The Log

1

Bruce could not sleep. He had just woken up, hearing a weeping sound. His mom had been weeping often. She did that in her sleep. Bruce did not dare disturb her, for whatever reasons she’d wept.

‘I see bad dreams,’ she’d told Dad the next day.

‘Maybe the pakoras you ate last evening could be the problem. It shall ward off,’ Dad said, flicking the Sportstar magazine. Dad likes sports and watches a lot of EPL matches on TV.

‘A day in the John would clear your mind,’ he said with a laugh.

Mom looked cross.

Bruce was ten and an obedient boy. They had moved into this new house last December. The house edged the woods at one end, and a narrow alley connected the rest of the small town of Thokottu, in Mangalore. A railway track divided the house and the woods.

The house was modern, a two-story duplex that Dad never felt would be a problem.

But it came, and in batches.

2

Ramprasad was the first victim. He was from Nepal, an immigrant, and was the only Gorkha of the locality. He had the posh-looking face of an executive, but when he smiled, people would have their doubts. His teeth always showed stains from the paan.

That day, Ramprasad had chakauni with extra chillies, and he had consumed a lot of water, which prompted him to take a leak now and then (he was not a sugar patient considering his thin frame).

As he was doing his business, he could hear his old A-One bicycle falling. That startled him; that hot pee smeared his pants.

A disgusted Ramprasad bent to lift his cycle, and as he lifted his head,

he saw it….

The next day, joggers saw a dead Ramprasad being carried for post-mortem by the police.

The old lunatic, Nanjundappa saw it too. He noticed something different. Ramprasad was pale; there was no Livor Mortis.

3

It is not often Mangalore has a dry night during the monsoon. As frogs croaked and crickets chirped under a street lamp that seemed to flutter with alates, Nanjundappa was busy cleaning his butt with the stagnated water. He was a vagabond after all.

Varun gave a disgusted look and posed as if he would puke. His friend, Joseph gave a laugh.

‘Watch your step, the clutz would have excreted somewhere nearby. Better not step on it,’ Varun reminded his friend Joseph.

Joseph sniffed automatically. They could get a stench, but this was something to dread. Something of a rot or heavy. A mixture that reminded them they shouldn’t be there.

There was a sudden change in the climate. In the distant sky, the clouds rumbled.

‘Let’s hurry. It might rain,’ Varun reminded. ‘We can’t go home drenched; we might catch pneumonia. The weather had been bad lately.’

‘I can’t leave the lunatic alone. He might catch a cold,’ Joseph said.

‘Leave the rotten scum. He will know his way out. C’mon Jo,’ Varun said.

Varun felt frustrated. He lifted his hands in disgust. ‘He is a trouble Jo. Don’t tell me I did not warn you, okay?’

But Joseph wouldn’t hear, and he walked towards the tramp.

4

Sirens blazed. It was the second death that had happened within a span of six months.

5

The evening Bruce’s family arrived at his new house, the milk for the cereal became sour in quick time.

Dad was listening to ‘Sure’ by ‘Take That’ in his room. His eyes were closed when there was a change in temperature. Then, suddenly, it darkened. As he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see anything. The power was gone.

As he fumbled for the mobile’s flashlight, he could feel he’d touched something cool and soft. For a crazy moment Dad felt he saw something, but he brushed it aside thinking he was in his Gen X days when Raju, his best friend of those days, had said he had seen a ghost in the tunnel near the pond. But there was nothing in the room. The next moment, the power was back. Dad just shook his head and continued with his music.

At dinner, they realized the milk was spoilt, and they had to manage with croissants and steamed veggies.

When they switched off the lamps, Mom said she felt nauseous.

‘It could just be the amount of work we did today, honey,’ Dad said. ‘Take a good rest, and you will be hip.’

That night Mom dreamt of a small girl.

6

The next few days Mom looked tired. The dreams kept coming. As if it wanted to reveal something layer by layer. A beautiful young girl. A beautiful girl with sharp features and a voluptuous mouth.

Each day she dreamed, she cried in the middle of the night, until one night, she walked towards the window that oversees the path that connects the house to the rest of the community; she saw a small girl standing and looking at her as if she had expected Mom would see her. The girl stretched her hands as if to embrace.

And as she smiled, mom could see those teeth. The same face with share features surfaced.

Mom fainted.

7

It took two full days before Mom regained her strength. She was worried. But she had to explain it to Dad. The damned can get into their house. Their lives.

Dad also said that their kitchen was on fire the other day.

The locals advised Dad to consult a priest. The priest surveyed the house and cleansed it with Holy water, and blessed the family. He said that the evil had returned to its origin.

The locals said that a young couple had lived in the same place whose daughter had died in a fire. They presumed that the place was disturbed. Maybe it was fond of its mother that Mom dreamt about that girl and saw it when no-one else had seen her.

8

The night they returned home, Bruce ate his cereal. Importantly, his mom slept peacefully.