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!
Like most celebrity kids, his relationship with his parents was warm, funny but never too emotionally entangled.
His father remarried a few years later when he was studying in his first year in a college in USA.
“How are the studies?” Abhimanyu asked.
“Fine dad!” he replied, they had a habit of talking every night, no matter what. “How is mom?”
“She is fine; we will be there this week-end. There is something to celebrate together!” he laughed.
His relationship with his step mother was warm; she was a nice woman absolutely crazy about her superstar husband. She was fourteen or fifteen years older than her, that made their relationship half friendly and half guardian ward.
They often teamed up when Abhimanyu went to shoot in some interesting place, they combed the place while he was busy shooting. It was great to have her around.
He tidied up his desk with a happy mood and went out for a lunch in the cafeteria.
The garden was familiar, he could not recollect where, but he has seen it before. The window where he was standing gave the full view of a garden, luscious green carpet of grass stretched from one end to the other, trees, bushes and small patches of seasonal flowers was planted in between in a very artistic way, he could see the portions of old buildings, some dilapidated, some in a nice condition surrounding the garden, partially hidden by the bushes and trees.
Then his eyes fell on the pond. It has grown older than his last dream, the stone banks looked weary; there was a pair of black swans with a duckling in the pond. They were swimming peacefully. He tried to move but could not, he looked at his feet, they were not flesh and blood anymore; they were made of the same gray stone that made the bank of the pond.
An explosion startled him, his eyes instantly went back to the pond, it was covered in black fume; flames were leaping out of that fume.
The same woman was standing on the bank, looking at him then the hand shot out to grab her ankle… it was an hairy, ugly huge hand with dirty nails and gnarled fingers.
to be continued…