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!
A shudder ran down his spine.
It really looked like darkness itself. It was rolling, churning and pulsating like a living piece of darkness.
He was more curious than afraid. His Delhi schooling and UK college days prevented him from believing the witch myth, he thought someone must have heard the stories and have created this thing to scare the superstitious villagers off the village to rob. The villagers were quite prosperous, they will be able to plunder more than a lakh worth furniture from his home only.
A sharp shriek pierced the morning sky. He shouted, “Anyone there?”
A monstrous roar of laughter replied him.
Neither the shriek nor the laughter sounded emitting from human throat. A tinge of uneasiness started to seep in.
He quickly captured a few shots and returned to the village. The village was on move; it looked like a gypsy caravan, everyone was packing or was already on their way to their destinations.
He called up his friend in Delhi, a freelance journalist.
“I will be there by evening with my team and equipments.” Rajan said.
“Bring food too, all my servants are gone.” He reminded.
He emailed him the shots he has taken and left for the kitchen, the servants were gracious enough to leave him his lunch, which will serve as his dinner too if refrigerated properly. He quickly did the necessary and returned to his room with a teapot filled with tea.
He sat on the balcony that gave him a full view to the direction of the temple. From his end it was blocked by some hills after a long stretch of trees, groves and bushes scattered on a wavy piece of land.
It was eleven in the morning. He was sitting there reading news on internet when someone coughed, he turned, it was Ramprasad, dressed up to boots, “You are not leaving?” his face was dark.
“I will leave tomorrow morning. I promise!” he answered.
“You never keep your promises son.” The old man was morose now. He liked Mitesh a lot, and he seemed confident that Mitesh was inviting a ghastly death by staying back. “Come with us! You can come back after a week to see if I was true or not!”
“I will pack up the things I can’t leave behind and leave tomorrow uncle.” He repeated gently.
The old man left when he realized that Mitesh is hell-bent to stay.
“God save you my son.” His eyes were moist. Mitesh felt a little sad but he knew they will be sitting together again, very soon. Listening to his folklores over cups of teas and plates of snacks!
to be continued….