Her horrible night

The end of the lane which thrust out a signboard of the village was shrouded in darkness. The moon was peeping out unleashing its glow over the earth. I drove past in my car, alone, focusing on the road which started to get muddy and had lost the lustre of smoothness like the highway had.

It was approaching 10 p.m. which a glance through the corner of my eyes confirmed. I slowly pulled down the window shield, taking in the breath of fresh air, the aroma that was predominantly held as a heritage by the village, making my long curly hair strands flutter, partly hiding my vision. After tucking them under my ears, I heaved a sigh.

“I shall take a temporary stop at any nearby lodge,” telling that to myself, I slowed down the vehicle, and my gaze fell on a man, who was clad in a thick black blanket throwing suspicious glances at me.

“Hey, are there any lodges nearby?” I asked.

I heard a snicker, followed by a smirk, “Lady, what are you doing here at night? You should be at home!”, I could sense the twinge of astonishment laced with arrogance in his coarse voice.

“I guess, that shouldn’t be bothering you! You have an answer?” I asked returning his smirk, forcing to reek off equal stubbornness.

“Mm, no, there isn’t any. But there is a tea stall few metres from here,” he told.

“Thanks”, tearing off my gaze away from him, I gripped the steering wheel, revved the engine, and sped off.

There was no need to explain to him that I was a tourist, which was inviting danger towards me. Lost in thoughts, I drove.

I saw a whiteboard lit in neon colours, it read-‘Nighthouse Tea Stall’. I pulled off my car opposite to it, and as soon as I opened the door after adjusting my kurti, I saw a boy smiling at me.

“Welcome to our tea stall, sister.”

“Thank you, kid. But what are you doing here at night? You should be at home,” I said, smiling at him.

“Nah, this is my father’s tea stall, I help him during vacations. Sometimes I hold the board so that the passengers can see and visit our place,” he was grinning, as he stood near me. “What would you like to have?”

“Let me reach the stall, and sit, shall I?” Giggling, I replied.

“Hehe, it’s to prepare food fast and fresh, like my father always says that customers are our God! Today’s special is hot bread.”

“Ok, kiddo, I’d like tea and bread, do you guys make bread here, or just order from outside?” I asked curiously.

“We serve what we make, hygiene is also important,” he replied, grinning.

“That’s great. I will sit on the chair outside.”

We crossed the road and he rushed inside, as I sat on the chair, gazing at the throngs of people at the place, who were leaving the stall while inhaling the aroma of tea floating in the air around me.

The leaves of the banyan tree opposite to the stall under which I had parked my car was swaying in the cool breeze that was kissing them in affection. There was this tingling deep down my mind, once where there was chaos, there was peace now with everything that happened in my life.

I saw a man with a lean physique walking with a trembling torso, come near me. He sat down beside me with a plastered grin, enough to make anyone feel creepy.

To be honest I was uncomfortable not because of his appearance but due to his murmurings. He was constantly looking at the banyan tree. Following the direction of his gaze, my eyes squinted at the well near the tree, which was now in ruins, a thing I had missed earlier.

“Hello, what’d you like to order?” A boy’s voice pulled me out of the trance.

“Hey, I have already ordered, thank you,” I smiled and replied.

“Okay then.” He moved to another customer.

My eyes again fell on the man, who had stopped now and his mumblings had collapsed into the abyss of silence.

“What are you looking at?”, intrigued, I asked him.

“Oh, you don’t know?” he replied.

“Mm, what?”

“It’s an old tale, wanna hear? Everybody knows that. So I was searching for someone new to say it. I love telling stories.” He grinned.

“Years ago, a little boy went missing. Everyone started searching. His friends said that they were playing hide and seek, and one friend remembered that he saw the boy heading towards the tea stall but nobody had seen him here.” The man sighed.

“You should’ve reported that to the police.” I said, sounding wary.

“The police won’t even come to our place, let alone reporting,” I could see the fury his eyes dripped.

“Why so?”

“They won’t come here because of the infamous haunted story circulating about our village of hearing noises late at night which wouldn’t be coming from a known source. Everyone ended the search after a few weeks. His family started forgetting him. Then one day an old man of the village said in reference to the village haunting that he had heard cries from a well. As he had hearing problems everyone ignored him. Only the missing boy’s friend followed the lead and searched each and every well of the village,” the man breathed a long sigh, “he finally found a skeleton in that well, which was covered with a big rusting iron lid.”

“Oh my!” Deeply shaken, my thoughts abruptly stopped.

“Later investigations proved that the boy must’ve slipped into the well accidentally and somebody might’ve closed the lid unknowingly, which only applies if the boy was unconscious due to the fall,” he closed his eyes, pausing for a moment.

“Here is your order,” the boy who came earlier when I sat here, had brought me tea and bread.

“Where is the kid whom I had given the order?” I asked, looking inside the stall. The stall was deserted, leaving me and the boy alone. As I was immersed in the story I had forgotten about time.

“Kid? There is no kid here! Only me and the owner of this tea stall work here.”

Instantly the man near me stood up and strolled away, wrapping the blanket he had in his polythene cover. That took me by surprise, as it rendered the flash of the man I saw before coming here. Although I hadn’t seen his face clearly, the blanket had white stripes, which I identified.

“Who’s that man?” I asked the boy.

“Oh, him, he comes here every day, and looks at that well for some time where his son died,” the boy replied.

“Somebody called Raj Pradhan, that man’s rival had taken revenge by taking his child’s life. He always says that the lid was intentionally closed. Who knows the truth!” Shrugging the boy went inside the tea stall.

My throat was parched, words got stuck in the haze where I found myself drowning as I recalled few childhood memories where my mother used to tell me stories of children who went missing in a playful way that I adored much.

Hastily, I put aside the tea glass and sprinted across the road, but a force suddenly grabbed me and dragged me towards the well. As my gaze traveled from the small legs to the dreary face of the little boy, a shudder ran across my spine, chilling my nerves.

“Leave..” I was numb. My voice acted as if it never existed. My eyes were clenched tightly, but I didn’t leave, forcing my release from his grip. But everything went in vain, as I was being pushed into the well, and the last thing I remember was the moonlight before the iron lid closed.

A glint in the eyes of the man sliced through the darkness as he hastened his steps. An identity card from Wipro industries dangled on the dashboard of her car, it read-’Sonya Pradhan’!


The darkness peek into the street

She was awake

Feeling the freshness of the breeze

She walked

The desolate road reflected her life




And when the road diverged

A lost puppy joined her trail

Just like the way she joined her mother

From a trash can

To a life of momentary happiness

Sweeping away her

She gazed at the puppy

In its innocent, trembling eyes

Lied an ocean of worries

The same way she looked at the strange lady once.

Lost family

The kid stared at the people

Oblivious to everything

He was dazzled

The sunlight crept into his cheeks

The tears gleamed

The kid searched for his lost family

For he never knew that the bomb blast

Couldn’t spare the innocence of face

But spread its wings over his loved ones

The kid desired


And finally tired as he slept in the footpath

As the dreams blew a kiss of life for him!

Scaring myself

I never knew I could love someone

Someone deep enough to scar myself

Someone whom I allowed to bring death to me

I never knew that love can be the villain too

I never knew that love can create hell too

For I only remember the day where he was standing beside me manically

Holding a can of petrol

For the rejection he recieved

And they call it love!

The girl remembered before taking her last breath!


He desired

He stared

He wanted

To be the strands of her hair

Only to be eternally touched by her

He failed

He lost

But he couldn’t leave her memories

He loved the solitude

He loved the loneliness

The only thing that allows him to cherish his moments with her at the cemetery.

Gender crisis!

“Do you want bangles?” The girl in her 20s with her disheveled hair, and untidy dress asked me.

“No.” I replied and changed my gaze.

“Please,” she said.

“Mm, I don’t wear them daily.”

“Perhaps for someone closer to you?”


Her face turned gloomy, the road was desolate and this was the exact place where my friend was forced by an old lady to buy sweets prepared by her for money, so I was careful.

Through the corner of my eyes, I saw her standing near me with a pack of bangles. There was a boy too but he was plunged deep inside his phone.

“I wanted to sell all of them as I am gathering money for my surgery,” she said in a low tone.

“Surgery?” I was curious.

“To change my gender,” she said firmly, there was a twinge of smile.

I was baffled. I wanted to ask more, I wanted to know more about her but still I was resistive to interact.

“I can’t confront my family, so I ran away. My friend helps me here, and I do all kinds of job for that, it’s my destiny,” that was a proclamation, a daring challenge for the tough life she had infront of her to face bravely.

“I..I will buy them,” I said.

“It’s okay. You haven’t wore any bangles, which means you don’t use them much, so it’s pure sympathy, right?” She chuckled.

I was silent. I couldn’t talk.

The bus came. I boarded it hurriedly along with her, there was a smile, a tingling of hope in her eyes, while I stared at her blankly.

I was late for the class and she was late for her life, scurrying to reach her destiny while the society still suppresses a person’s choice of life. Ah, freedom it is, they say!


Hola amigos, after a long break I am back. I’ll e posting often and I will complete my thriller series. Thanks a lot my dear friends. I love you guys so much.

Murder at room no.7 Chapter – 2

“Sir, I’ve talked with the owner of this hotel over call, he said he’s on a tour but will come over if we need him, such a sweet person he is,” Rob was praising the owner of the hotel where the murders happened.

“Have you checked the identity of these four people?” Ignoring Rob’s praising, Nick asked curiously, as he was rushing towards room no.7.

“First one’s face is distorted, the identies of other three are yet to find out as we couldn’t get the dna checked,” Rob replied.

“Didn’t they have any id? How did they got a room without it?”

“This hotel do such illegal things for higher price,” Rob replied, slowly pacing as the room has reached.

It was calm, Nick felt as if the things placed in it were staring at him, nonchalantly.

A melancholy drifted in the air shielded by the pastel coloured tapestry, the breeze was knocking at the windows, yearning for an invitation.

“This room… Why is it so clean? I mean, it looks like these people never ever came here, it’s too serene to be a crime scene,” Rob blurted after shutting the door behind him.

“You’re right. The dead body was tied to the bed, right?” Nick asked, after contemplating the blood stains which was vanished to thin air.

“Ye looking for blood stains, ah? The killer must’ve cleaned it,” Rob chortled.

“Yeah, our assumptions are right about this being murders,” Nick trotted towards the bathroom.

“But, you were sure about it even before this murder, how so?”

“The pattern, Rob, it’s all in the pattern,” Nick replied, carefully zooming the area for evidences.

“Oh I see. But the killer must’ve made a mistake by stabbing the lady, it just broke his veil,” chuckling, he glanced at Nick.

“No, that ain’t right, Rob. It’s going with a plan, a dreadful one if I put it correctly.”

“I..I didn’t understand, sir,” furrowing his eyebrows, Rob said.

“No time to explain, Rob, we’ve to catch the killer before it’s too late, where’s the hotel’s owner? I’ve to meet him,” Nick asked, “also call the forensics, will you?”

“Let me check sir,” Rob strolled towards the reception of hotel Chariot, after calling in the forensics for further queries.

Nick was immersed in thoughts, as the ceiling looked similar to him, the paintings, the serenity, it’s an art, he thought.

His eyes got stuck in something in between the painting, although he was suddenly interrupted by Rob, who was panting.

“Sir, sir…..The owner..the owner,” Rob was running out of breath, as he felt the wrath of an unknown danger lurking in the shadow.

“What is it Rob?”

“He’s the first one with the distorted face, the one who got murdered,” Rob said, holding the door handle, sweating profusely.

To be continued.🙂

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