Carter
-Devanshu Chattopadhyay
There was something peculiar about this place. It had been locked up by the FBI 78 years ago. It is this very place where Carter died in mysterious conditions. I had always thought he was a good man: calm and stolid. He was well built, stood 198 centimetres tall and sported a beard with long flowing hair.
Here I stand today at this very place where good old Carter died. I am Dev, Dev C. People often call me DC. Confident is the word that describes me and déjà vu is my middle name. I fear nothing and I regret less. I am visiting this bizarre build with Shilp Patel, who is an architect. The building is square shaped, has no windows but has machines which regulate the oxygen levels inside the building. I use my kerchief to remove the dust and reveal the name of the building.
"Vermillion Vernon Carter's Abode"
Pretty liverish name; suits the queer surroundings that are untouched by humans for many years now. In the building is one green, old, cracked, flickering bulb; the sole source of light. Rumours have that the spirit of Carter still lingers in this place.
Thinking about Carter sends chills down my spine. We have been here for an hour now. I sense something bad will happen. An oxygen tank exploded and suddenly, Shilp pushed me out of the door and I had no clue what was transpiring. The doors slammed shut, and then – and then - !
I woke a few hours later. Eagles were circling me (must've thought I was dead). Shilp was dead.
A paper lay absolutely still in front of me. I picked it up and read it. I dwindled into numbness after reading that.
"Death is the way out."
-Carter
