There was a deafening silence in the huge hall of that archaic bungalow at that late hour. It was a secluded place and the vast empty fields, outside, were giving an ominous touch to the surroundings. The rusted antique pieces and the deteriorated walls were adding their bit to the mysterious tranquility. There were four huge windows in the hall with heavy iron rods fixed on them, seemingly for protection from the queer, for protection from the unwanted. Accompanying them, were the two doors that looked to have come straight from the medieval age having skillfully made designs on them. I looked around rather cautiously, only to freeze my eyes on something that was standing out clearly in that atmosphere full of peculiarity. It was a wall clock. It looked terrifying at the very first site. The clock had many tales related to it. It was said to be dropping a litre of human blood after each complete cycle of the minute hand. Nobody, who had ever spent a night in that place, was believed to have survived the jinx of the wall clock. People were said to be swallowed up by the haunted clock. The clock would use the human bodies to regenerate the blood used in its unique periodic process. Its rusted hands and brown coloured body looked cruelly eager to get changed to crimson.
I was slightly shattered to see that; but soon got a hold on myself. I was there to prove the common beliefs wrong. I was there to ridicule the tales that talked about the supernaturally evil character of the wall clock. The place was said to be haunted. No one had ever survived the dark nights and the terrifying voices that could occasionally be heard in that place, according to the beliefs that existed in its vicinity. The nights were said to be endless and the mystery of the wall clock was irresistibly challenging for the adventurous person in me. Though, certainly there were moments in that dreadful night when I cursed myself for taking up that challenge as some of them turned out to be rather spooky.
Still, I was determined to know the truth in the supposedly jinxed wall clock that was taking a toll on my composed mind, and strongly believed that houses and things of such an occult character can be found only in stories. I was trying to stay normal, trying to have some faith in myself and my life-long beliefs. I put both of my hands in the pockets and tried to relax myself. And now, I was finally heading towards the clock. One step closer, two steps closer, now three.
“aaaaaaannnnnnn”, I heard an unidentifiable howl . It was louder than what I had ever heard. It scared me off completely. I skipped a heart beat. With a frightened mind, I looked back and around. I scrutinized the surroundings. But nothing had moved, nothing had even fallen down. Everything was in its proper place, just as it was before. I wondered where the voice came from. I moved forward. There was some red fluid spilled over the floor. It was blood. Human blood, I presumed. I reached the spot by taking tiny and careful steps; bent down on my knees to touch the floor. Quite courageously, I looked up. The clock seemed eager to take me in, it seemed desperate for my blood. It wanted to kill me to get crimson.
“Noooooooooo”, I shouted. “Save me,” I screamed eagerly and ran for my life. There, I reached the main door; the central exit of the bungalow with an increased pulse rate. Time passed, I calmed myself down. And with all the courage I had, took the decision of my life. I decided to go back to that mystical hall; and I did.
I crept inside. And gathering all the guts I ever had, glared at the floor. Much to my surprise, there was nothing on it. It was clean as it looked when I entered the hall. Now, with some confidence, I looked at the wall clock, and this time it was even a more mollifying surprise. The wall clock, too, looked simple; just as it should have looked to me, as per my beliefs. The room was no ominous either. It was simple nonetheless tranquil, dark. It still had that queer character. There, I was; knowing the mystery of the wall clock.
“Fear is, indeed, in the eye of the beholder,” I told myself.
- Mihir Chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com
I was slightly shattered to see that; but soon got a hold on myself. I was there to prove the common beliefs wrong. I was there to ridicule the tales that talked about the supernaturally evil character of the wall clock. The place was said to be haunted. No one had ever survived the dark nights and the terrifying voices that could occasionally be heard in that place, according to the beliefs that existed in its vicinity. The nights were said to be endless and the mystery of the wall clock was irresistibly challenging for the adventurous person in me. Though, certainly there were moments in that dreadful night when I cursed myself for taking up that challenge as some of them turned out to be rather spooky.
Still, I was determined to know the truth in the supposedly jinxed wall clock that was taking a toll on my composed mind, and strongly believed that houses and things of such an occult character can be found only in stories. I was trying to stay normal, trying to have some faith in myself and my life-long beliefs. I put both of my hands in the pockets and tried to relax myself. And now, I was finally heading towards the clock. One step closer, two steps closer, now three.
“aaaaaaannnnnnn”, I heard an unidentifiable howl . It was louder than what I had ever heard. It scared me off completely. I skipped a heart beat. With a frightened mind, I looked back and around. I scrutinized the surroundings. But nothing had moved, nothing had even fallen down. Everything was in its proper place, just as it was before. I wondered where the voice came from. I moved forward. There was some red fluid spilled over the floor. It was blood. Human blood, I presumed. I reached the spot by taking tiny and careful steps; bent down on my knees to touch the floor. Quite courageously, I looked up. The clock seemed eager to take me in, it seemed desperate for my blood. It wanted to kill me to get crimson.
“Noooooooooo”, I shouted. “Save me,” I screamed eagerly and ran for my life. There, I reached the main door; the central exit of the bungalow with an increased pulse rate. Time passed, I calmed myself down. And with all the courage I had, took the decision of my life. I decided to go back to that mystical hall; and I did.
I crept inside. And gathering all the guts I ever had, glared at the floor. Much to my surprise, there was nothing on it. It was clean as it looked when I entered the hall. Now, with some confidence, I looked at the wall clock, and this time it was even a more mollifying surprise. The wall clock, too, looked simple; just as it should have looked to me, as per my beliefs. The room was no ominous either. It was simple nonetheless tranquil, dark. It still had that queer character. There, I was; knowing the mystery of the wall clock.
“Fear is, indeed, in the eye of the beholder,” I told myself.
- Mihir Chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com
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3 comments:
All I can say is, X-Files on Zee T.V needs to be revived again. They could have a writer in place this time. Like the fact that, a scurry cat is not hiding one behind the clock and that fear is used as the construct. Adjectives such as 'mysterious tranquility, archaic bungalow, protection from the unwanted' seems overly dramatized, overemphasizing the effect with lack of reflection from the narrator's point of view. Why and How is he there? Is there another motive to his presence? Other such dimensions could have been explored, I think.
you could be a story writer!you will do well!
though this story would have been better with more necessary details than the dramatic ones,like janvi said above!!
yet,i liked it!!
i completely agree wid janvi n pallavi..... y dont u try ur career as a script writer......
not a bad idea...
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