Black Mist and other stories 8

black mist and other stories

Sharmishtha Basu is an unemployed artist, writer who is out to test her works, see if they can help her to build an “unorthodox” career, a path followed by many before, some has been blessed with success, most have not, let us see what you make of her attempts! A failure or success- it all depends on you. These are pieces from her book, the book is available on createspace and amazon- It is a collection of dark stories, paranormal mostly but not gothic, it prefers scaring by creating eerie images not blood, gore, violence. She will certainly love to see it in your Halloween collection!

Black Mist and other stories

piece 1

He was standing at the window. The house was not his own, it was a strange house; he has never been there before. A little distance away, across a sprawling green lawn there was a pond, surrounded by bushes and trees.

Its water looked blue, capturing the cloudless sky in its heart. There was a black swan swimming in it. He was surprised to see a black swan in India. He has never seen one before barring television screen of-course.

The swan was swimming towards the bank when a thin black mist started to rise from the pond, it started to thicken rapidly and within minutes it was like a black cloud covering the pond surface.

A woman dressed in a black gown stepped out of that mist and looked at him.

She was beautiful, her black hair and fluttering black gown created a black halo around her ivory body and face. That face was carved out of dreams. Suddenly a pair of hairy hands shot out of the mist and pulled her back into it.

She screamed, “Champak, help me!”

He tried to run but could not move his legs were cemented to the floor of the room.

He woke up bathed in perspiration.

“What happened?” Abhi his classmate asked.

“Nothing… A nightmare…!”

They got up and left for school.

It was half way through the first period when principal called for him. He went there, raking his brain, trying to presume about which complain was he summoned in the horror chamber.

“Sit down Champak!” the old man fidgeted in his chair. “Your father called, your mother is very sick. The car will be here to pick you up in a few minutes.”

When the car pulled in the driveway of their Mumbai mansion he realized something was wrong because his father was waiting for him in the porch, the road in front of the mansion has transformed into a parking space, most of the cars were familiar.

His mother was a super hit heroine. His father, a more established hero, was away to Switzerland for his own shooting last evening when he called him from there, asking what he wanted for gift, he was yet to receive the news that his wife Lily, who was shooting in some village was dead, her boat overturned and in the chaos she lost her life.

There was a team of rescuers, paramedics with the shooting team but nothing worked out right. It seemed like destiny.

The boat overturned when it was returning to the banks after shooting a night scene, that’s why all the searchlights failed them, the divers instantly jumped into the water but could not save her, the recovered her body after an hour, from the depth of the pond, she was dead before drowning. Something hit her in the chaos- may be an oar or something else…

He did not shattered to pieces, nor did his father, even though they both loved Lilly, but life moved forward like a car resumes its normal speed after a speed-breaker.

to be continued….


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