The Ritual

It had been raining the entire evening. The shops had been closed early and even the stray cats and dogs had settled themselves for the night under some piece of unwanted furniture or the odd garbage can. The small houses on either side of the street were en-robed in darkness. Not a speck of light could be seen peeking out of the cracks under the doors and the windows. It was all quite except for the relentless splatter of the rain on the casements. But, from within the dark void a small source of life was visible at a distance. A faint, solitary beam of light was visible at the very end of the shadowy street as if like a beacon to guide a ship on a stormy night. The house at the end of the street belonged to a young man. The neighbors hardly saw the young man leave the house except once a week to buy groceries. He was extremely pale and thin. His hair was as black as a new moon night and eyes line moon stones.

 He had moved into the old carpenter's house a year back. He told the town council that the carpenter was his uncle and he was the only living relative. The council did not question him seeing the great resemblance he bore with his late uncle. The councilmen were happy for the fact that, at least, the house would be of use to someone......

For the past one year he had never slept the night. When he had moved into his uncle's house his only belonging was an old moth eaten trunk. The townsfolk thought he had his clothes in it but not even the most inquisitive could say that the trunk contained books, lots and lots of books. Most of these were old books, leather bound, torn yellow pages and some were in tatters. But all the books had one thing in common, they were all about one thing....The Dark Arts. He had a gift which he had inherited from his mother. He could talk to the darkness around him, and they listened to him. For the past one year he had read his mother's books. Every last word was embedded into his head. He was going to take revenge for what they had done to him and his mother. The ignorant townsfolk....not even the slightest suspicion had crept on their minds. That was probably because most of the old folk were dead. He was only a boy of six then, he  had changed since then.

The storm was raging now. The candles light flickered with every gust of wind that seeped in under the window. It was almost time. Everything was at had. The incantation was etched into his mind, the candles were placed all along the corners of the pentacle and sacrifice was ready. The blood of an infant was required to invoke the darkness from within. The human body could be used as a portal for the soul to move into the other world, the world of darkness, Hell, and come back into the body of the mortal infused with dark powers but if the ritual went wrong somewhere the soul would be drawn into the depths of Hell leaving behind a life-less shell. He knew the dangers of the entire process but it was worth it. He needed the power to take revenge for what they sis to his mother. It was time........

It was the twelfth hour. He seated himself at the center of the pentacle and  repeated the incantation. As per his mother's diary he concentrated hard on his enemies, the hatred would enable him to endure the pain of the process. Time flew by as he uttered the devil tongue but to him time was standing still. His senses were at their peak, he could even hear the mouse scurry across the roof beams. The infant was not easy to procure. The beggar mother had to be disposed off with a quick slit across the throat. The blood still soaked his robes. The knife was very sharp, he made sure of it, the whetstone was almost eroded away buy his effort to produce the perfect blade. He was successful. The spell was over, his mind was free of all the bonds of the earthly realm. He could feel the heat creeping out from inside him. The portal was ready, the sacrifice was the key to unlocking the gates of Hell. He raised the dagger high into the air and with all his might he plunged it into the infant's heart. Everything went dark.

He woke up with a start. The thunder had woken him up. He was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. It seems it had been hours since the ritual had been completed but the clock showed that just half an hour had passed. He felt nothing, no change in himself. He cursed the fact that he had failed in the ritual, he had gone wrong somewhere, but where? He had read the diary over and over again. How was this possible. He cursed the fact that he was not too careful with the procedure. It had cost him dearly but at least failure was not at the cost of his soul. It was still raining outside. He decided to shake off the dissappointment  and get the hut back in order. The disposed of the child's body into a sack and went outside into the rain carrying it on his shoulder. The roads were water muddy and slippery. He just could not wait till the morning to get rid of it cause during daylight people may become more suspicious, it had to be done then and there. He headed towards the river which was a torrent during the rainy season. The force would wash away the body to the next town he thought. It was the same way he had gotten rid of the mother. Slowly he made his way towards the river bank. The rain was extremely cold and the wind was scattering the rain all over in a haphazard way. He was having trouble getting a proper footing on the mud. At last he was there, all he needed to do now was to throw the sack in. All his troubles would be washed away. As he approached the bank he noticed a small silhouette at a distance.   At first he thought that it was the rain playing tricks on his mind but then he realised that it was moving towards him. He started panicking, he thought it might be one the magistrate's men, they must have seen him leave the house and became suspicious. But it was too late to run now. But when the figure approached him he realised it was a a young boy, not more that eight years old. The boy had slick black hair which was absolutely soaked and fell on his eyes and most of his face. He asked the boy what he was doing at the river in the middle of such a night? The boy did not utter a word, just pointed at the river. "You want to swim now!", he shouted. The boy shook his head and again pointed at the river. Then before he could do anything the boy dived into the river and disappeared into the darkness. He was absolutely shocked. Why would the boy do such a thing. He shook his head, it had been a long day, he needed to rest. He came back into the hut, his mind still reeling at what he saw, the cold rain was dripping down his body, he felt like all the heat had been sucked out of his body. The logs in the fireplace was still burning. He sat in front of it to soak in the warmth. He shed his clothes and put on something dry. The storm it seemed grew even more furious. It was time for him to sleep, he needed the rest. Before he knew it he fell asleep.

He was woken up by a knock on the door. He had just slept for a few minutes. Even though the sound of the storm was loud he could clearly make out a crisp knock on the wood. Who could it be at this time of the night and in such a weather.  Must be an emergency of some kind or it could be the magistrates men, he thought. He slowly opened the door and to his amazement he found that he was standing facing a long corridor. He was no longer at the end of the town street, there was no rain and the lane was replaced by a long narrow passage. At first he felt like he was dreaming, one of those dreams where reality and the subconscious were overlapped at places. But then he could feel the coldness of the passage, an eerie feeing that made his skin tingle. This was not a dream. He tried to turn back towards the house door but there was no door, just a brick wall extending into the night sky as far as the eye could see.

He could not believe what he was seeing.How could the passage just appear out of nowhere in front of his house. This had to have an explanation. Perhaps this was a test, he thought, the test of his ritual. But he clearly remembered that nothing like a test was mentioned in his mother's diary. This is something entire new and he needed to find out what it was. The only option left was to  move on. He walked on for what seemed ages through the darkness. He could not tell whether the weather outside had improved or not. The darkness absorbed all the vitality out of his body, he was walking blind and he felt as if the walls around him were closing up on him at times as if an invisible arm was trying to choke the life out of him. He kept on walking, not a sound could be heard, even his footsteps were muffled. When he had almost lost hope of finding his way out of the labyrinth, he noticed a speck of light in the darkness. The light was very small, but it was light none the less. He felt hopeful. As he came nearer he noticed a staircase leading up to a door, a very old rickety wooden door. He felt a sigh of relief. He pushed forward and opened the door. The door lead into what seemed like an old court house. It was daytime and room was filled with people. They were all waiting for the judge it seemed. He was absolutely shocked as he could not comprehend how he ended up at that place. The funniest thing was that none of the people present in the room were even giving him a look, as if he was invisible. On the stand was a young and beautiful woman. She must have been in her late twenties, not more than that. Even though she was being tried, she did not have fear on her face, she was standing proud and defiant. Then all of a sudden everybody in the crown rose to their feet, and the large gates at the end of the room flew open and a man in long black robe briskly walked in followed by two similarly dressed men. They took their places at the head of the table and announced that the woman was being tried for witchcraft. He was shocked on hearing this, it was all to familiar to him, just as he had heard from Nathaniel, just as what happened to his mother. Then it all came to him like a gust of cold air, he was observing his mother's trial. Nathaniel had told him how it had happened, he was too small to attend it, he was at home, all alone. The judge asked the woman whether she would go through the process of purification and embrace Christianity again. The woman spit at the floor and told the judge, that would never happen. The judge sentenced her to death by the Iron Maiden. He tried to yell and scream but no one could hear him. He tried to force his way towards his mother but his feet would not move. The faces in the crown were converted to grotesque figures, too abhorred to even look at. He watched in utter horror as two magistrates with demonic faces bring in the iron maiden. They dragged the woman towards it. She was kicking and screaming. He only watched as tears of blood began to flow from his eyes. It was too late but he then ralised it, the spell had gotten awfully wrong, his soul was trapped in Hell, Dante's Inferno. The guards threw her into the first unit and he could hear her deafening scream and could see the blood pouring out on the floor of the courtroom. The second piece was placed over the first. Still she struggled for sometime but it stopped. He could no longer move from shock. All of a sudden everything went quiet and the image of the courtroom started fading away. Now he was in the midst of a dark abyss. Standing is front of him was the dark haired boy, it was him, his younger self. Beside the boy stood the fiercest figure possible. The personification of the seven sins, empowered by the pain and grief on the damned souls stood Lucifer. "The power which you seek is not yours to take. Greed is the greatest sin for which you must be punished. Your soul will rot in Hell forever.", he heard Lucifer say. The next thing he realised was that he was falling into the great abyss of Hell, something worse than death awaited him at the bottom.


He woke up with a start. It was still dark and the rain was falling harder than before. He looked around, he was still in his house. It was all a dream. He got up, put some water on his face. He looked tired and worn out. Just as he looked into the mirror again the bloodied and deformed image of his mother came in the mirror. "Welcome to Hell, my son", she said. A group of hands came of out the mirror and dragged him into a dark void.


Nobody found out where the young man went. But on cold rainy nights some people saw the flicker of a candlelight through the window of the house.

When death comes knocking

Thus that which is the most awful of evils, death, is nothing to us, since when we exist there is no death, and when there is death we do not exist.

Mrs. Ray used to live in the house at the very end of the street. Just like the lady the house had aged over the years and was nothing but a shadow of its former glory. All the neighbors had just one thought in their mind...which one wold go first....the old lady or the house. The house from lack of maintenance was almost on the verge of collapse. Mrs. Ray was a widow. Her husband had passed away when she was very young and so she had to bring up her son on her own. Unlike other widows she never had any financial difficulties as her husband had left her quite a bit when he died. The only thing was that she had no immediate family. But she was a strong woman and raised her son as good as any mother could. She always had hopes that her so would grow up to be a doctor or an engineer, but when he joined the army she was heartbroken. She felt cheated by her son as she wanted him to be there with her, but alas it was not meant to be.

It was Christmas eve and she was expecting her son home any moment. The weather outside was chilly with a soft breeze blowing through the streets. Mrs. Ray's health was not keeping well for the last few months. It was the darn cold. But all that did not matter to her. Her son was coming home and that to after a long time. She had spend the entire day cleaning the house and cooking some of her son's favorite dishes. She felt tired and decided to rest for sometime on her rocking chair which always used to be placed beside the drawing room window. No sooner than she sat down she fell asleep. She was woken by a fain knock on the door. Her heart started beating fast. It must be her son, she thought. She rushed to the door to open it and found instead a thin man dressed in a shabby black overcoat standing on her porch. She felt disappointed that it was not her son. She asked curtly what he wanted at this time of the night. It was almost eleven. The man is soft voice told the lady that he was looking for something to eat. All the other houses very dark, only this house had a light on, so he decided to give it a try. Being an ardent Christian, Mrs. Ray just could not turn away a beggar on Christmas eve. She told him to wait while she got him something to eat. He took out a portion from her sons meal and filled a cup full of some mead and gave it to the man. The man devoured the meal in a few minutes and sat on the porch slowly sipping on the mead. Even though she felt sad for the poor man she kept a vigilant eye on him because one just couldn't be too careful. Thieves and robbers could go to any extent.

"You are lucky that I made some food for my son. He is coming home today from the war.", she said. "Thank you so much. Yes, I met your son on the way I think. He is an army lieutenant, is he not?", said the man. "That he is, but pray may I ask you where you met him. He was supposed to be back home an hour ago", said Mrs. Ray a bit suspiciously. How could this old beggar know her son? "On the freeway. About a mile back. Well then, thank you for the meal and I believe it is time for us to leave", said the man in a commanding tone. "Us? Why should I be going with you". "To see your so of course", he said with a smile. "Who are you?", asked Mrs. Ray. With that the beggar extended his arm to her and said with a smile, '"Let me show you".

The terrible freeway accident was all over the papers the next day. A cab had collided head on with a bus. Both the driver and the passenger of the cab was confirmed dead. The passenger was a hero of the war returning home after a long time. But most of the people failed to notice a small article at the very bottom corner of the paper. "Millionaire widow dies of a heat attack at the age of 75. Locals fear foul play".

The Night Stalker

The legend of the Night stalker is quite common in rural area of Bengal. There the entity in known as a Nishi, a creature born out of pure rage and evil.....this is a story from the pages of rural Bengal.

Then rainy season in the best time of the year in any agro-based region. The farmers eagerly wait throughout the year for the rain to come down and wash away the sweat from their yearlong toil and ensure sustenance for the coming year. That year the rains were late in coming and most of the villages were on the verge of drought and famine. The fields were parched the the crops were withering away under the glare of the sun. The farmers were naturally depressed. Suicide rates in villages are the highest during this time of the year, when the rains fail to come and for some the mere anticipation is just too much to bear as most of rural Bengal in neck deep in debts from money lenders. This certain farmer was a an old bloke. His wife had passed away a few years back and he had no one help him out in the fields. He owned a very small plot of land and that too was bought with a loan from the local lender. His dues were piling up and the weather was not helping. His crops were almost on the verge of failing. The money lender was at his back, all his pleading were of no use. They threatened to take the land away in the payment was not made within the week. The farmer made up his mind that he would never be able to pay up so he decided to pull of a small robbery job at the local merchants house. But the robbery went horribly wrong, the guards were alerted and they managed to wound the farmer but he fled into the forest and that was the last anyone saw of the farmer. The farmer suffered for two days in the jungle without food and water and died a painful death from his wounds and the combined onslaught of the forest creatures.

The money lender was a wealthy man. The interests from the loans were so high that he was as wealthy as the landlords. But he was not a kind hearted person. He had an army of ten armed guards to protect his house and his belongings and always carried two along to threaten farmers into paying up. The robbery attempt at his house made him loathe the villager even more but nothing could be done, after all they were his source of wealth. The village was connected to the town by a forest path which most of the villagers covered during th daytime. The night time was just not right for travelling the roads. It so happened that one day, while returning back from the town the money lender got delayed on the road and by the time he had reached the forest path if was absolutely dark. The path was narrow and the forest seemed to come alive around it. The full moon was sometimes visible through the trees but most of the path was covered by shadows which resembled strange forms which danced to the lead of the breeze under the moonlight. The horse drawn carriage had a small source of light at front and that was the only guiding source for the carriage driver. Ten minutes into the path the carriage came to a grinding halt. The money lender became angry at the delay and more so became scared. He did not wish to spend even an extra second in the forest. The cry of the animals at night resembled cries of humans in strange ways as if crying out in pain and agony. The trees seems to come alive. The carriage driver said that the wheel had come lose and needed a bit of tightening. The man could hear the driver hammer away to glory at the lose wheel. After a minute or so the hammering stopped. The man thought that the repair work must be over and it was about time also. The man stick his head out to have a look but found no one around. The horses and the driver were gone and he was left alone in the middle of the forest in his carriage. The climbed out and called the name of the driver. But the only thing he could hear was the steady creaking if the crickets. He could not spend the night just sitting in the carriage. He took the lantern from the front of the carriage and decided to walk the rest of the path. It must be an hour more bu foot, he thought. I can make it at one go.

As he walked along he could hear the cries of the forest dwellers. Then all of a sudden among the various sounds he could clearly make out the sound of a man's voice. The man was calling out to him from the middle of the forest. At first he thought it was a an animals voice...at trick of the forest perhaps. Then it was heard again. Clearer now. Much more clearer. Then again he heard it. This time it felt as if someone was whispering it to his ears. He had heard the voice before. He turned back to see.........

The money lenders body was found after two days at the bottom of a shallow pond. They say that nobody could look at the face of the body, people had a hard time believing it was human.

Even to this day nobody takes the forest path after dark..........because the Night stalker waits and watches.

Goosebumps

I have this unnatural attraction towards all things weird and spooky. Even though as a child I was scared to listen to ghost stories and was even afraid to go to the loo at night, something inside me wanted more of the stuff. I was scared but at the same time I wanted more of it. As time went by I collected stories from various people, mostly of hauntings in villages and towns in my country. Indigenous ghost stories are really engrossing as they involve simple people one can almost relate to in their everyday lives. Most of the stories I heard came from two sources both of who are now in heaven. One of them was my dad. He had traveled extensively throughout the country during his youth and had lots of experiences with the paranormal. I was maybe because his work then involved traveling to villages mostly by Geep and many a nights were spent on paddy fields or parked near crematoriums cause in villages an open filed may also serve the dual purpose of a crematorium during the day. My second source was a friend of the family who was actually my grandfather's assistant during his days as a geologist. Actually, by occupation, this man was a farmer and later when he retired he went back to his fields. He was the one to tell me about all the local legends and hauntings.

A few of the stories were really creepy and I remember having nightmares about them from time to time. But what the heck, I enjoyed the scare and the intrigue. Humans are always interested about the unknown and what can be more mysterious than life after death.

The Familiar Path

The village was small, and like all other villages of Indian the main produce was rice. Even though almost every alternate year the village was affected by drought, the inhabitants managed to survive and never lost hope that the next harvest would be good.

It was a cold winter's night and the harvest had been good. All the village folk had gathered to celebrate the end of a season and the coming of a new one. The celebration was taking place at a common ground a bit away from the village. Most of the villagers were there except for a certain farmer who had overslept. This man was a bachelor and so did not have the privilege of a wife waking him up on time. By the time he had woken up after his afternoon nap it was dark. Darkness in villages is unlike what we get here in the city. The sky seems to be huge and filled with innumerable stars and constellations and the moon light plays tricks on the mind. This farmer was really looking forward to the festival so he decided to brave the road in the dark. It was not that he was afraid of spirits, it was just that there were other dangers like snakes and thieves on the way.

He left the house with his walking stick and the light of the moon to guide him along. The path he was taking was familiar to him, as this was the path he took everyday to go to the market in the next town. The chill in the air made him shiver and the faint sounds of the small creatures scampering about made him look back at times to make sure no unwanted element was following him. After half an hours walk he realized that he had taken a wrong turn somewhere as he just couldn't make out where he was. He found himself at the mouth of a rocky ridge beyond which was total darkness. He figured out that he had take the path to the old cremation grounds instead. This place had been abandoned way back when he was a boy and nobody ventured much there now a days, especially after dark, ever since the lifeless body of a village boy was found here. Nobody knew how the boy died.

He became a bit nervous when he realized where he was and decided to retrace his steps to the cross roads. Another thirty minutes later he realized that he was back at the mouth of the rocky ridge. Even in the chill of winter he began sweating profusely. All the paths around him seemed the same and everywhere he tried to go he ended up back at the ridge. As the night drew darker and the distant lights of the festival ground faded away the last thing he remembered was the cry of a child.

The man was found the next day at the crossroads, sleeping on the ground. After that he was never the same. He told this story to the villagers, but most of it was gibberish and had to be carefully understood. He lived for a year after that. They say you can still see someone walking with a stick on cold winter nights when the moon is high in the sky.

Genesis

^"1 First God made heaven & earth ² The earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters. ³ And God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light." Genesis, The Old Testament

All human beings, rich or poor, black or white, (American or Non-American) are born with a purpose in life, so I believe. Now what that purpose is most people (and by that I mean almost 90% of the lot) never actually find out what that purpose is. I wont delve in the cliched thought that all human beings are born to be great individuals...for heavens sake if everybody was born great then i dont think "great" would even be a word, who would we compare? Of all the billions of people just think that if a few million had the charisma of Abraham Lincoln, another few million the mind of Einstein...the mere thought of it makes feel feel that God really does a great job of deciding our lives for us. But the fault is ours when we ignore the facts and the signs and carve out a live for ourselves that we were never meant to live. On the other hand, those few who do find their purpose turn out to be great human beings. By this I really dont mean they all become leaders the pioneers, they all atleast become good human beings.

" We are all just prisoners here of our own device" ....The Eagles

For all things living the beginning is very painful. Genesis takes time to settle in. This is applicable in all walks of life, right from the time when we are born right to the time when we are ready to meet the Reaper. The beginning of school life, the beginning of college, work, etc, etc, etc. The beginning of something new actually means saying goodbye to something or the other and hence the pain. But then why do we do it? It's simply because we human beings are always looking for something new, something interesting, something unknown, something that we want. And with every new thing these thought of finding what we are looking for actually come to our minds and hence the effort. We are always looking forward for the best...a better life and a better future.

But once the Genesis is over we settle down into our new environment. Some have problems while others make if appear as if they were tailor-made to that thing. In school these people are the cool kids, the ones every other boy or girl wishes to be or even to be with. As for me, since this entire blog is about my life, Genesis was always a pain in the ass. It was not because I had problems mixing in but the thing was that I had great problems just letting go. A change of school can be the worst thing for any person especially when you are leaving behind the only people in the entire world you have shared your life with for the past 10 years. But the only thing that made me go along with the entire process was the prospects of making more friends! I can clearly say that my life as an individual began after that change, I as a person started to metamorphose into what I am today.

So from this day forth I am going to become utterly selfish and write about life through my eyes. I can assure you all that i have seen my fair share of it and something inside my just begs me to share it all with you....whoever you may be. And as the saying goes a person is no longer a stranger when he or she lends an ear to the gibberish of a mad-man....that someone becomes a friend.