The Murder Of 1886

CHAPTER 3

Gwen was nursing a coffee in her hands, looking grumpy. Sitting at the coffee table in the living room, Gwen was looking out of the uncurtained window. The morning was still fresh yet Gwen was still inside the house looking like a truck hit her multiple times last night. After the incident with the mystery pianist, Gwen had been too nervous to sleep peacefully. She had fallen asleep, just to wake up with the haunting melody still ringing in her ears. This morning Gwen had paused at the door of the big room on her way down. She had turned away and gone down the stairs as fast as she could.

Gwen sighed. She felt terrible and she knew she couldn't sleep with the possibility of an intruder in her house. Yet, she knew there was more to it than what she thought she knew. She just didn't want to believe it was something out of her control, that it was something that belonged with the dead and should've stayed with the dead. Gwen cursed the old woman she met on her first day here for filling her head with farfetched ideas, intentionally or not.

The next few days were relatively peaceful and there were no mystery pianists playing the piano in the middle of the night. Gwen met her neighbors. They turned out to be nice people. The Jacksons was particularly loud and Gwen found herself enjoying her time with them. Mr. Jackson's booming laughter, the children's loud shrieking and the way Mrs. Jackson fussed over her, claiming that she was skin and bones reminded her of how her house used to be. Of course that all changed when she asked them about the history of the village. The children were still playing outside but the air inside the house, among the adults, seemed to grow so thick, one could cut it with a knife.

It was Mrs. Jackson who broke the silence.

"Very bad things have happened here Gwen, very bad. The history of this village is so tangled up with secrets that no one had managed to find out the exact reason for most of the horrible things that have happened here."

Mr. Jackson continued where his wife left off.

"The village was a quiet and friendly one until that horrible crime that took place in the house you currently reside in. They were an Indian family. They moved in 20 years before the murder. They were very happy. Friendly too. That's why no one can see why their fate ended up being worse than that of others in the village."

"Can you tell me what exactly happened to the family, Mrs. Jackson?" Gwen asked.

"Please call us Ruth and Benjamin, sweetie." Ruth smiled at her kindly and then resumed talking about the misfortunate family.

"The D'Souza's were the sweetest people and they had two children when they moved in. Ma used to say that Mr. D'Souza was a strict man and was often in town for his job. According to ma, Mrs. D'Souza and she used to have tea together. The D'Souza children had Indian names. Rahul, the son and Arundhati, their daughter, was the youngest. The son was 7 years older than his sister. The youngest D'Souza child was ten years older than me. So I was just ten when the murder happened. I remember standing in front of the house with the villagers while the police arrived with their van light flashing red and blue."

"Arundhati, the youngest child was the only one who escaped that night unscathed. Her brother went mad apparently. Mr. and Mrs. D'Souza were found dead in the living room. They were bludgeoned to death by a sledgehammer and when the police checked the whole house, they found Arundhati's brother in the piano room with a gun by his side. He was dead, been shot in the head. The gun had his name Rahul D'Souza inscribed in it. People started thinking Arundhati killed her family and the police believed it too. But when they found her brother's fingerprints on the gun and the sledgehammer, people began sympathizing."

Gwen was shocked as she processed the information. And the name Arundhati sounded familiar.

"What happened next?"

"Well, she never talked after that. The police closed down the case after they couldn't find anything that might've led to the murder and the suicide that followed. Everyone reckoned Arundhati was lucky to have escaped that night since she had gone to the town for something. That was the only thing that saved her from being murdered. She never got over the loss. Even she didn't know the reason that led to the murder. She never spoke after that. She sold the house as the house passed ownership to her directly since she was the remaining heir. She bought a house in the village. Lived her life quietly. Then she was found dead in her room 20 years after the murder on the same day. She hung herself."

Gwen let out a breath. It was a lot to take in. Arundhati hung herself? But why? And that name rang a bell in her head. She knew she heard it somewhere. She just couldn't remember where.

Her thoughts were whirling in her head like a cyclone when Gwen got ready to go home. She thanked Mrs. Jackson for the wonderful tea and started towards her house.

The evening was fresh. The sky was streaked with red and purple as the sun went down slowly to sleep. As the time passed, the moon seemed to be getting clearer and clearer in the sky while the sun slowly sunk from view. When night finally fell, Gwen saw that it was a full moon that appeared in the sky today. She still had some way to go to reach home. She stood still for a movement, ceasing all movement, bathing in the brilliant moonlight. The wind was cool against her skin and Gwen wanted to sit under the starry expanse above her and list all the constellations and stars her mother had taught her. But she knew she couldn't. Not today at least. Someday she would find some time to come and sit outside, watching the sky.

She could see the house in front of her. Gwen was walking on the footpath when she heard it. Footsteps. She turned around quickly. There was no one there. Gwen scanned the place and found nothing. On either side of the road was cropped grass extending over an acre towards the woods. No one would be able to hide anywhere among the grass. Well, unless you were an ant, she thought, rolling her eyes at that unbidden sarcastic comment her mind seemed to conjure up. There were no trees for anyone to hide behind too. The only trees that strayed from the woods were the ones just a few feet away from the back of the house in front of her.

Gwen started walking again and again heard the same footsteps behind. It seemed closer than it was before. She stopped again and looked around. It was the same as before. When she was started walking again, the footsteps seemed much closer like it was just behind her. She brushed it off as her own footsteps. But it was there when she concentrated on distinguishing the sounds. She was about to turn around suddenly, trying to see the owner of the footsteps, when a body collided against hers. The force sent her sprawled on the ground screaming. She stood up and looked around wildly. Her eyes darted around trying to see who pushed her. That was when she felt someone push her from behind again, trying to trip her up. She screamed yet stood her ground. Then turning around she ran towards the house.

As she ran, she heard the footsteps following her, gaining on her. Fear drove her and she finally reached the front door. She quickly inserted the key into the slit on the door and then pushed open the door. She darted inside and shut the door, locking it and leaning against it. A moment later, someone slammed against it once, twice. Then it stopped.

She was relaxing again when she spotted something that knocked out her breath again.

There it was, a gun. And when she gingerly picked it up, she nearly dropped it again. She had to stop herself from fainting. There inscribed on it was the name –Rahul D'Souza.

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