Social Short Story – The real monster
Photo Credit: www.cepolina.com
“That banyan tree, the ones that’s round the corner” Raja bhaiya said gesturing towards the corner.
Golu sat in a corner listening keenly to what Raja bhaiya was telling; his thin legs pulled to his chest held by his fragile hands. He always found Raja bhaiya’s stories to be exaggerated. But true or not he loved the stories because those were the only times he got to listen to stories and this time it got scary. Raja bhaiya was telling about this witch who had been haunting the neighborhood. He told she lived on the banyan tree and would kill anybody who had been touched by the shadow of the tree. This little fact scared the crap out of Golu, not only he had been touched by the shadow of the tree he had spent numerous evenings climbing that tree.
‘You can see her roaming on the empty street at night. Her hair falling loose and her white pallu dragging behind, almost touching the road’ Raja Bhaiya continued. Golu was so lost in the story he forgot to wash the plates he was supposed to.
‘Every night she sets out to kill. You can hear her anklet in the silence of the night. And when she lays her eyes on you, no matter how hard you try you can’t move’ every word that fell out of Raja bhaiya’s mouth gave Golu chills. ‘With one swift motion she slits your throat open because blood is what she survives on’
Golu was nearly shivering when the story ended. For a 10 year old, to have offended a witch was a big deal. He was an orphan and worked for a drunkard who ran a small hotel . That night he had a hard time falling asleep. He kept hearing noises and couldn’t shake off the feeling someone was right outside the door. He could have sworn he heard footsteps. No he was hearing footsteps; careless and approaching. He clenched the thin sheet he had for covers. That was when he heard a loud noise followed by the sound of footsteps. Fear clawed him from inside when he saw a shadow right outside. He closed his eyes believing death awaited him.
‘Why aren’t the plates clean?’ shouted bhaiyaji; who ran the hotel. Golu bolted up. One of the worst things Golu could do was not doing his chores and he knew that. He knew what happened when he didn’t and he, just like any other kid, did not deserve it. Bhaiyaji was too tired to yell anymore. His belt did the yelling that night. The scars from the last beating hadn’t faded yet and there were fresh wounds again. As tears rushed down Golu’s face he thought he was a fool to fear a witch when much worse monsters lived as humans.
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