The house was dark, furniture silhouetted in the faint light from the street lamp spilling through the window.
Aza padded from the kitchen to her room upstairs, holding a mug of hot coffee in one hand and her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder.
“No Maa, the power is still out…UPS battery died an hour ago. I’m relying on candle to study….umm….no…okay.”
She felt the eyes on her from the shadows. The hair at the nape tingled. She looked back; the living room was empty, rain still patting against the windowpane. Suddenly, she recalled a scene she had watched a week ago, a stark white ghost with milky, vengeful eyes and matted hair stuck to the ceiling like a lizard. Watching and ready to pounce. Panicking, she scurried upstairs, footsteps clomping against the marble.
"What? … No, I didn’t listen to what you said…what time will you come back home? …no…okay, fine.”
What the hell? This is why you shouldn’t watch horror movies. Idiot!
She sat on her desk and ended the call. She rearranged the photo frame on her desk; a picture of her seated on a dirt road as the sun scorched her dusky skin. Picking up her pen, she began to scribble the solution step-by-step to the arithmetic problem.
Everything fell quite. Eerily quiet. The rain had stopped. The neighbours who were cackling and partying had gone quite.
She heard the sound from downstairs that brought her attention back to her surroundings. The familiar sound from the kitchen, the screeching sound of cupboard door opening that resembled a squeal of a piglet. Her heart clenched with fear.
Then everything went quite again. Aza was baffled. Was she imagining it? As she began to lose herself in the studies, she heard footfalls. Heavy and stealthy.
She slid her tongue over her chapped lips.
“Who is down there?” she asked, her voiced laced with fear. “I’ve called the cop.”
Trembling, she took a wicket stick from the cupboard and her phone and headed downstairs…She scanned the living room with the mobile light and it was empty. The rain was now lashing against the window, blurring the view. She walked to the kitchen, and turned the stove knob. The fire came to life and lit up the space. She swapped wicket to a knife.
She knew for sure, she was not alone in the house. The smell of tobacco pervaded the air. Her heart banged in her chest.
I’m going to die. I should have called the police. Wait, call the police.
She dialled 102 and brought phone to her ears. No response. She called back her mother.
“I know you are in the house. I can smell you.” She was hoping he would say something. “What do you want?” she asked, trying to sound brave and confident but failed. “Is it money? You can take what you want and leave.”
She could hear him breathing. Short, heavy breaths. Aza tightened the grip around the knife. The lighting flashed white and bright.
Aza caught a glimpse of the intruder standing beside the staircase, tall and lean, wearing a hoodie. He was watching her. He was enjoying her fear. Her helplessness.
Her gaze shifted to the main door. The stranger stood straight, ready to tackle her. She knew he would in a few long strides but she darted forward, the knife still clutched in her hands.
She felt him move. She reached for the lock but the door opened. She screamed following by another, a different voice. Her mother stood in the doorway, eyes wide and round.
“AZA!!!”
Her mother’s gaze dropped to Aza’s hand. “What is going on?”
Aza looked back and the intruder had disappeared.
“What’s that phone call about?” she yelled, panting.
“Ther…There was…Ah…som-” the words all came out broken and confused. Shalini ji’s eyes protruded and her mouth tightened.
Enraged, Ramesh ji, Aza’s father followed her up and checked every room and cupboard. There was no one.
Where did he go? Where is he hiding? Who the hell was he?
Her parent’s blaring voices filled the room until she apologizes and shut the room door behind her.
She lay awake in the night, wrapped in her blanket, thoughts bursting in her mind like crackers on Diwali. The stench of tobacco caressed her nostrils and Aza’ heart thumped.
