that Vanya was using to widen the hole. There it was, then it was gone again.

  Sneha forced herself to walk on. She took a few steps forward when her foot hit something. She knelt down to check what it was but was overcome by a sickly feeling. She closed her eyes reflexively. The air was filled with a strong smell, as when something damp was left in a tight, closed space for days together.

  She opened her eyes and spotted Arjun’s shoe. Sneha scrambled to find her brother lying unconscious on the ground. His face and hands were covered in bruises as though he had been gagged. Sneha called out to the others, asking for some water. By this time, Vanya was able to squeeze through the hole. She sprinkled some water from the discarded bottle on Arjun.

  He woke up with a start. “Sneha! Vanya! The wall. . . the wall!” he said.

  “Arjun, calm down,” Vanya said.

  “No. . . no. . . I was walking along the wall but I tripped on something and fell.”

  Arjun was shivering. Sneha looked worried.

  “But. . . how can that happen? There’s nothing there to trip you. Our building has a concrete walkway. It’s not even paved. Didn’t you feel the gate when you walked along the wall?” Vanya asked.

  Arjun shook his head.

  “The latch was undone when we came to the gate. We thought you or someone else may have slipped it open,” Vanya added.

  “No. . . I did nothing. My hand was touching the wall all along,” Arjun said, his voice shaking.

  All three children turned to look at the wall. “So you’re saying you didn’t feel the gate, you didn’t unlock it, you didn’t hear anyone else unlock it, and yet somehow it brought you here?” Vanya said, slowly. Arjun nodded.

  “I was about to get up when I realised I had fallen down but something bound me to the ground. It crawled over my hands, my feet, over my waist... I had my blindfold on but there was something else on it; something that was tightening around it. I tried to scream for help but it covered my mouth. I can almost taste it now. . . it was like a. . . leaf. . . an old, wet leaf. I felt a thin rope cross my face. . . it felt like a slimy, vine. It smelled like something. . . rotting. . . something. . . dead,” Arjun said, in a whisper.

  Sneha looked at her older brother. He was still shivering. She put an arm around his shoulders and slipped her free hand into her brother’s palm.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

  Vanya helped her carry Arjun to the gap in the weeds. Nisha and Rohan pulled him out. Vanya climbed out. Sneha was about to join them when something prompted her to turn around. The weeds looked menacing in the dark, as if they were coming for her. She felt them brush against her face as she climbed through the hole in the wall.

  Sneha felt a little dizzy once her feet hit the ground. She looked at the concrete walkway, trying to focus, when she spotted the can of petrol on the ground. She lifted it, removed the stopper, and doused the weeds on the other side of the gate. Rohan, who had managed to retrieve a box of matches from the watchman’s seat, gave it to Sneha.

  She struck a match, held it up to a weed beyond the gate, and watched the flame catch. The children could hear a slow crackle as the flame surged. Its warmth melted the cold, grey darkness around them.

  The Mist

  - Shilpa

  “Dei, Pramod. Let’s play on your X Box, da,” Shreyas said, tugging at Pramod’s arm.

  “No, man. Let’s play book cricket. I noticed so many fat law books in your dad’s study,” Prashant countered.

  “Have you guys forgotten about the IPL match tonight? Chennai Super Kings versus Mumbai Indians. Whoever wins this gets into the finals. I’m not missing it for your silly games,” Pramod said, as he turned on the television in his room.

  His parents had gone out of town for the night. They had allowed him to organise a sleepover with two of his friends. The boys had the whole house to themselves.

  For the next four hours, they were glued to the broadcast. They kept up a constant chatter commenting on everything they saw on the screen.

  “Hey, who’s that really fat boy who sits in the VIP box near the boundary line? He’s taking up the entire sofa!” Shreyas said.

  “I think he’s a team owner’s son,” Pramod said.

  “Wow! Clearly he’s never played anything that requires getting off the couch . . . six!” Prashant shouted.

  “It was a really smart decision for Dhoni to come in to bat earlier than he usually does,” Shreyas said.

  Pramod disagreed with this. They had an argument about it until Prashant asked them to keep quiet, so that he could listen to what the commentators were saying. They munched on popcorn. They threw a few kernels at the TV screen w
hen they were irked by an umpire’s decision, or at each other in the course of an argument.

  After the match, the boys raided the fridge for a midnight snack. Three large pieces of chocolate cake, one jug of orange fizz, and half a dozen cubes of cheese later, they hit the bed and were soon asleep.

  Pramod was known as the Kumbhakarna of their class. During the History period his teacher had stood next to him for nearly 10 minutes, shouting at him to wake up. He woke up only after she had prodded him with a ruler.

  That night, however, Pramod had trouble sleeping. A mosquito buzzed near his right ear. The light from the street lamp fell across his face. The fan whirred louder than it usually did. He tossed and turned until it was nearly midnight. Pramod’s eyes closed and he fell into a trance-like sleep as the clock struck twelve.

  A cat mewed in the distance. Two dogs howled at each other. Then all was quiet.

  Later in the night, something touched Pramod’s right foot. He smiled in his sleep. “Stop tickling me, Shreyas.”

  He felt something pull at his ankle. He ignored it.

  It tugged again. Pramod woke up and looked to his right. Shreyas was fast asleep.

  The room was dark except for the single beam of light from the street lamp that fell on his pillow. He was just about to turn over when he noticed something in the far corner of the room.

  A whirl of mist.

  Wait . . . that can’t be right. It’s summer. Why would there be mist, and inside the room too? he thought.

  Pramod rubbed his eyes and looked again.

  It was gone.

  He got out of bed and scanned the room. He even looked under the bed. Pramod didn’t believe in ghosts or monsters but he was just making sure.

  Relieved that there was nothing there, he got back into bed. Shreyas was sprawled on one side. Prashant had collapsed face-down on a magazine that he had been reading before going to sleep. Pramod could see some drool on it. Pramod’s eyes closed before he knew it.

  As the clock struck two, Pramod felt another tug at his leg. He woke up with a start. He saw the mist in a corner of the room. It disappeared before he could react.

  He thought the whirl of mist looked bigger this time; there was a more distinct shape to it. He couldn’t tell if it was something he had seen before. Pramod was truly spooked now. He tried waking Shreyas and Prashanth but both of them were in a deep sleep.

  Perhaps I was imagining it . . . Pramod thought, and lay down again.

  He was restless all night. He tossed and turned. He tried counting sheep and dinosaurs, but to no avail. He poked and prodded Shreyas and Prashant but his friends continued to sleep as if in a stupor.

  They didn’t wake up, no matter how hard he tried.

  The first rays of sunlight streamed in. Pramod woke up and felt a sense of dread. It lasted for a second. He realised it was morning and heaved a sigh of relief. He got off the bed and went into the bathroom.

  As he was about to step in, he saw something there that scared him out of his wits. In the corner of the bathroom, a misty figure was disappearing into the drain. All that was left behind was a thick mass of hair. Pramod stood transfixed. A tap on his shoulder snapped him out of it. Shreyas and Prashant were by his side.

  Feverish with fear, Pramod turned to his friends and narrated the strange happenings of the previous night. As Shreyas and Prashant listened, their jaws dropped.

  “I walked into the bathroom and saw the mist . . . that’s when you guys came in,” Pramod finished.

  Shreyas and Prashant had turned white. Pramod looked at them, a question in his eyes.

  “The same thing happened to me last night. I tried waking you guys up but both of you didn’t stir,” Shreyas said, his voice quivering.

  “It wasn’t you who reached the bathroom first. It was I,” said Prashant.

  Pramod looked at them, horror writ large on his face. “So if we all felt it at the same time, then . . .” Pramod’s voice trailed off.

  He turned to look at the bed. There lay three boys, dead to the world.

  The Dark Sorcerer

  - Amrutash

  In the summer of 2013, Shweta and Narayan visited the quiet hill station of Roshangarh with their families.

  The town was famous for Shatranj Kunj, a monument shaped like a chess board. It was made of black and white marble and was originally constructed a few hundred years ago in the memory of a great war. The life-size chess pieces resembled warriors in the midst of a tense battle. The monument had been lost in the wilderness surrounding Roshangarh for decades till it was rediscovered a few years ago. However, only the chess board had been found. The pieces were lost.

  The state government had recently commissioned local artisans to rebuild the pieces. They drew on descriptions from folklore to sculpt the warriors in stone. The officials cleared the forest around Shatranj Kunj and made the area accessible by road.

  Shweta and Narayan’s families reached the hill station late in the day. After dinner, the children went for a walk. They planned to see Shatranj Kunj by night. They carried a torch to light their way. After 15 minutes, they reached the metal gate at the entrance to the monument. The children scaled the gate, dropped down on the other side, and walked to the staircase beside the monument. They climbed the stairs and were finally level with the giant chess board.

  They looked up at the pieces and gasped. The piece closest to them was a chariot. The driver looked like he was shouting at both his horses. His whip was held in mid-air. The warrior had a massive bow in his left hand and an arrow in his right hand. The tip of the arrow glistened menacingly. Narayan clambered on to the chariot and stood next to the warrior. He looked at the chessboard. He was standing with the white team. He scanned the board--all the pieces were in mid-fight.

  “Come up. We can see the whole board from here,” he called out to Shweta.

  “Are you sure? I’m getting goosebumps. We should go back.”

  “We’ll go in some time. These pieces are different from what we usually see,” Narayan said. He understood that the chariots were rooks. There were horses for knights, elephants for bishops, and an imposing superhuman warrior for the queen.

  Shweta saw that there were foot soldiers for pawns. She walked towards the one near her.

  Just then she heard a noise. Then there was another--perhaps a whisper.

  Shweta paused. She looked at Narayan. He’d heard it too. They stood still. Their breathing slowed. It was a very quiet night. In the distance, one could hear water gurgling down a cascade.

  A soft mournful cry broke the silence.

  The children turned to the far side of the chessboard where the cry came from. From the corner of her eye, Shweta saw something move. She turned swiftly. Everything was still.

  “Did you see that, Narayan? There was something there,” she said, pointing her finger towards the black pieces.

  “Shweta, this chariot is moving.”

  Shweta turned towards Narayan. The chariot was wobbling, slightly. Maybe he’s made it a bit unstable, she thought. Hang on. . . isn’t it made of stone?

  Just then, Shweta heard a whisper. “Narayan, I can hear someone talking.” They looked at each other. They were too scared to move or talk. The whispers grew louder. The children were afraid that someone would discover them at the monument. They hid behind the nearest pieces. Soon they could hear people speaking.

  A loud voice rang through the night, “The sorcerer will be destroyed. Kill his soldier, oh faithful knight.”

  The children looked around. The statues were slowly coming to life. The charioteer’s whip came down hard on the horse--TWATCH! The startled horse let out a neigh so loud that it reverberated in the still night air. The warrior on the chariot turned to look at Narayan. His face was rough and full of scars. Narayan froze. Turning and running would be of no help because the warrior had a bow and a sharp arrow.

  The warrior turned to the driver and instructed him to stop the horses. Narayan jumped down from the chariot. He ra
n towards Shweta.

  Shweta realised that she was standing next to the white knight. He had noticed her. “Girl, this is a battle field. You will get killed.” Shweta looked around. The horses looked tall and determined. The elephants looked strong and fierce. The foot soldiers had their chests pumped up.

  She saw her friend run towards her. “Narayan, look out!” She pointed to the foot soldier on his left.

  Narayan saw him just in time. He swerved to the right. The foot soldier’s spear missed him by a whisker.

  Shweta turned back to look at the white knight. He had a kind face. “Sit behind me. I’ll protect you,” he said, holding out his hand. The children did as they were told. They noticed a warrior some distance away from them. He was tall and distinctive. He wore a thick suit of armour. He seemed to hold a shot gun in his right hand. The moonlight reflected off his armour and shone on his face. The children saw that it was an aggressive face: his cheeks were pulled in; his nose was sharp; his face was long and angular. But it was his eyes that scared the children the most. They had black magic in them

  “Who is that?”

  “He is the Dark Sorcerer, our neighbour and sworn enemy. Our armies fought for a hundred years. Then my king called for a games tournament. The best athletes from both the kingdoms gathered in our capital. As the kings watched the games, our soldiers marched towards their barracks. Without their king, they were helpless. Their army was wiped out. . .”

  “Then why are you still fighting?”

  The knight paused, pulled at his horse, and rushed at a black foot soldier. Taking the soldier by surprise, the knight pushed his sword right through his heart. The soldier let out a loud cry and fell to the ground. Blood gushed out, forming a pool where the horse now stood.

  “Excellent. Lead the march, oh brave kight,” shouted the same loud voice as earlier. The children turned to see the white king. The king and his chariot exchanged few steps in a ‘castle’ manoeuvre. He looked confident, like he had everything under control.