In a Horror House

Though we were already informed that the place that we chose to explore that day was of somewhat haunted nature, we decided to move on. Standing at the door step of that house with palpitating hearts, we asked each other about reconsidering our decision of visiting it. Slowly the door opened towards somewhat emptiness, and what we could only notice with our failing senses was the growl of a predator from the thickened darkness in front of us. We were about to withdraw out of intuition and instinctive fear; but accidentally, someone joined us, and with a mysterious smile, he entered the house, darting a hilarious glance at us.

In a sudden flash of motivation, I jumped in to the darkness of the house, forcing my friend along with me. Suddenly I remembered, the one who preceded us in the process of exploring that inhuman house was a man with only one hand. His right hand was amputated at the joint. At the next moment, a wild feminine scream from some dark corners of that dirty house pierced our ear drums. That cry soon mixed with the terrifying howl of that fiendish animal, which was brooding in the dark somewhere close to us. We heard the sound of the door closing behind us. No turning back now!

While hesitantly staring with our empty eyes at the source of a bluish light creeping in to the room, a human voice from the left ordered us to turn to the right side, where there was a narrow corridor. While climbing the steps that led to the corridor in an act of imbalance, with my week aura, I sensed the presence of the man who went before us, who was also moving forward in an uncertain manner. I held his only hand out of desperation; though he initially disturbed by my embarrassing act, seeing the pathetic situation that we three were in, he was persuaded and permitted me to stick on to him. 

I screamed loudly, and shouted using curse words, seeing a headless human figure at the next juncture of that corridor. Hearing my loud cry, my friend, who was following me, closed eyes tight. That person, as I came to know later, opened the eyes only after we escaped from that haunted place. Everywhere, we heard devilish screams, terrifying echoes of the laughter from hell, and we saw only the moving shadows, hanging dead bodies on top of our heads, and cut opened throats, from where blood was gushing forth till it clotted, as it seemed, in an abrupt manner, simply some moments before. When that endless travel through the corridor finished, we entered into a room, which was dimly lit. Suddenly a beastly figure sitting on a wooden platform jumped at us, giving us another shock. Struggling to not attract the attention of that figure once again, we somehow managed to unlock the door in front of us, but at that moment, someone with a stick jumped at us in order to beat us. Our one-handed friend soon switched on his cell phone, and in that light, we saw the face of a young boy smiling at us out of embarrassment. 

Once we were out of that haunted place, which is operating at Cochin’s Oberon Mall, named ‘Scary House’, we all three broke into a joined laughter. While sharing our individual experience in the Scary House, where people pay to get scared, we heard from the house, the loud cries and screams of a pack of college girls who followed us into that place of entertainment of a different nature. People knew that they would get scared if they go inside it, though they are aware of the fake ghostliness and gimmicks on which that centre is based;  but still they find pleasure in that kind of scare. Human psychology is indeed queer!

Murder in the Dreams

The guy who stays at the closest door of mine, today morning woke up with a sprained neck. When asked about it, he said,

“Buddy, I dreamt something terrible last night. In the end of the dream, when I suddenly withdrew myself from an imminent shock, my head might have twisted in an awkward position, and as a result, I guess, I am woken up with such a painful sprained neck.”

That long speech was enough for such a dream loving guy like me to become curious; and with a slight embarrassment, I inquired more about his dreams. Hesitantly he replied,

“Brother, I don’t know its meaning. But I am terribly shaken. I don’t know to what extend it would be right confessing my last night’s dream”.

“Tell me please! I am a scholar in dreams,” impatiently I said.

After a pause, he said, “It is murder, friend; cold blooded murder!” Then he looked at my eyes sharply.

I was shocked. I had known the meaning of some of the most recurring dreams, thanks to Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams, and some later papers appeared in the internet. That book and its subject were my favorites. But I couldn’t recollect that what a murder in dream signified.

The next door guy then said about his dream. In the dream, he beat someone to death. The victim’s face, it was that of a stranger, was so dreadful with blood stains, and wounds. Then he pulled his corpse to his homestead and put it in the backyard of his house. He suddenly noticed that in addition to the dead body of the one who killed, there were two more corpses lying in the same ground; all were killed after so many beatings and thrashes. 

Without a word, he retired to his room for a peaceful sleep. But the next day, his father woke up and scolded him for putting corpses in the backyard. He could have buried them, his father suggested. So, they both started to dig a big pit to bury the three people. The pit was a huge and horrifying one. And finally, they buried all three corpses in that huge pit successfully. 

“But, something happened then to make my head turn suddenly, which ended up in this sprain on my neck,” he said while putting an end to his dream narration. 

We both joked some more time about the dream. But I had all in my mind to check the internet to know more about the murder in dreams. According to a site I referred, murder in dream signifies, putting an end to an old habit or a former way of thinking. It could also refer to putting full stop to an addiction. It also signifies that the dreamer is angry at someone or at himself.

What do you think? Do you have similar dreams?

A Cathartic Puzzle

So, here I am, again as promised, in order to give your thoughts some tidbits, to provoke your brain function more dynamically. Yes, you guessed it right! Today, I am going to ask you a riddle. You might be wondering why I am today here with a puzzle when the internet offers so many googols of them for those who have that continuous itching of brain. There lies the matter. This is not a common riddle which depends on word play or mathematical calculations. This is also not one to trick you using the intermingling of facts and fiction. The apt adjective to denote this puzzle would be, ‘emotionally disturbing’, and that’s why I used the term ‘cathartic’ in the title to describe the nature of the puzzle. I do not know if anybody of you has already familiar with this one. However, before asking the riddle straightaway, I think I need to give you the background of how I came to face such a puzzle which had stopped my heartbeats for some seconds, talking without exaggeration.

Yes, the time was the beginning of my Trivandrum days. I was a little more grown-up one than a teenager, though the frailty, fragility and the juvenile characteristics have not completely departed from my mannerisms. I was in a hostel like place where I met with some new guys. Despite of my initial impression as a simpleton, people began to consider me for their discussions and chats a little later, when they slowly realized that I was like everyone there in terms of thoughts and behaviors.

After noon time, I usually was free, and so, that was the time we utilized to crack jokes, or to involve in heated arguments. Sometimes we used to ask puzzles to test the other one’s brain or to show off in front of the gang with our superior intellect. When a civil service aspirant joined our gang, he became the talking machine. During one of our puzzle session, when we were completely running out of puzzles, the civil service aspirant suddenly said,

“I have a different puzzle. This question was asked during a top interview for a heavily paid post. But if I ask you this question, you would either curse me or beat me up.” 

We became curious and demanded him to ask that one. He said,

“The question was asked to everyone who showed up for that interview. Of the whole lot, only one was able to give a reasonable answer, and he got the appointment. But pals, I won’t ask you this question. Because, it is an emotionally disturbing one. You might think of me as a pervert or you might stop talking to me if I ask you this question”.

That was enough to raise our degree of curiosity. We pleaded again. So he agreed to ask the question. He reminded us that the question had no definite answer. It was just to test the ability to give apt response in certain times.

He said giving sufficient pauses between words ensuring that the question was properly communicated, “So folks, here is the question; what will you do if you ever come to know that your mother is a prostitute?”

Pin drop silence. I felt as if someone hit me on my head using a hammer. My roommate, who was a very innocent one, was about to break into tears. 

We all replied that we didn’t have any answer to this question. But the civil service aspirant prompted us to come with an answer. Someone answered that he would cut the relationship with his mother. When asked, my roommate replied that he would go to that extend of suicide. The next turn was mine. Scratching my head, I replied,

“Err…well...I think I would quit my native place.” There were some more answers from others as well.

The civil service aspirant shook his head to every answer labeling each as, impractical, hilarious, pathetic, etc. We finally asked him to give us the answer suggested by the winner of that interview.

I hope that you all have formulated an answer to this question by this time. Your answer needs not be the exact one put forwarded by the winner. If you have a good reasonable answer, that is just because you are very much intelligent. If you don’t have a reasonable answer – then also you are highly intelligent, because that’s why you are here on my page to read Vanity Moments!

Exerting a dramatic pause, the civil service aspirant said, “the winner answered like this; if I ever come to know that my mother is a prostitute, first I will make sure that my father is her only customer!”

Whatever be the counter arguments against this answer, we all agreed that the winner rightly answered to the puzzle, and since he was quick in answering such tricky questions, he well deserved the position.

By the way, any of you had invented any better or similar answer to this puzzle?

Not So Innocent Children

One second please…Let me just introspect. I am in an attempt to recollect something. I can get easily disturbed from my thoughts if you people keep on talking and chattering like this. I am trying to write some of my past experiences in order to make my blog alive. Yes, I remember, it was in my childhood days, more exactly, during my school days, and to be precise, I was then a fourth standard kid wearing knickers and backpack, which was full of text books, and additional story books, usually borrowed from classmates, and with a water bottle in hand. 

Water bottle! Yes! Water bottle is my today’s subject. I hope you also are well familiar with water bottles. My water bottle was a light green coloured one with a dumbest shape. Dumbest is the word immediately came to my mind when I attempt to describe it, because I don’t exactly remember its shape. 

One usual day with repetitive lessons, teacher’s punishment stick, orations, writing exercises, and yawns. The time is some more minutes to 4 PM. We are all set to respond to the final bell, to pick up bags, umbrellas, and water bottles.  I have already done with packing my text books in my bag. And the water bottle? Yes, it is there next to my right hand, so that I can pick it up easily in the process of running outside with enthusiasm. 

Someone sitting in my row suddenly complained, “teacher, I am not seeing my water bottle. It was here till a few minutes ago.”

Everybody’s attention turned to our side.  Teacher came and asked him to search everywhere, “You might have misplaced it somewhere accidentally,” she said.

“No teacher, I just have put it here itself. I remember it very much”, with a pathetic expression, he said.

His friend, M, suddenly poked his nose into the water bottle affair. “Let’s have a search through everybody’s bags. What if someone has stolen it? Let us start it with my own bag,” saying so, he undid his neatly packed bag, and showed us all that there is nothing suspicious.

He then checked the bag of the one who lost his water bottle, “Perhaps, you might have put it in the bag and then forgot,” he said, “but here either is not your bottle”. He finished checking that bag also.

“A water bottle? Where could it have gone? It must be somewhere beneath the seats”, I thought. Suddenly, M turned to me and said smiling mysteriously, “Now, let us check your bag. Show it me!”

I objected. ‘Why? I haven’t taken anyone’s bottle. Why Should I? I have my own one”. As one of the academically highly performing ones in the class, I cannot even be suspected for such a theft case, or that is my ego. But, M compellingly grabbed my bag, undid its straps carefully, and dramatically pulled out a colourful water bottle, the same one which was reported to be missing a few minutes before. 

I opened my mouth while shockingly staring at the water bottle. “Strange!” I thought. “How could have that water bottle came into my bag?” It was true that I had noticed an unusual bulge in my bag while waiting for the final bell. 

“You have stolen it,” M blamed me. Scared, I looked at the teacher seeking help. Here goes the dignity of the teacher’s pet. “Teacher, it was not me who put it there in my bag,” I was about to break into tears.

The teacher, who was a catholic nun, said with a smile. “God will reveal the truth one day”. She then left our row.

Years after, I heard about my friend M, that he was arrested by police, for trying to harm a small kid. When that little boy, knocked his door step seeking some water, M served him with a glassful of kerosene. Hearing that news, I suddenly thought about the old water bottle affair, and though with no proof, made some speculations on how that bottle came into my bag without my knowledge.