The Scariest Night

“Once upon a time, there was a big mirror which could speak” my dad started with his out of the world night stories, but tonight I was too sleepy and instead dozed off. Good night', my dad sang, shutting the door of my room leaving me in darkness. As the soft cool air kissed my eyes, my eyelashes imperceptibly settled down like a tickle of delicate, light feathers. I soon drifted to a world where there are no worries, just sweetness all around. A soothing rhythm played in my mind when, like a wrong beat ruining a symphony, a harsh clanking grew nearer and nearer; making my trachea scream out- 'moooommm daaad!!!'

 But soon a realisation struck my mind: although I was howling with all my energy- nothing was audible! My throat clogged. The spooky clanging did not fade away, instead it was now accompanied by the rustling of, maybe, dry leaves; drenching me in fear. Hooded with the blanket, I quickly cuddled myself further, thinking that my blanket could shield me like the atmosphere during a meteoric shower.

Suddenly, a harsh breeze gushed and pervaded in; transforming the fragile, pink curtains into a frenzied, stern mob-that was protesting for freedom. For me the breeze was an epitome of an evil spirit.  I dragged my blanket further until it almost covered my face but my curiosity got the better of me and as it did, I gathered the courage to peep out. I narrowed my eyes, squinting at the right in search of the eerie feeling, which had tickled my nerves. What can it be- I paused to ponder- what can it be that was threatening me? It was the suspense that the deep air had consistently unfolded in the most mysterious tricks.

For a moment, the scary echoing of distant sounds withered away, leaving a somber atmosphere behind. As the strangeness in the air blew out of the window, I got off the bed, my feet touched the cold, freezing, white tiles, my knees bore the weight of my trembling body. There was something queer about the breeze which brushed past me, as I stood still. Initially, I struggled to walk but then before I knew what the path led to, my feet whisked me away! All my senses gave up, hardly any objects were visible. As my legs stopped, I noticed that I stood in the centre of our-which didn't share any familiar qualities-hall. The walls were blackened by some kind of smoke and dust, the sofa was torn and comfortless, the maroon carpet lying under my shivering feet was fretted and dull. 

One of the walls had tatters; black and white photos hung on it-one would die and still be unable to solve this jigsaw photo puzzle. Somewhere I felt that the photo pieces suggested happiness and a perfect family, by contrast the wall held dreary incidents. While I gazed at the contrast a soft voice called out my name, averting my pale, yellow face, my ears straining for recognition, my eyes struggled to see who was in the dark.

 In some time my eyes adjusted to the darkness of midnight, as it did a rickety chair- a chair whose presence was never noticed before-loomed a little distance away from me. I stepped forward, crushing my fever. All I could see was a cascade of shiny black hair- just like how my aunt had. 

'At last, I found you', her voice echoed. I am your past and I will be your future, now you are my robot - you need to do whatever I say. If you love your work, your parents, your life; then better do as I say!'

 ‘Who are you?’ I asked. 'Sometimes some things are good if not said. ..Just follow my orders and you will be safe.’ ‘This isn't fair you need to tell me why you have entered my house and disrupted my dreams.’ 'Darling, nothing is fair in life. You need to accept it as it is. Before you turned ten your aunt died in a car accident, your family hid it from you as they knew that you are attached to her. I came here because... My child I love you too...it's painful to see you talking to plain air and thinking it’s your aunt, I came here because I knew you would never know the reality, I came because I am your aunt! It's my soul that is still alive in me just for you, come with me child. Come with me.'

I stood there horrified at my own existence. If she is my aunt who is the one I talk to, if she is telling the truth who is the one who laughs at my silly jokes, if my aunt is dead who is the one I meet every Saturday...the voice said, ‘the fact is there is no aunt.’