GreatReads

It was a dark and stormy night. Ominous black clouds hovered over the sky and released a sudden thunder. I was drenched from the heavy downpour. Icy fingers gripped my arm, and I was chilled to the marrow. While going to work this morning, little did I know that there would be such a tempest, I would not find a single cab and would have to go through an undetermined path amid which was a desolated decrepit house. I thought to myself: what was I thinking when I sought shelter in this house? Was I digging my own grave? 

When my mind returned to the present, I mustered up the courage to turn around. I slowly turned my head during which my heart was pounding, my spine was chilled, my hair was raised, and cold sweat was running down my forehead. To my relief, there was no one. I was probably hallucinating-delirium having caught me seeing the mystical house-as I had flagging disbelief in ghosts or any supernatural things. I knew they were nothing but a figment of our imagination, so I decided to sit in the parlor till the rain subsided. The house was as lonely as a cloud. 

A lone grey mouse stood sentry at the corner of the leather sofas which had been denatured by quite a few spider webs. Hung high on the soaked wall was a portrait of a small girl with a pale-looking face, snub nose, bright sparkly eyes, and neatly plaited hair. A misplaced grand bookshelf lay unruffled in a corner of the room. I neared the shelf and found inside it a myriad of children’s storybooks and fairy tales. Outside the window, a cat with coruscating green eyes looked at me with an eerie grin. Terror gripped my whole being and perspiration started dripping from my forehead. I had to fight against my fears as I was a firm realist and a rational person. Besides, the weather was deteriorating. A curious worm was poking into my brain to catch a sight of this house which, though old, seemed to be quite opulent and majestic once. But, as they say, curiosity killed the cat.

 I tiptoed into the bedroom, and the door begrudgingly creaked open. A musty and pungent odour crept into my nose. The bedroom had a beautiful almirah made of cedar-which, despite needing some varnish, looked quaint with its seamless finish, and a bed, on top of which hung the same portrait of the girl downstairs. The bed was crammed with dolls, and I sat on the bed admiring one which was very lifelike, very authentic and seemed to be standing out amongst the crowd as if it was a minimized version of that little girl in the portrait. However, there was some deep sadness in the girl’s eyes- a solitude, some pain that had subjugated her for decades. Nonetheless, I thought I was flogging a dead horse, so when the vigor of the rain lessened in a while, I thought to return home. As I stood up, my eyes widened as big as a tennis ball and my face turned as white as a sheet for the doll had grabbed my hand. The next moment I was horror-struck, my blood ran cold, and I had lost my voice. I did not know what to do and I tried to free myself without success. Then I gathered the sparse courage that I had left, and, with all my strength, thrust the doll away. 

The next moment, all the dolls were looking at me and I dashed as fast as my legs could take me. I scampered down the stairs with some shadows following me, wailing: “Don’t go, stay here. Please play with us,” with a spooky, yet tranquil voice which made my heart gallop. Cold sweat streamed down my forehead and my throat was parched. When the door was about to close by itself, fortuitously, I took a high leap and came out of the house. The howl echoing throughout the house died. I had got goosebumps and my heart was in my mouth. The dilapidated mansion looked as though it had been solitary for centuries and was waiting to quench its thirst. Several questions reigned over my head: Who was the girl? Why was she trapped in a doll and why was she so despondent? Whatever it was, I vowed never to go to an unknown remote house ever again, for escaping the ghosts was bad.

This one will definitely rouse you(may even raise your hair)! #StayingTrueToMyRoots

Her father said, “Grace, my dear,” hugging and kissing her on her forehead, “I missed you greatly today as I needed someone on this heart-rending and desolating day to share my feelings with for today is your mother’s death anniversary.” Afterward, her father freshened up and after dinner, at night, called her to his room. She scampered into the room, pondering over why her father had called her so late at night.

Grace entered the room and her father said, “Dear, I was just rummaging through my old things, and I have something very precious to show you. You already know I have a passion for collecting sunglasses. This,” he said, showing her a box and opening it, “is the first pair of sunglasses I ever wore, given to me by your grandfather. Although these are not so much of economic worth, nor that fashionable considering the time, they are very close to my heart, and I will give them to you on your graduation day.” The glasses looked quaint and were probably of the 20th century. The shades were oval, impenetrable black, and highly reflective. She said that she would treasure them forever and returned to her room.

 That night, Grace was talking to her mother’s picture as she often did on special occasions and saying, “Mum even though you are no more, Dad has never let me feel your absence. Today he said that he will give me his most prized possession, his sunglasses given to him by his grandfather. A week later, I will be graduating. Bestow upon me your blessings so that I embark on an efficacious and burgeoning journey ahead.” The week was by as fast as light. On Sunday, which was the day of her graduation, Grace was busy practicing her graduation speech. She had been chosen as the valedictorian for the graduation ceremony.

At the ceremony, when Grace was called on stage, she gave a speech talking about the significance of school and, how education was the movement from darkness to light. She ended the speech by thanking her father for all he had done for her and by saying the best preparation for tomorrow is doing our best today. When she came down from the stage, her father slightly wept but there were tears of joy. While returning home, the road was as busy as a bee. Suddenly, a car driving at an enormously high speed came in front of them, but it was too late for her father to apply the brakes. Grace and her father could not process what was happening and the next moment everything darkened.

Grace woke up in the hospital to see their housekeeper, Mrs. Watson in front of her, in tears. “The doctors could not save him,” Mrs. Watson said. Grace could not believe her ears. The entire world shifted beneath her feet. It was like the shade-her father- who protected her from everything in her life was lost. When she was discharged from the hospital and returned home, she rushed to her father’s room, still shattered and despondent, and opened the drawer of her father’s cabinet. On top of it was a long box, and inside it was the letter that read,” dear Grace, today is the day of your graduation. I have dreamt of this day from the day you were born. Today is the day I feel my little girl has truly grown up. I wish you a lifetime of happiness and prosperity. Beneath this letter is something very close to my heart. I say a lot about a person and these sunglasses have helped me -at times when I was weak-to hide my emotions from people who would not understand me. Hope there will be a friend in need of you too. I love you, my dear.” Grace closed the box, held the sunglasses tightly in her arms and a trickle of tears dropped down her cheek.

Hola everyone! This is my second post dedicated to my father on his birthday. My father- a father of two daughters, and a man who has never thought of his daughters any less than sons. My father- the revelor of all my successes. He went against all odds and burned the candle at both ends to provide the best education for his daughters. Behind every successful women, there is a progressive man, and for me, that is my father.

Fun fact- I wrote this story as an assignment when our teacher told us to write an essay on “A pair of sunglasses.” Imagine everyone’s reaction! In that instant, I could have never envisioned that I can come up with something like this. This is a story which, in more practical terms, will teach you that for a good story, a good imagination is the sine qua non because once the creative juices flow in, anything is possible.