I still can’t get my head around the day I came home to complete disarray. Although I was used to such occasional mishaps, there was a sort of severity in the latest disposition I witnessed that evening. What initiated as something bizarre yet harmless had tuned into a violent farce of a poltergeist. My pillows lay on the floor, sheets creased out, curtains bore huge scissor cuts and my closet was heavily meddled with. I couldn’t hold back my tears the moment I entered the kitchen. Cookie jars were left unfastened and the dining chairs stood aligned on the table one over the other, something my six year old niece Dua was fond of doing. Every time she visited me, she insisted on letting her build castles and tombs using my movables. I lived alone and coming back home to such unsettlement almost every other day made me feel utterly helpless. Everything started around six days back when one evening while reading I felt someone’s presence under my study table. When I looked down, to my surprise there was Dua tuck sitting in the dark only to startle me with a “Peek-a-boo!” Something did not feel right as I lived forty five kilometers away from her and she couldn’t have travelled the distance all by herself. Moreover, I hadn’t left my house that day for her to sneak in without me noticing. I asked if her father dropped her but she refused to answer and continued playing with the hem of my skirt. Just when I was about to pull her out, my phone chimed and I was informed that Dua had met with a fatal road accident and slipped into coma. Whatever was rubbing my calves under the table had stopped too. I broke into cold sweat and my mind froze for a couple of minutes. Once I collected myself, I peeked under the desk one more time and to my relief, there was no one. I thought it was my mind playing tricks but it was too real to dust it under the rug. I took a leave from work for a few days to look after her in hospital and every time I returned home, it reeked of someone’s presence. I would often find my pillows dolled up in my clothes sitting on the couch or bed waiting for me. I found one of my soft toys missing the other day which was later discovered in her hospital bed. Everything happening around me was deeply traumatizing and inexplicable. Despite everything, I tried to keep myself sane. I sat hours after hours watching her little immobile body lying so lifeless. Sometimes I would sing to her while stroking her light brown curls. She loved to hear me sing but seemed to have lost all interest. Doctors couldn’t give us a definite answer too. I’ve often wondered how unfortunate someone has to be to hang around with devil’s own luck. The little girl since birth had already suffered a lot to be lying unconscious in hospital bed for past one week. Dua, despite being loved and cared about had seen some really dark days. From falling off her cradle every now and then to almost drowning in the public pool, she had endured it all. Alas, all I could do was pray for her recovery but my prayers were infested with the negativity I walked home to everyday. It felt like Dua was trapped in a grey zone between life and death. All the contretemps were her doings. My heart would shrink everytime pondering the possibility of Dua slipping away one day. May be it was just her heart that was pounding whereas her conciousness had detached long time ago and lingered in all spaces awaiting the conclusive news. It was day eighth and I had no energy to pick myself up. So I remained on bed whole day. The sun had set in and my room was dimly lit. There was no sign of anything unusual until my door bell rang. I tried turning on the lights but there was a power cut leaving me with nothing but my flash light. Something was thumping at the back of my mind and a stream of perspiration slid down my temple. In the dark I could figure out a familiar silhoutte. It was my sister, dua’s mother standing in front of me. My heart dropped. I could feel her eyes welling up and voice choking. She started sniveling and soon her bellowing voice filled my whole room with Dua’s name. I stood transfixed like my soul was scooped out of my body. She was holding the teddy bear which Dua had taken in supposedly. My heart could no longer take it. The sight of such a heart wrenching, bizarre and overwhelming scene made my stomach churn. My thoughts went muzzy and I lost clarity of my surrounding before finally passing out, collapsing in a blink. Dark and distict. 1:02 am. I woke up to a phone call from the hospital. Despite having no will to face the reality, I picked the call. My brother-in-law who never shed a tear till this date was sobbing. I could hear his voice breaking but there was an assurance in his usual idiolect. He fumbled a lot before declaring that Dua was showing signs of getting back at life. That was the moment I laughed and cried and cried again; to rejoice the coming home of my little neice and to repent the loss of her dead mother who couldn’t claim her child. Despite efforts. Many efforts. Nirmali Medhi

(i) The white wall ahead, As opposed to the night blue sky in my blurred perspective, has turned into a water body. I thought we would drown if we crashed and all the speeding cars behind us too with their headlights torching through our rear view would drown if they crashed and I wouldn't mind either. I would hold fast to my pillion space and not complain of the disturbing silence. (ii) We rode past the wall that posed as a lake Headlights still torching through without a crash, without a drowning case, Without a saving and Without a loss. (iii) I want to dissolve in the blinding lights, your dolorous eyes peaking in through the rear view. Speeding cars speeding in, stars glittering, bonfires in sight, night skies ablaze. The wall is now concrete, all waters dried up. Such is the death of a beautiful place I see the whole world burning. -Nirmali Medhi

My ex boyfriend has been following me around since last couple of weeks. I see him lurking in desolated spots of the marketplace and vanishing as soon as the corners of our eyes meet. He makes sure to make his presence felt enough for me to give a second glance at every other person that walks behind me. I haven't spent a single day without having to worry about him following me to the college, library, mart, dentist and all the places I could possibly go. The maddening part is his visits are not limited to only public settings.I have caught him twice or thrice skulking about the portico of the empty tool shed behind my house. Every time I see him, my mind reverberates with the fascimile of his last spoken words. During our last argument, he ended up calling me a witch and believe me, that was the last straw. We haven't spoken ever since. I no longer want to think about it, but given the circumstances, there seems to be no escaping. It began as a game of hide and seek but slowly it's evolving into him trying to invade my personal space. But one thing that I'm sure of is, he was never the kind of stalking ex that he has become one now. There could be two reasons that drove him to this insanity, the first one being my engagement. His mannerisms insinuate his disagreement towards my new bond. I know he wants to break it off by frightening me or my fiance by his antics but he can't do anything beyond simply watching. It reminds me of our last fight - It was a massive one. He threatened to expose me in front of every person I was associated with. But here we are, all his efforts are falling flat on him. All his attempts to reach my fiance are in vain. It must be driving him crazy that despite everything I'm not scared of him. And this is the second reason that keeps him up with his stunts. I'm not scared of him because he can't possibly go about telling everyone that I'm a witch. I'm not scared of him because dead people can't kill you. In fact, he should be the one scared of me because I killed him. Nirmali Medhi Image - Google

Do you know what's on the other side? Do you believe there is something beyond what's known? I had always been curious to find out the answers. A few years ago three of my friends started a website which not only facilitated lone travelers with comfortable expedition and housing but also provided company. One could easily pick a destination and check the boxes for number of travel buddies they wanted to hire. Based on the client's demand, one, two or all three of my friend would accompany the person and spend a friendly getaway. It all came to a halt when they came across a strange request from a lady named Ana. "Just Ana?" I asked. "Just Ana" they replied. The short statured, middle aged, bobcut haired woman wanted to spend a night in Iramway hills which was known to be a portal between the living and non-living, a window separating the two worlds. Either she had placed a bet on with her peers or was mettlesome enough to risk her own life for cheap thrills. The request initially invited a few qualms but she was adamant with her thirst for discovery. So, all four of them set out on a remarkable journey. Ana was unfamiliar with the route and constantly questioned about all the striking places on the way. She could have never surmised the existence of such enthralling spots. Upon reaching the desired location, she stated that it was one of the weirdest yet magical journeys she ever had, and that it felt like digressing from reality to enter a new realm altogether. "It feels like home", she breathed in the aura around Iramway hills and smiled at her companions who looked visibly confused. "Aren't you terrified of this place?" One of them asked to which she simply shook her head. "What if you come across something beyond the ordinary?" Added another one. Ana was undaunted and whispered "you wish!" The sun had already set and they put out two tents, one for the lady and another for the three friends. The place was terrifyingly beautiful. An eerie sense of fulfillment comforted their tired bodies. It was around midnight when Ana came out from her tent to get some fresh air. Lore had it, most supernatural encounters happened in those hours. She looked at the open tent of the boys who appeared to be sleeping soundly at first but she noticed something strange suddenly. None of them seemed to be breathing - their bodies were as still as rock. There was absolutely no movement to claim they were alive. She kept on staring at them until one of them woke up and asked what happened. He was still not breathing. At that moment, he didn't resemble a human. There was something so uncanny about his corpse like features that she almost fainted. "Then?" I asked. All three of them burst out laughing. It was their last journey with a living person and they called it quits shortly. The website is still active somewhere, albeit their claim of having it shut down. If you ask me, I really don't know if they're still touring some lucky humans into their beautiful world but one thing for sure, it did open up some possibilities for mortals like us to explore beyond what is known. I'm only a medium. How do I communicate with them? Well, it's going to be a little surprising for most of you that they live among us. They walk, talk and look like us humans. The only way to spot a non-human is by observing them while they sleep. Look at the person sleeping next to you. Are they breathing? - Nirmali Medhi Image courtesy - Google

The blazing Shalmali standing upright facing my porch is loaded with gaudy red flowers today She looks beautiful The flowers, they're clinging to the branches like a toddler clutches his mother's finger in a busy market Or a father's jacket (for that matter) Basking in vulnerability The fear of getting stomped by a stranger And never picked up or caressed again Is sweeping between the stretch Where ground awaits their fall But she's no human To turn herself into a poisonous hemlock at the touch of disdain Or blame the mere pedestrians She continues to drop her jewels one by one for children to kick and mowers to hurl Consequently they fall and Their existence become a shrewd reminder That they're a product of God's perpetual nature of overdoing things. -Nirmali Medhi -

Growing up I always had a hunch that my house was haunted by the spirit of a child. Despite several warnings, my friend Anu brought her twins to stay with me over the weekend. She says she's too big of an atheist for all these superstitions to shake her belief. But the fact is I live in a hilltown and her visit is nothing less than a way of cutting expenses on hotels or inns. When one of her twins fell sick, I suggested she moved out immediately but her austerity is beyond my understanding and above the safety of her own children. Within two days the other one fell sick too. The condition of the toddlers made it significantly harder for her to return at this point. I had told her about the one time several years ago when my badminton rackets went missing and reappeared in the shed a few days later, in shards. I had also told her about the colourful hand impressions on our new almirah for which my brother and I were held accountable and punished. I had gone to extreme lengths explaining each and every detail of our missing shoes, scissors, cards, board games and what not! Yet she keeps on insisting that those were nothing but mere figments of my young mind's imagination. Sometimes I'd like to think that she's right given that I no longer hear the swings creaking or the doorbell ringing at atypical hours. I was under the impression that may be my unearthly housemate has grown up too to play old tricks. But I was wrong. I kept a secret from her. Only a few days before Anu's visit, under the influence of a mystic, I got involved in an occult and carried out a bizzare ritual. I put a huge cauldron of water in my window apron and waited all night for moonlight to hit the surface of the liquid. It did and to my surprise there were ripples forming without any disturbance. I peeped in to see what's going on only to be greeted with some kind of reflection brewing. Not one, but two. Shadows of two children, giggling through the pot. It's when I realised why things always disappeared in pairs. I think they're still up for something and I must warn Anu. - Nirmali Medhi Image courtesy - One of my classrooms

I know what to do with my favourite book After I finish reading it- Preserve the annotated verses In my mind, safely, for keeps And click a thousand pictures of the cover. I know what to do with my favourite song Once I get over it- Lay it untouched for weeks or months Before I catch fancy for the same again To not let it skip my hippocampus. But you, oh God, you! I don't know what to do with you And with all the love lying unattended At one corner of heart Breathing and dying at the same time. - Nirmali Medhi Image courtesy - Google

There's a white shirt in my closet That I have no memory of Cherry hues around the collar Dirt on its cuffs Ironed creases at its arms Three clean folds, a sartorial buff! Remind me if it's a souvenir Remind me if it's a gift It treasures a haunting evocation Of loss and grief. A familiar citric aroma fills my lungs I must have hugged it a million times But never worn it once Just the ghost of my shallow past life Holds it clear and pristine I don't know who it belongs to anymore But the perfume smells of mine. - Nirmali Medhi Picture courtesy - Google

There must be a point where the loop begins before it turns itself into a squiggle and, given its nature, we aren't entirely hopeless trying to tweak its end. Flashing a tad bit of light one could possibly preserve after flogging a dead horse, it comes across as a clump of intertwined realities. Try to separate the strands and you would lose in the process an eternity, and if you're lucky, just a slightly bigger fraction of your youth. Why did I say strands when it appears to be a single loose thread? Get yourself a rough sheet and start doodling without lifting your pen until you perceive a slight variation in its essence from the first time you started scribbling. May be just a momentary falter from your insides kicking or an impulsive shake from your bowels growling, or a disturbance simply because your pen starts throwing ink - whatever reason may it be, the littlest deflection makes your curves discontinuous. Sometimes this mishap is visible and other times, it's not. Sometimes it leaves a blot, and other times, an unflattering smudge. Well, if you're a doodle artist you've probably gotten used to these occasional casualties and also figured out a way. But how do you deal with the sudden urge to do something else? How do you beat the profanity what we call being productive in day-to-day basis? Even before the thought of stopping the doodle midway forms completely in your mind, you stop doing it. Unlikely, but procrastination at times drifts these thoughts away and you get back to your little, unconscious art. Did you start from the point you left? What about the death of so many nows wasted on an afterthought? What about the gaps you just created on your time axis? The fate of the doodle surpassing the n number of possibilities wasn't supposed to have loopholes but may be that's an ideal situation. Even the most meticulous hands are bound to err and probably all minds to break continuity. Now imagine how many blots and smudges we must have caused and how many "not now" moments have slipped before our eyes before we could do something about making our doodle perfect - an art as intricate and tangled as it was always supposed to be. But where is the beginning? Where is end? We're probably bound to stay in the loop, forever. Nirmali Medhi

I haven't spoken fondly of you in a while To support my claim of loving Or to have loved you Ever. But I write about you often Your name being synonymous with words I feel particularly nothing about. My dissonance is strong For someone who is butchered to level down And is fed lies to vomit lies. I'm sorry, you're no secret I didn't keep my promise. - - Nirmali Medhi

All set. Ryan and Jack took their usual sides on the couch grinning from ear to ear. The camera was meticulously placed in the visitor's room 102 and the screen was ready to roll. The little cubicle in the attic reeked of sweat and socks with cartons of beer cans erratically placed. Just a single settee and a nightstand made up seventy percent of the space. A thirty-something big bruiser of a man entered the room with a girl - young and petite, donning a grey trench coat and a scarf. Although they were holding hands and looked like those new lovers from high school, there was something off with this pair. Ryan and Jack couldn't figure out exactly what it was. The only thing that compartmentalized these two with the dozen of other couples who had previously stayed in the motel was the total lack of awareness how their privacy was going to be invaded at the hands of some scoundrels. Ryan reached out for a beer, adjusted his cushion and raised a toast to his companion as the show was about to begin. "Hope they don't turn off the lights"- Jack raised a concern pointing his finger at the screen. "He doesn't seem like the kind of guy to reap benefits in darkness" - Ryan assured his partner rather facetiously. The man locked the door and helped the girl take off her coat. She was bonier and smarter than they had expected. As she scrutinized the room from left to right, both the guys sat at the edge of their seats in dismay. Alas! She couldn't spot the camera disguised as a pearly room decor. The man on the other hand couldn't care less as he pulled the girl by her arm and gestured her to shed the scarf she was wearing. She obeyed him like she worshipped him and stripped down to her brassiere. He picked up her floral tunic top from the floor to tie and hold her hair back and kissed her lips while caressing her nape. The sexual tension between the two was robust. Ryan grabbed hold of another beer and passed one to Jack. They both perspired profusely watching the couple get it on. The next thing they saw was - the girl was sitting on the man's lap while his hands were running all over her body. His fingers finally landed on her denims, fluttering through her thighs and knees. They then got engrossed with a little conversation before she started unfastening his shirt's buttons and whispered something in his ear. The look on the man's face all of a sudden had changed from being aroused to being hostile and he grabbed her by her hair jolting the petite frame. But she remained unflinched and continued with whatever she was doing. The two viewers in front of the screen could tell she was a submissive kind; the kind to be a little amused by some dominance. "This is the kind of foreplay that sells. Poor fellows!" - Jack remarked calculating the amount of profit they would make from selling the tape. "We might as well buy our own lines of hotels if that ugly prick of a boss pays our dues on time"- Ryan blabbered chugging down beer. In the moment of distraction, Ryan and Jack couldn't catch up to what transpired between the couple but the man was still grabbing the girl by her pony rather aggressively and she no longer seemed to enjoy it. She, on the contrary tried to calm him down by holding his face but it only resulted in two striking blows across her cheeks. It looked like a real deal breaker as the girl began to get dressed in great haste. The bulky man was too prompt to get in action and pinned her down to the ground. She knew she stood no chance against someone twice her size but she kept on struggling to free herself. The groping and screaming continued for few more minutes until she succumbed to the torture and complied with her abuser. Ryan and Jack flinched, aghast at the man's demonic conduct. They both looked at one another and looked back at the screen. The girl was barely moving but the man kept on forcing himself on her. The collective conscience of the two demanded them to stop filming at once. On the face of it, none of them had imagined it to take such a heinous route. They did next what they deemed best to alter the situation - the fire alarm went off and all the people in the motel were asked to vacate the place as soon as possible. They knew about the consequences of their action but it was still better than having someone killed. They both finally let out a breath of relief when they saw the girl leave the room but she was continuously looking back at the motel as if her eyes were looking for someone- someone who would help? Or someone who has helped? The man went after her and looked quite stable and harmless amongst the crowd. Ryan and Jack decided to come clean to their boss with a faltering hope that he might understand. "Idiots!" Exclaimed the old man and demanded the video to be handed over. They tried to explain but the old man kept fussing about the hefty amount he was paid for that work. "We will have a word with the party if you want" assured the guys. Although it didn't put the old man at ease, he still agreed to go with it and let them fix the things they had wrecked. The meeting was scheduled to be next day at the lobby and as expected the visitor had arrived on time. Out of all the people in the world, it was the last person in their minds and watching the benefactor approach shook them to the bones. The very girl they had 'rescued' the previous night was the one wanting to get herself filmed in such a compromising position. Of all the plenty of questions they hurled she chose to reply- "I just wanted evidence against my abusive fiance you see. I wanted to show the world who he is behind closed doors". "But he would have killed you" protested Ryan. The girl looked at the two with merciful eyes, said "It's okay" and walked away. -Nirmali Medhi

You're gruff in tone and bitter in taste But when you entrammel your fingers In my messy chignon And brush them against my nape It feels like a revolting catestrophe As you bedeck it with those asters Your silence entangles my silence And in those moments, my sweetheart Our hearts turn warm like a disaster. You're a war, a cold hostile lore Holding me captive in stupor Yet I read you like a poetry Soft, firm and compulsive - A warm, romantic eulogy Where every time I win, I lose And everytime you lose, you win. You're a paradox An enigma that sqeezes my brain A slow poison as essential as the vein Running down my wrist And if breaking hearts was an art My sweetheart, You're an excellent artist. - Nirmali Medhi

Tell me what do I write about Nothing much of significance rests on me lately It's hard to bear A plethora of trivialities and a train of recalcitrant musings Just a thought of you here and there Sometimes Robs me off my senses The only few moments of sanity I'd call In this amorphous actuality. Your absence however meaningless Adds meaning to my poetries It humbles my harsh and dubious ways And carves a purpose for my continuity. And someday when we meet Life will be meaningful, poetries not so much I shall offer you a piece of my peace A small price to pay for your presence And that day I shall write about The lack of discernment in love. Picture courtesy - Google

Aunt Zubeida, ever since her husband passed away, had been on the move. After two successful solo trips across the country, she was of late fixated on the idea of a fulfilling pilgrimage. The only trouble was - there was no one to take care of her dog and that's how I came into the picture. The first time I saw Casper, my immediate impulse was to turn down her request which I had previously ardently agreed. To be honest, I was expecting a bulldog or a retriever but she showed up at my door with one hell of a black ferocious hellhound. The only throught of co-existing with that growling beast churned my bowels. Before I could clear all my queries regarding the unlikely animal, she left with a caricaturish smile, odd enough to distract me from her burn marks for a second. Casper, upon not receiving the kind of welcome he was anticipating, kept on barking untill his voice turned hoarse. The first night with Casper had been nothing less than a nightmare. His constant howling and vehement attempts to let loose off the leash scared me out of my wits. However, I took an ounce of guilty pleasure having served Masand the taste of his own medicine. Ever since Masand and Nina moved in to my neighbourhood, I hadn't enjoyed a peaceful sleep. Having a dog bark all day was still better than dealing with a grown man agressively shouting at his wife all night, every night. Casper too was getting uncontrollable each passing day. No matter what I fed him or how much I fed him, he had no business shutting his damn mouth. For a while I could empathize with Nina. One Sunday afternoon, while returning from grocery, I saw Masand's door wide open with some kind of commotion going on in there. Being highly indecisive, I hurled the door and peeped in and what I saw made my jaw drop - Nina standing with a butcher knife dripping with blood on top of Masand lying dead on the floor. I could tell she wasn't expecting me or anyone at her door in that particular moment. My presence startled her and none of us spoke a word for two whole minutes. It was so silent that I could only hear my heart pounding in my chest and Casper barking from my balcony. The next few hours that followed had me doubt my own conscience. Nina and I came to a mutual agreement. I agreed to help her out and she promised to cook for Casper that night. Although I lost my appetite for several days to come, Casper probably had the best meal of his life. He devoured the feast laid out in front of him like a ravening beast. The supper filled him up so much that it cured him of his constant barking. Exactly two weeks later, aunt Zubeida came to pick Casper. She looked much better compared to when she left. Neither I nor Nina had disclosed anything about the incident. Stunned by his sudden calm demeanor, she finally spoke, "I don't know what you have fed him but I haven't seen him so patient since your uncle's demise."

I abhor Saturday nights I fear the future, May be "the next day". I despise the way these wires crochet whenever I'm at loose ends. Diluted hours of stagnation pulls me down, Vivid spectral memories vibrate at the back of my mind. May be I'm better off a workaholic, may be I'm not. I fear the idleness and loneliness thrown by Sundays. I abhor Saturday nights I fear remembering you "the next day".

An unprecedented terror had seized the city. Speculations of emergence of a new dark cult was doing rounds. The ongoing mystery disappearances had got people lock themselves up in their homes. I had recently returned to practice after the tragic accident that almost made me succumb to darkness. With so many cases of people disappearing everyday, it was grimmer than ever. The officials suspected it to be a psycho play but the locals had surmised the presence of an external force. There were absolutely no traces of people that went missing. There was no origin to begin with. No lead to follow. No direction to proceed and absolutely zero sign of the culprit. Never in my fifty year long life had I imagined myself to be a part of such gut wrenching nightmare. I was working for a local research firm when I nearly lost my eyes in a chemical explosion. It took me around nine months to find a suitable donor. It was one of the most difficult times for me and my husband. After I recovered, I started working from home as a counsellor but as soon as the number of my clients increased, we moved out from our countryside ancestral home to an apartment feasible for my job. But we made sure to spend our weekends in our own house. Amid the unusual mishaps when most people sought out internet or telephonic assistance, a client named Clara kept on paying frequent visits. She told me she knew something about the things happening around the city and made me promise her that I'd keep it a secret. There was something about her demeanor that irked me. She, in my opinion, had some pretty traumatic past experiences that caused her all the instability. But eventually it became difficult for me to comprehend her entirely. During our first meeting, she paid me a hefty amount to stay in the city for her. All she wanted me to do was to be an ear to her confessions. What I felt was, she badly needed a listener. It often happened with people driven by strong emotions who kept their ordeals burried in deepest graves. Clara was in her late thirties. She didn't blink as much as an average human did. Every time she spoke, her ferocious brown eyes would gawk at mine. The first day she told me about her family; her husband Jacob and her four year old daughter Luna. The session wrapped up in a nick of time and she fixed her next appointment on Monday. I spent the weekend at my old house and that night I couldn't sleep due to some musky smell filling the atmosphere making it unbearable for us to breathe. The following Monday Clara showed up at the prescribed time. The talk between us that day was pretty intense. She told me she knew who was behind all the kidnapping and murders. "Murders?", I exclaimed petrified. She wide opened her brown bloodshot eyes and smirked. "Yeah. But you know, the one who watches and approves everything is at a higher degree of charge.", she cited calmly. "Who are you talking about?" I asked hesitantly. "He is not a human. He is a force beyond our reach and understanding", she said looking at her watch. "I must leave now, Luna must be waiting" she said and left after handing me a cheque with an insanely huge amount of money for my fee. Our next appointment was scheduled to be on Wednesday. I didn't know what to feel about the situation. It was a source of easy money without having to do much. Clara was a maniac who just needed sympathy. Contrary to the bright side, missing cases of mostly children were increasing rapidly along with ridiculous news items like graves being dug and dead bodies being stolen was soaring like a wildfire. The following Wednesday, she sobbed in my shoulder. Upon being questioned repeatedly, Clara told me that she wasn't fond of the idea of leaving Luna with her father. I asked her if there was a particular reason behind it. She quivered and spoke one word at a time - "Jacob is a very religious man. Although his ways are a bit too harsh sometimes, I know he always wants the best for us. He has sworn to never commit a sin and expects the same from us. He is a man of extreme ideologies. He is so pure that I often see heaven in his eyes." What I could fathom from her words was that Clara was a rebel and not the type who followed strict rules. It was clear from her habit of never wearing a wedding ring. Looking at her doe like pitiful eyes, I asked her to bring Luna with her the next time she visited me. She nodded. That day along with my fee, she handed me a family photo. I looked at the old photograph and remembered my own children studying abroad. That night after supper, I showed the picture to my husband. His response hit me like a streak of lightening that fell directly on me - "It's Jacob, your donor. Where did you find it?" I felt numb realising it's that Jacob. He had passed away nine months ago. I disclosed everything in front of my husband and then he pointed out at the obvious - the picture was taken some five years ago. The child in the photograph must have been four or five at that time. A shiver ran down my spine. Next day rolled by and I was expecting Clara at my chamber with a recorder and CCTV camera installed to fetch all the evidence. I had slowly begun to believe that she was behind all the kidnapping and murders. But she didn't show up. I was both relieved and scared at the same time. My husband proposed we should spend some days at our old house, away from all the mess and I couldn't agree more. By the time we reached, the rotten smell was all over the place. It was suffocating us. We didn't know where it was coming from. It must have been quarter to eleven at night when the door bell rang. It was an odd time to receive a visitor. I rushed down only to find Clara standing at my doorway, holding a suitcase, smiling at me. At that moment, I completely lost my mind. I started shouting at her like a psycho myself and didn't calm down untill my husband comforted me. The very next moment, my husband and I were seated in our couch with Clara lurking down at us like a vulture waiting for its prey to die. "Here's my daughter Luna", she said and unzipped her suitcase. We were at the edge of our seats, oblivious, preparing ourselves to witness the worst. A decaying carcass of a human child or more specifically a heap of bones with a lump of rotten fresh dangling here and there lay in front of our eyes in our living room. With tears in her eyes, Clara explained how her daughter passed away in a road accident when her father was teaching her how to cross the road. Jocob labelled it an accident. Just an accident. He could never commit a sin afterall. Whatever that followed was no less than a nightmare. She told how notoriously wild she grew after the incident. Starting from digging graves to stocking dead bodies in their own home, Clara didn't leave a single stone unturned to prove it to Jacob that the one who lives in filth is a filth himself. Many things happened in front of his eyes that he could neither prevent nor control. With every crime she committed, she spent a great deal of time looking at Jacob's eyes as if they're a portal to heaven, washing away all her sins. Unfortunately, hours before his death, Jacob planned to donate his eyes and my husband bought them for me. "But why all the murders" I questioned in a timid voice. "Self expression"- she said - "I had to break free from the naive harmless image that I had while I was with Jacob. Killing people and watching them scared for life gave me a sense of superiority." "What do you want from us?" My husband enquired. "To take care of my Luna", she said slyly. Comprehending our confused looks, she added - "I have a deal. You take care of my Luna and other dead bodies rotting at your attic or I'll commit suicide with a claim that you both are responsible for my death and all the other deaths & that you extorted money from me in lieu of my life. Your bank statements will definitely support those claims with those bodies in your beautiful bungalow serving as a cherry on the top. I'm selling away my house so from now on you'll take care of my baby. I'll visit time to time." My husband and I fell on our knees, helpless. He had no other option. After four months of living with corpses lying in our attic and a special one in our guest room, we have learnt enough about dead and how to keep them fresh without them stinking. This particular episode made me a lot wiser. It taught me that nothing comes easy, sometimes the best things come at the price of someone's peace and someone's death. However, I still wake up in the middle of night fearing Clara walking on to us from the guest room crying- "I see heaven in your eyes."

It was a chilly winter evening back in 2010 when Abhigyan and his friends came up with the idea to jog the entire neighborhood as a part of their morning workout routine. It was decided that they would all assemble at his place the next morning sharply at five. They called it a day when it started getting darker. The brevity of winter days is often astounding as it was only 5 pm but the locality breathed in an eerie silence; only the clanging sound from the far-end prison of the city was heard. Tang! Tang! Tang! Tang! Tang!  Owing to renovation, that year, Abhigyan's room was left adjoined to the entrance making it the first reach for the house visitors after the front porch was vandalised. After completing the school homework, he set off to bed. Mobile phones were not so handy those days so Abhigyan completely depended on his friends who took charge of waking him up in the morning.  The night rolled by and a knock was heard at the door startling him off from his half slumber. "Who is it?" Abhigyan inquired in a lethargic voice. "Wake up! It's us. You asked us to come early, didn't you? We have come."- the familiar voice of his friend replied. The suddenness of the moment triggered a quick response. Rubbing his eyes, Abhigyan directed his friends to proceed and said that he would join them shortly. Picking up his warm clothes, he locked his door behind and noticed that none of his family members had woken up. So he considered it impolite to bother them at such an ungodly hour and sprinted out. To his surprise, the boys were nowhere in sight. The fog was dense and only the lights of some distant households shone like a forest beacon, scattering timid rays. Apart from that, everything was clawed by kohl black darkness. Staggered, Abhigyan called out his friends' names searchingly. A voice came from across the corner saying - "We're here, come forward." He started moving blindly towards the source of voice. "Where are you? It's freaking me out." Abhigyan said irritably and took a few more grudging steps. By this time he had already reached the point where his narrow aisle joined the main road. However the darkness was too stubborn to leave yet. He started panicking. "Where the hell are you all? I'm leaving"- he cried out one last time only to be greeted by an unsettling response - "We're here. Come." No figures. No silhouettes. Only voices. Impatient and skeptical Abhigyan decided to return home and the moment before he turned, the clanging of the prison bell was heard. Tang! Tang! Tang! A shiver ran down his spine. He could feel his head pounding as a rail of sweat sluiced down his shirt. It was like he had just woken up from a nightmare by the bells ringing. The feeling of being lured and invited by a non human form was an experience beyond explanation. He summoned all his courage and ran back as fast as he could. To this day, Abhigyan recalls this incident and fails to fathom the consequence had he followed the voice till the end. Lore has it, such supernatural forces are known for deceitful traits as they tempt vulnerable humans to a clearing and burry them in the ground alive.