Crumbling Visage

The Stranger

I was fifteen when this happened. Those were possibly the most confusing days of my life and revisiting them brings back many memories and emotions. The most distinctive memory, however, is of the stranger.

The days all passed with fleeting surprises of different weather conditions. Some days were unbearably hot, others dauntingly cold while some just involved the dull patter of rain against the window. There were cloudy days too-where you could find the October sky as blazing blue as forget-me-nots in bloom. Regardless of what they held, all the days seemed to be tinted with grey- sure, there was sunshine but there was also this surreal grey fog rising in strange, eerie puffs. The cold days held this darkness too and the soothing rainy days were another testimony to its existence.

The day was dark and bleary when I woke up. Bright light streamed in as the strange darkness cascaded in. I trudged over and did everything as usual. Stepping out of the warm and relaxing bath I found a little bit of the darkness dissipating, giving way to the soft light.

I worked. I had breakfast. And I took a bit of leisure time, too. Then, when I stepped into my room again, it happened.

Switching off the light and opening the curtains to the soft, pleasant light was a part of the regime. I rolled over my trousers to a point above my knees and walked over to the window. I did not have my glasses on and the world seemed hazy; there was pleasant light though-so soft and relieving. As I pushed open the curtains, an apparition was looking at me straight in the eye.

It was as if it had been raising its neck all this while- staring and staring and staring. Staring at the back of the curtains from feet below on the ground. The ground and window had a substantial distance and the apparitions was far from the window too. Its features were unrecognizable- perhaps, due to my poor vision, maybe because of the mist, or maybe because the apparition was just not there.

It appeared to a be a dark, human-like figure; and as it craned its neck and looked me in the eye, I went numb. Then it took a step closer to the fence separating my house- stories above-from the large, lush green field. I snapped out of my numbness.

I shut off the curtains harshly. Switching on the lamp, I began working in its unnatural light. Minutes passed. Maybe an hour. I walked towards the curtain and pulled it back, slowly and cautiously. No one.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I opened them fully. The sky was a distinctive blue tinged with a hazy, surreal grey. The light was soft and yearning. And the lush green grass was rumpled at a spot a little away from the window. In the little of soil that could be seen, faint footprints were visible.

The smell of lavender was lingering in the air and the smell of damp earth enhanced the aroma. The faint blue of the sky and the soft light danced across the leaves of a nearby tree. The quiet chatter of birds, squirrels, a lark singing a joyous tune-all of it could be heard.

But something didn't feel right.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the stranger turn a corner-its eyes still fixed on mine.

The sky darkened, just then, and the soft light ceased to pour in. I stood there in the darkness; the stranger still visible.