The night it happened📘

First published at http://balicwc.com/2018/11/01/the-night-it-happened/

Short story, 1 November 2018.

A cloud obscured the moon and my pretty pink cubicle was bathed in dark shadows. It was that kind of night that made the call of nature particularly challenging to answer, especially when the loo was situated outside the main building. It involved walking down the corridor, “presumably lit” by the faintest of night lights, down the long flight of wooden stairs, past the portraits of formidable former principals, through the main hall doors and out to the toilet house.

I squirmed, tossed and turned for another excruciating hour or so, willing my bladder to quieten and sleep to overcome my senses. Fat chance of that! I finally gave up, firmly planted my legs on the floor, slipped my feet into the waiting sandals and began the daunting long march. The corridor was the easiest, the comforting sighs and snores of 20 slumbering children saturated the air.

I steeled myself and began the long descent down the stairs, holding on tightly to the smooth serpentine railing, my footfalls echoing a bit too loudly on the hollow wooden boards, and my heart thudding violently against the bony box of my chest. And then I heard it, a voice, a soft and disembodied voice, yet lucid and very tangible. It whispered close to my right ear and the hair on my neck stood up charged.

I hesitate to tell you but I died that night. In the morning I did not know it yet and wandered through the dormitory brushing my teeth, changing my clothes and making my bed as usual when I was interrupted by a loud piercing scream followed by two high-pitched wails. “Sister Maria, Sister Maria, come quick, come please,” cried a voice. “What is it?”, asked Prithi. “I don’t know,” I replied. “Who was that?” enquired Prithi again. “No idea, let’s go see,” I answered.

Sister Maria appeared to be taking her time within her cubicle, probably fixing the long white habit around her hair. Emergency or otherwise, some things just had to be done. I joined the others and we ran out to where there was now a loud chorus of noises, sobs and moans. Outside the wind was howling and it was still dark, the wee hours of dawn. We arrived on the scene to a blast of thunder and a giant arch of lightning. Very close that was. Shielding ourselves from the sudden onslaught of rain and pulling our sweaters tightly around to ward off the cold, we tried to peer over the mass of bodies to see what the commotion was about.

And then came Sister Maria, yes, with her white habit pinned to her hair. The crowd went still and parted to allow her entry. “Creak, creak” went her heels on the wooden floor and then complete silence. We held our breaths in the back benches, waiting, unknowing. Sister Maria dropped to her knees.

“It’s Shehnaz,” said Prithi in front of me. “Oh my God, it’s Shehnaz,” whispered Karina next to her. I stared at them uncomprehending. “What?” I asked. “Shehnaz, Shehnaz, Shenaz,” the ripple went through and reverberated around the crowd. “What?” I enquired again, bewildered. “Go call Sister Paula from the infirmary,” said Sister Maria, “and the night guard by the gate.”

The crowd parted as two girls got up and ran towards the infirmary. Another searing flash of lightning and roar of thunder, and the chandelier behind us came crashing down. The children scattered helter-skelter to evade the shards and then I could suddenly see.

A bony torso clad in blue dotted pyjamas lay sideways on the floor and on top was a face frozen in permanent terror. The head wrapped in black unruly curls was smashed in, apparently by the big black rock lying nearby.

There on the ground was me, Shehnaz. My world disintegrated and I screamed, a silent scream that went unanswered.