Tag: short-story

Posted in Fiction, My life

Relatively a King

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Our conditions are relative. We just need to compare ourselves with the right person.

Say, for example, ‘he’ is a king.

He is around twelve. His back is ramrod straight, eyes determined and voice strong as he dissipates the dense fog around his face when he calls out his wares, “Chalees ke barah kele.” (“Bananas: a dozen for 40”)

It is an extremely foggy day in winters. My eyes stray to his bare feet as he stands on freezing concrete. He must be in pain. A bunch of kids on school holidays are mimicking his call, making fun of him. I want to smack them all for being unfeeling.

But his eyes betray nothing as he continues calling. He is a king captured by the enemies jeering at him while he is being taken for execution. He would not show his pain.

My eyes are still stuck at those bare feet. Nothing I own would fit him, and if I offer money, he would be offended. I can see it in his proud eyes.

So, I do the only thing I can. I buy bananas—enough to make me wonder what I would do with them. Surely, I could find some use: pudding, fruit salad, fruit custard, share with neighbouring families?

It is the market day. If he makes enough profits…

I hope he buys a pair. I pray he buys a pair so I can get out of this weird feeling in my stomach—like I have too much but still not enough.

I dare not mention the idea to him though. I dare not allude to his bare feet…

He is a proud king I dare not insult.

Posted in Fiction, Published

The Museum: Part 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is second installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories. You can find the previous parts here: The Museum: Part 1 and The Museum: Part 2.

When begging for an entry got me nowhere, I decided to change tactics.

I had noticed a small hole in the wall on the backside of the museum on my walks with Cleo around the place. It can serve as a foothold to jump inside the courtyard. There was also an emergency exit of the main building, which was always open. So, I walked around the wall and used the foothold. It was too small, and I could only get a toe in, so I left my shoes behind and jumped in barefoot. The emergency exit was open. With all the staff out, I was free to explore.

The place felt weird and darker, probably because of the lack of the usual staff. And once the adrenaline wore off, I was slightly scared to be alone in the huge, dark place. I could smell incense in the air along with many other smells I could not understand. A different sense of dread clutched my heart—I shouldn’t be here! I should have waited outside along with the guard!

I wished Cleo was here alongside me to fill the silence with his chatter.

As I walked down the darkened stairs to the Egyptian display room, I could feel my feet shaking slightly. With every step, I wondered if I should go back and wait outside. But even though everything in me screamed to run, I couldn’t give up now. Cleo was so close, I could almost smell him, or was it the aroma of an incense stick? The fragrance was stronger closer to the Egyptian display and so was the sense of dread.

*****

I opened the door to the Egyptian display hall just a sliver and peeped in. The room had a pile of large moving boxes packed on one side. The two Egyptian caskets lay open. A fire burned in the middle of the room. On one side of the fire, a man in an ancient robe was reading a book aloud. Several people wearing ancient Egyptian dresses were sitting on one knee with their heads down, listening. Cleo was there too, not hiding like me but out front in the ancient dress. His face was just as desolate as the last time.

My heart constricted at the sight. All I wanted to do was fling the door open and rush to Cleo’s side. As if he knew I was there, he suddenly looked at me and gave a wan smile.

A book closed with a low thump and my eyes moved to the reading man. He was now walking to the other side with a crown in his hands. I shifted a little to see clearly.

Cleo’s friend was sitting on the Egyptian throne in a regal dress. Once the crown was placed on his head, everyone bowed with their noses on the floor. Cleo did too.

Nothing made sense.

The man with the book spoke a few versus again and looked expectantly at the “king”.

He nodded regally.

Suddenly, his face and hands started to shrivel. Horrified, I wanted to tear my eyes off him, but fear held me still. Before my very eyes, the handsome face turned into a mask of death and bandages replaced his royal garb. He went limp. One of the men in the congregation picked him up gingerly and laid him in his casket.

Unable to comprehend, I looked at Cleo for some kind of explanation, but someone had picked him up too and placed him in the casket next to the king.

END

Photo by Spencer Davis on Unsplash

If you would rather get the book, The Bracelet and other short stories is available for free download here: Link

Posted in Fiction, Published

The Museum: Part 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is second installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories. You can find the previous part here: The Museum: Part 1

I knew nothing about him, his job, his life back in Egypt or his family, but I knew it wasn’t just a holiday romance. We had barely touched each-other and yet, I could feel my heart breaking over the news.

That day, the love in his eyes had said everything even if he wouldn’t put it in words. Even as he spoke of the different layers in the society, of commoners, of priests, of nobles, of princes and kings of divine origin and of slaves who worked under them and were buried alongside their master to serve them in afterlife, I saw in his eyes something akin of a desperation—a burning question, as if he was seeking permission to say something.

I had asked him what it was, but he had simply shrugged. I could see he was still holding back.

I couldn’t bear his silence now because we were running out of time. He would leave for Egypt, and I would never see him again. I wondered if I should propose him instead, but so far I had only guessed his intentions. I had no clarity. What if I was wrong and I didn’t mean as much to him as he did to me?

What if he had a wife waiting on the other side of the sea?

He still wouldn’t talk about his family and friends or what he thought of our future together. I suggested a short walk outside the museum but he declined even that little request with an apology that he couldn’t leave the place! Angry, I had walked out that day. He had stood at the gate looking at me with desolate eyes, but he hadn’t stopped me.

*****

It had been a difficult fortnight. I couldn’t eat or drink. Sleep defied me, no matter what I did. I even went on a date to take my mind off the matter. But it felt like cheating even though we had never been together—just a few friendly meetings at the museum.

But all I could think of was of Cleo’s fingers wrapped around mine; and how I was about to lose him forever.

*****

The eve of the day of movement arrived with the announcement of the big news on television and newspapers. They had called it an act of international goodwill; an Egyptian king and his treasure being returned to his people.

It would bring a lot of tourism and, in turn, employment to the cities around the tomb where he will be placed back. Cleo will probably play the tour guide there or whatever he did for a living. The thought alleviated the ache in my heart so much that I could scarcely breath.

He was leaving…

Without me…

My manager sent me home that day, stating that being mentally absent at work was dangerous. So, I sat huddled in my bed all day—not eating, not sleeping, not responding when my roommate asked if I wanted to go out and grab lunch. I just wanted to be left alone, so she complied. But the loneliness pricked more than ever. He didn’t have a phone, but he had my number. He could have called.

He chose not to.

He was leaving…

Without me…

Maybe it is better this way. I wouldn’t be able to afford the tickets, passport and visa to Egypt. God knows whether Cleo has enough money for the two of us. May be that’s why he…

He was leaving…

Without me…

*****

I am not sure how I reached the museum. I don’t remember deciding where to go. But my feet ached as if I had walked all the way. I only realised I was there when the guard at the main gate stopped me. Apparently, the museum was closed earlier than usual because there were certain Egyptian rites to re-coronate the mummified king before the big movement the next day. The coronation in our country was obviously a marketing strategy to raise the excitement and, in turn, tourism to the tomb in Egypt.

The museum staff has been given the day off and only a select few Egyptians were allowed inside. A dread settled in my gut along with hope—dread that I wouldn’t be able to meet Cleo. Hope that he must be here. There is no way he would miss such a rare Egyptian event. He must have found a way to get in.

I was completely awake now. I had to get in too, somehow.

Author’s note: To be continued…

If you would rather read it all together in the book, The Bracelet and other short stories is available for free download here: Link

Photo by Spencer Davis on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Published

Broken: Part 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is third installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories. You can find the other parts here: Broken: Part 1 and Broken: Part 2.

On the morning of the fourth day, I gathered wildflowers that grew within the temple yard. A tiger was manning the boundary. It gave me hope that my ‘friends’ wouldn’t be able to come tomorrow, and I wouldn’t have to go back. I could stay here forever, seeing her every day. I held the flowers lovingly in my arms until she came, afraid to put them down lest they’d get dirty.

When she came, I all but jumped up. She placed the basket in the same place and looked at me. I meekly held out the flowers. She accepted them quietly with a smile that almost made me swoon. She turned to leave. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I might have to leave soon. How could I go without knowing her name? Or rather, how could I go at all?

“Please don’t go,” I begged her.

“Do you need anything else from me?” her voice was teasing.

“I…I don’t even know your name,” I blushed to the roots of my hair like a schoolboy.

“I thought you’ll never ask. People call me Kyarr,” she replied.

“Oh! I thought Kyarr was the deity here.”

She kept smiling.

“I…My ‘friends’ are due to return tomorrow. I was wondering…thinking that…I…Would you…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. What if she says no? What if she considers it an insult? I know nothing about her. She could be married. She looks young but people marry early in this part of the world.

Heck, even I’m married! What was I even thinking?

She waited for a few seconds. Then, probably realised I wasn’t going to finish. So, she simply said, “I know your friends come tomorrow morning. I guess, it is the last time we meet.” She was still smiling.

“Would you like to come with me?” I blurted out, then lost all the courage and looked at my feet.

“I can’t. I’m needed here. But thank you for asking.”

It hurt to see that there was no pain in her eyes. She was smiling as always while my own heart was ripping up in pieces. “Will you at least stay the night? I just want to look at you until I leave,” I knew I was transgressing some social boundary, but I couldn’t remember what…

“I can but you might not like how I look. That’s why I haven’t been staying here for the past three nights.”

I could hear the warning in her voice, but I was past caring now. If it was the last time I was looking at her, I didn’t care if a few hair came out of her bun as she slept. Now that I think of it, I can’t remember how she wore her hair—Was it a bun? Pig tails? Or did she leave them loose over her shoulders? She’d still be the only one I love.

“I insist.”

She shook her head, giving up, and sat on the stone throne on the pedestal. Then she gave me that smile that melted my knees…

…and turned to stone—a magnificent stone Tigress.

*****

My helpers returned the next day and told me the goat was still very much alive. I told them about Kyarr, but they didn’t believe me. They said Kyarr, the stone Tigress, has always been there on the pedestal. She was the temple deity.

They said the curse was turning me mad like all those before me.

*****

I would like to believe them and forget all about her, but how can I?

Even though I have returned home, my dreams are full of tiger calls, and my every waking moment is spent thinking about her. Somehow, her being a tigress makes no difference to me. She’s still the one I love.

Often, I see her walk away from me. I call her. I beg her to stop, but she just gives me a smile that would make me follow her anywhere. And then, she keeps walking until I can walk no more. Once I fall, I crawl behind her until I faint. And when I wake up, I find her gone.

My bleeding feet and knees don’t hurt. My heart bleeds knowing I’ll never see her again. I tried booking a flight to return to my Kyarr, but my wife—I can’t recall her name now—she won’t let me go. I think she’s jealous. Could you please make her understand, Doctor? You do believe me, don’t you?

The doctor looks up at me with eyes filled with pity. He stops the recorder and makes some notes in his pad. He signals a male nurse to escort me to my padded cell—my cage from where I can’t escape and walk until my feet hurt and crawl until my knees bleed…

End

Author’s note: You can find the free PDF version of my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories here: Link.

Photo by Mike Marrah on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Published

Broken: Part 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is second installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories. You can find the other parts here: Broken: Part 1 and Broken: Part 3.

I settled on the platform on the tree, hid behind the leaves with the gun in position and waited. It wasn’t long when the goat started bleating. A tiger walked in. I guess, it wasn’t hungry because it wasn’t stealthy. It just sniffed the goat, the goat bleated, and the tiger looked straight at the place I sat.

Somehow, it knew I was there.

I had a clear shot, but the intensity of its stare made my hands shake. I fired but missed.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

All of a sudden, sixteen tigers rushed out of the bushes around me, roaring and tearing at my tree. The tree was rather sturdy and impossible for an animal to climb but, in my bones, I knew it can’t last against so many tigers. I fired several rounds of bullets but, weirdly enough, they hit none of the sixteen.

Soon, I was out of ammunition.

After a few minutes—it felt like an eternity—of scratching away the tree bark, the tigers began to return to the shadows of the forest. But one of them remained stationed beneath the tree. I had a suspicion that he’s waiting for me to get drowsy and fall down. After a couple of hours, as the rush of adrenalin subsided, I started getting sleepy. Meanwhile, crazy as it sounds, another tiger had come in and relieved the first one from its ‘duty’, which means they were working as a team.

It was weird and scary in extreme. Three days from now, one of them would still be here, meaning that my help would never arrive.

I wondered whether the ‘help’ had reached home safely. I wondered when he will return. I had travelled across the world to be here, but now I couldn’t wait to return to my family. I clung to a branch fiercely and prayed to see my wife and daughter one more time.

*****

Dusk arrived and the last rays of light fell on a piece of metal shining on the top of the trees—the pinnacle of the ancient temple of Kyarr. The wise words returned to me: “If the situation gets out of hand…” Well, the situation was certainly out of hand. I couldn’t stay the night here. Maybe, the temple could offer a better shelter. I could hide in the inner sanctum and close the doors. Other people had survived there, hadn’t they?

There was no point waiting to die here. I would rather do something.

I couldn’t carry my baggage. It would slow me down. My guns were all useless without the bullets. So, I used them to create a diversion. I dropped my bag down first, threw my heavier gun as far as it would go in my opposite direction, and then my lighter gun ahead of it. In the end, I threw my skinning knife as far as it would go in the trees. The tiger took the bait and ran towards it.

I jumped down and dashed towards the temple. I didn’t hear any tigers behind me, but I didn’t stop to check too.

I reached the temple in one mad dash. It had no boundary so entering was rather easy. I ran inside the prayer hall and turned to close the doors. There were none.

“Don’t worry. They won’t hurt you here. You aren’t carrying weapons,” a pleasant female voice made me turn around. She was sitting on the stone throne on the pedestal.

“But I had shot several rounds at them a few hours back.”

“But you can’t anymore.” It wasn’t a question. She smiled dazzling me. “Please make yourself comfortable until your friends return for you. If you are hungry, you can have these fruits,” she pointed towards a basket at her feet. With those words, she left the room.

*****

I hid there for four nights until help arrived.

The first night, I could neither eat, nor sleep. Occasionally, I heard the tigers roar just outside the periphery of the temple. Not sure what kept them out though—the temple had no doors to close.

It wasn’t the fear that kept me up though. It was the woman—I kept thinking about her smile, her face, her grace, her voice…

*****

The next day stretched before me with nothing to do. My smartphone had stopped working the moment I had entered the deeper forest, as expected. Now the battery was dead as well. I tried missing my wife and daughter, but I couldn’t. All I thought about was ‘her’. I craved for her with the intensity of a man dying of thirst in the desert. But no matter how I tried, I could not recall the colour of her clothes. I had been so taken in by her face.

At dusk, she returned with a fruit basket. I think, she was wearing something orange. I can’t be too sure. All I could remember was her face and dazzling smile. She asked me if I was well. I wanted to say that I was dying to see her again. But all I could manage was a nod. She left the basket in the same place and left with the dazzling smile.

I wanted to stop her and ask her name. I wanted to ask her how she knew my language and about my friends; where she lived and why she returned only at dusk and only to deliver the basket; why she never said a prayer in the temple; and where was the deity anyway.

But the words stayed lodged firmly in my throat. All I could manage was to look like a thunderstruck tree.

The next two nights were spent pretty much the same way. I tried sleeping but kept dreaming of her. But as soon as I would lift my hand to touch her face, tiger roars would wake me up. I could hardly remember my wife’s name. Heck, I couldn’t remember my own name if I didn’t have my ID in my pocket. Both days, mornings were spent waiting for the dusk to arrive so that I could see her again; and evenings thinking of what I could have and should have said to her.

The roars didn’t bother me anymore. I might not even have noticed if the tigers had eaten me.

Author’s note: To be continued…

Photo by Mike Marrah on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

The Far Door: Part 4

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is fourth and final installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and other short stories. You can find the other parts here: The Far Door: Part 1, The Far Door: Part 2 and The Far Door: Part 3.

It is nearly midnight, and I am getting drowsy.

There is a light clicking noise, something I would have missed in my bedroom. I look at the front door, sure that Franc has opened the lock—nothing there! Shaking apprehensively, I turn to look at the far door. The huge copper lock has unlocked itself and is now hanging in the air, slowly descending to the floor without a sound. The metal latch slides open quietly.

Very slowly, thick, fat, gnarled, grey fingers appear on the side of the far door, slowly pushing it open.

My mouth opens in a silent scream—I am clearly not prepared for an attacker who isn’t a human. Should I just hide here and pretend I am not awake? Afterall, it hasn’t touched me yet. Or should I keep an eye and see what it does? Will I ever be able to forget seeing a monster? I am still dealing with so many demons from my own past…

A low squeak, a strangled cry of alarm, reaches me. A child? Is it torturing a child?

The thought of a child in trouble gives me strength I need to face whatever it is. Picking the metal rod and the pepper spray can, I run to the far door and pull it open all the way…

A strange sight greets me. In a darkened room lit by only a night lamp, an incredibly old man—grey skinned with long ears—is standing at the doorway dressed in pyjamas and what looks like a crumpled blazer. The glazed eyes tell that he is sleepwalking. A couple of kids are holding him back—a girl around six and a boy around eight—also grey with long ears, wearing similar crumpled blazers. The kids look stunned at my sudden appearance. The old man simply takes the metal rod from my hand and starts chewing. He doesn’t do it to look intimidating, more like he isn’t really all there.

The boy stutters, clearly at his wit’s end, “S‑Sorry, He’s sleep‑eating. Can’t remember he mustn’t eat metal!”

I blink at his response, not sure how to respond at the apology, “How did he open the lock and latch on the other side?”

The boy is terrified and looks ready to tell me anything, “Standard magic—he can manipulate the metal lock and latch. The wooden latch used to stop him from wandering off in his sleep. But Dad said it is not in its place anymore, so we have to hold him back physically until Dad returns home around midnight. But it is so late in the night, and we get drowsy…and Grampa always gives us a slip. Sorry for the bother!”

Nothing is making sense anyway, so I try to get to the most obvious question, “Why isn’t he eating his own metal? There are plenty of metal fittings here?” I gesture at the copper vase and copper‑framed mirror.

The little girl pipes in, “Copper tastes awful! I guess, that’s why they put it everywhere in the building so the residents wouldn’t eat the fittings.”

A French window opens on its own. Aren’t we on the third floor? Alarmed, I turn to find Franc standing on the attached balcony with his wings (?) open, taking in the scene apprehensively. He is grey-skinned with large ears too. With a huge sigh, he places his laptop bag and restaurant food from a twenty-four‑hour joint on the floor and touches his watch. In a blur, his wings wrap around him like a blazer and turn white. His ears are now normal and skin olive again.

Is it fear lingering in his eyes? He tries to cover it with an apologetic smile, “I see you have met my family. Welcome to the Gargoyle residency. Please don’t freak out. We are not monsters—we just co‑exist.”

His eyes are pleading me to understand. He looks unsure of what else to say, probably waiting for me to freak out anyway. I lean on the nearest couch to support my failing knees. I should be scared but, once I look at the laptop bag and restaurant food at his feet, weirdly, I am relieved instead. Curious—baffled… but not afraid.

In my sternest voice, I demand, “We need to talk.”

I glance at the children. They look scared, and I melt a little, “And I need something to get over this. Who’s up for a hot chocolate?”

The children cry happily in unison. Apprehension gone, Franc is now smiling in the earnest, “Allow me.” He moves towards my kitchen, followed by the kids who take their rightful places on the dining table.

Grandpa is still busy chewing the rod while I lead him to the sofa in the hall. I smile at the absurdity of the moment—the place finally feels home.

END

Author’s note: If you prefer to read the entire book rather than in piece-meals, you can simply download the free PDF version of the book from here: Books by Shaily

Original photo by Casey Lovegrove on Unsplash (with minor edits based on the story)

Posted in Fiction

The Far Door: Part 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is third installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and other short stories. You can find the other parts here: The Far Door: Part 1, The Far Door: Part 2 and The Far Door: Part 4.

**Sunday evening**

I can barely wait for Franc, sitting as close to the main door as possible in case I have to run out again…

In case the monster returns…

When the bell rings, I run to the door and wrench it open. Franc is certainly surprised but doesn’t comment, for which I am grateful. He is a bit wary when I offer condolences and request him to step inside. Looking like a model in his navy blazer and jeans, he sits stiffly on the medieval sofa looking confused at the change of my tone as I pour tea.

So, I tell him about the misunderstanding and my reasons for the hasty purchase—about my abusive marriage and my ex-husband’s multiple attempts to break in—he finally relaxes and nods. “It’s alright. I, too, wanted to apologise for my behaviour the other day. I realised a little too late that the property agent might not have given you the whole story.”

“I’ll be happy to sell the house back to you if you are willing. I spoke with the agent, and he was apologetic. I just need a week until he finds me a new accommodation. Meanwhile, you can bring your family in today. I’ll give you the key.”

“Thanks! My grandpa is not in his right mind, and I don’t want to burden you with him. We will wait until you leave,” he gives me a smile. God, what a smile!

“Really, it’s fine. My grandma was pretty old too and not really all there. We managed fine with her.”

“Still, I insist. While we wait for you to move, I’ll get the paperwork ready.”

His denial unsettles me. I was hoping he would jump on the offer, and his family will come in right away so that I will not be scared at nights. I have been going on without sleep for a little too long. A few more days and I will become cross‑eyed.

Franc interjects my thoughts, “You opened the wooden latch against my warning?!”

I sighed, “I didn’t open it, just changed it to metal for better security. I could hear voices on the other side of the door, and the wooden latch didn’t look strong enough to keep anyone out. Can you please check if there’s anyone in there? My cutlery is missing, and someone has been chewing away my silverware.”

He looks at me like I am certifiably mad, “Just change it back to that damned wooden latch, will you?” And he stomps out.

I should follow his directives, considering it is the door to his portion, and I am selling the rest of the house to him anyway. But I am too mad at him to care. If a metal latch can’t keep out whoever is in there, what can a measly wooden latch do?

**Monday**

**Tuesday**

**Wednesday**

**Thursday**

The previous few days are spent pretending that the far door doesn’t exist while still trying to hear any noises coming from that side, as, slowly but steadily, my steel utensils keep going amiss. Today, some of my jewellery is missing—my white‑gold earrings are nowhere to be found while the sapphires that were encrusted in them are sitting on the top of my dresser.

Something doesn’t add up. Anyone pilfering my jewellery will not leave sapphires behind where I can easily find them. And if something is really ‘eating’ my things, why not eat sapphires as well?

A thought strikes me. Is Franc trying to scare me off the property? All this mess started after I declined his offer. Even though he is behaving casually now that I have agreed to sell to him, he would want to ensure that I don’t change my mind. And of course, he has a key to the house already–he lived here all his life until last month!

Well, it is finally time to face my demons.

*****

Whoever is trespassing my property is, clearly, doing it late in the night. Tonight, armed with a pepper spray and a metal rod, I am hiding behind a sofa where I am able to look at both the far door and the main door without being seen. I am scared witless, and my palms are sweating like crazy. While I am 99 percent sure it is Franc and that I have nothing to fear, it is the remaining one percent that is making my entire body shake.

It is nearly midnight, and I am getting drowsy. There is a light clicking noise, something I would have missed in my bedroom. I look at the front door, sure that Franc has opened the lock—nothing there! Shaking apprehensively, I turn to look at the far door. The huge copper lock has unlocked itself and is now hanging in the air, slowly descending to the floor without a sound. The metal latch slides open quietly.

Very slowly, thick, fat, gnarled, grey fingers appear on the side of the far door, slowly pushing it open.

Author’s note: To be continued…

Let me know if you wish to read the next part, or you can simply download the free PDF version of the book from here: Books by Shaily

Original photo by Casey Lovegrove on Unsplash (with minor edits based on the story)

Posted in Random Thoughts

The Far Door: Part 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is second installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and other short stories. You can find the other parts here: The Far Door: Part 1, The Far Door: Part 3 and The Far Door: Part 4.

**Wednesday**

**Thursday**

**Friday**

For three days, I have avoided looking at the door. The absence of a metal latch and lock on the far door is putting me on the edge. The wooden latch just didn’t cut it. I keep reminding myself that the rooms are probably just full of old furniture. On weekdays, it is easier; I am out for work all day, returning only to eat and sleep. But on the Friday morning, I hear whispered voices on the other side of the door. Not sure what are they saying, but there are many.

Franc’s warning comes to my mind, “Just don’t open the latch to the door.” Does he know about the voices too?

I haven’t made up my mind about selling or sharing the key, but I have to make this place safe while I am here. So, I call a locksmith that evening to fit the new metal latch—a thick copper one to match the interiors, of course. He pulls out the wooden bolts holding the wooden latch and replaces the set with copper latch and bolts. He pushes and pulls at the door several times in the process, which should have opened the door and broken my promise to Franc. But the door doesn’t budge. It seems to be locked from the inside as well. How is that even possible if no one is on the other side?

Pushing aside the thought, I pay the locksmith. And then, I hang a huge copper lock from the new latch. Technically, I haven’t done anything wrong since I haven’t opened the door.

I can finally breathe easy. No one can force their way in now, or so I hope.

**Saturday**

I don my apron and wash the vegetables to prepare breakfast. I am about to sit down to cut them, but I can’t find my knife. The knife I had brought with me isn’t in the copper stand in the kitchen; neither is it in the sink nor dustbin. In fact, all the stainless‑steel cutlery I had brought with me is missing. I look at the far door accusingly; the metal latch and lock are still in place. I will have to go to market to buy a cutlery set today. How can an entire cutlery set go missing overnight? The thought is unsettling. It is even more difficult to sleep that night.

**Sunday**

Some of the silverware my grandmother bequeathed me is missing. I rummage the place—the drawers, wardrobes, the space under the sink…

Something on the floor glints back at me; a silver spoon…

…or what is left of it! Someone has bitten off half the head. I can see the toothmark on the bitten edge.

The far door is still locked.

I am hyperventilating now. I run down the stairs and out in the yard. It feels better to be out in the sunlight. A couple of old women stand there, smiling and talking. Deciding some small talk will sooth my nerves, I approach them. One of them looks up and her eyes turn hostile, daring me to speak. I want to turn back and leave but the other lady smiles, “Hi! You must be our new neighbour! How are you finding the place?”

I want to tell the truth, but politeness takes over, “It’s nice.”

“Have you met Franc yet? He said that he will speak to you about buying your portion.”

“Yes. I’m still considering the offer.”

The hostile lady hisses from between clenched teeth, “You would have taken the offer and run with it if you knew what’s good for you. That poor lad has enough on his plate already—His senile grandpa who sleepwalks and two little kids, while his wife dumped them all for another man. He just went to Gorgon for a month to bury his parents, and you locked him out of his house! Now his grandpa is stuck inside a room for the fear of making a spectacle of himself and his children can’t go to school because we are unable to look after his grandpa. Franc can’t cook for them since he has no kitchen, and he can’t return from office until late in the night because he can’t be seen f—,” She bites her lower lip as if she had gone a little too far.

I am too horrified to dwell over that, “Are you implying his family was living here when I moved in; that he was out just for a month? The agent never told me!”

Her voice softens a bit, “Well, you wouldn’t have bought the house then, would you? I bet, he must have given you a really low price too.”

The other lady pitches in, “Franc’s grandpa is a co‑owner along with Marc. It is Marc’s portion you have bought. They were childhood friends, and their families lived together. Since Marc and Lily had no children, he had intended to bequeath the rest of the house to Franc. But before he could create the will, he died in a car crash along with Franc’s parents. While Franc went to Gorgon to bury them all, Lily’s nephew who had received Marc’s estate asked an agent to sell everything. He never cared enough to come here and look at the place where his uncle and aunt spent their entire lives. And why would he? Lily’s family never accepted her marriage with Marc. They were ashamed of him being a g—” She too stops mid‑sentence, probably realising she is offering me Franc’s personal information.

“That’s horrible! I kicked his entire family out without even knowing it. Can you please ask Franc to come home and meet me this evening?”

*****

I can barely wait for Franc, sitting as close to the main door as possible in case I have to run out again…

In case the monster returns…

Author’s note: To be continued…

Let me know if you wish to read the next part, or you can simply download the free PDF version of the book from here: Books by Shaily

Original photo by Casey Lovegrove on Unsplash (with minor edits based on the story)

Posted in Random Thoughts

The Far Door: Part 1

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is first installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories. You can find the other parts here: The Far Door: Part 2, The Far Door: Part 3 and The Far Door: Part 4.

I have been itching to get away from the independent house I received in divorce settlement from my abusive ex‑husband. To someone else, a house just outside the city with a porch and surrounded by fruit trees would be a dream come true. For me, it is a constant reminder of the scars on my body and soul. A fresh start is all that I am looking for.

When the property agent sent me pictures online, I instantly fell in love with this one‑bedroom half-a flat in the middle of a busy city. As I walk into the building with my luggage, I feel like a princess. The grand, five‑story building is designed like a medieval palace with ornate galleries, cream walls and copper fittings. My flat is on the third storey—way up from the ground, ensuring my ex‑husband can’t get in through the windows. He hasn’t tried anything since I got the restraining orders, but I can never be too sure.

The huge door of the flat opens into a grand main hall with French windows and a sunlit balcony. A wide gallery on the side leads to the bedroom and an attached bathroom on one side and, on the other side, an open kitchen my mother would envy. The fully furnished flat comes with antique wooden furniture and copper utensils, cooker and gas stove that complete the medieval look. It even has copper plates and cutlery. Overall, it reminds me of ancient castles, fairy tales and princesses. All it lacks is a knight in shining armour.

There is another huge door on the far side. It is barred with a wooden latch. According to the agent, there are three more bedrooms and a couple of bathrooms behind that door, but they are not a part of the deal. Giddy with happiness at how cheap the charming flat comes, I don’t give it the thought I should have.

**Tuesday**

It is two days since I moved in, and I am already regretting my decision. I have just returned from office and found an olive‑skinned hulk in a black blazer waiting at the door. He introduces himself stiffly, “Hi! I’m Franc, the owner of the other half of the flat. I’d like to buy your portion.” Without waiting for a response, he opens his bag and pulls out several bundles of banknotes.

The amount is huge, enough for me to buy a bigger and even better place but the attitude puts me off. I am done being bullied, “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

His following smile is steely and forced, “Ah! In that case, you need to give me a spare key to your main door. I hope you know that it is the only way to reach my portion and I have the right of way.”

I curse myself for not seeing it coming, “But I can’t hand over my house key to a stranger!”

“You should have thought that before you bought the property.”

“Look! Let’s be reasonable. I am a single woman. I can’t let you have free access to my house.”

“You have two weeks. Either sell your portion to me or give me the other key. And while you are here, you must never open the latch leading to my property.”

“Of course, I won’t trespass your property. I am not a thief.”

He drops a bit of attitude at those words, “I didn’t mean it that way. I just…Just don’t open the latch of that door.” With those words, he leaves me. His words and the pleading tone make me curious. He clearly doesn’t think I am a thief, but what does he think would happen if I open the far door? Would I dust off some of the antique cobwebs? Or would some of the mice escape?

Well, there certainly are mice in his portion—tonight, I can hear faint noises coming from the other side of the door. Well, as long as they stay in his portion, they are not my concern. Surely, it can’t be anything else; the rooms have no other door leading outside, and it is the third floor so no one can enter from the windows.

But still, I feel unsettled and unsafe. The smallest sound gives me goosebumps. I am unable to sleep until the wee hours in the morning.

Author’s note: To be continued…

Original photo by Casey Lovegrove on Unsplash (with minor edits based on the story)

Posted in My life

First steps

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

My daughter started telling stories when she was three.

Most of it was reused, recycled and repurposed from the stories I had told her or what she saw on You Tube (Link to the proof: Plagiarism with Brains: Reuse, Recycle, Repurpose). She would add or changes animals in my animal stories and replaced mango with pumpkin in fairytales.

Yesterday, she wrote her first piece of poetry–on the fly and in 60-seconds flat. I actually had to ask her if she had taken ‘inspiration’ from someone. She claims she hadn’t.

Here is the piece. Before you ask, I have taken Your Highness’s permission.

Touch the sky,

Touch the sun,

Just go on and have fun.

You don’t know how long it will stay,

Or rather it will just go away.

I haven’t correct anything there. I had just asked her why she wanted to write game score on the diary I had given her to write poetry and stories in. So, she just took a pen and jotted these lines on the first page (rather the cardboard) of blank diary.

Now that she has a foot in the door, I can hope. I know, there is no guarantee that she would want to continue at all. But that’s life of a parent.