Short Story: Voices from Hell
Rahul's Essays
Short Story: Voices from Hell
By Rahul Gladwin
August, 2005.
Hello everyone, I'm here to share with you my experience during a December 2001 vacation in Nanital - a small, cold, high-altitude hill station located at the foot of the Himalayas, in Northern India. Nanital is known for its urban legends, haunted streets, and temples dedicated to Satan - locally known as 'Maha Kaal'. Nevertheless, Nanital is also a very beautiful place for photographers like me, who are attracted to its foggy mountains, narrow, red-bricked mountain paths, and its beautiful culture. Being from Chicago, I found Nanital to be a beautiful place to spend my time away from the never-ending hassles of modern life. As you know, I'm greatly intrigued by Indian history and folklore. As a graduate student, my life in the States is study and work, and nothing else. I thought I really deserved this month-long vacation to an Asian country.
The cold mountain night was clear, a breeze swept lightly through the eucalyptus trees, and the full moon added the necessary charm. It was 12:30 am; I had just left the local tourist club - the only club in Nanital. I soon found myself standing on a steep, empty street, waiting for a horse-carriage (there are no motor cabs in Nanital). The street was dark, as some of the streetlamps weren't set alight. My hotel was only a mile away, so I decided to walk - I thought I'd enjoy a quiet, half-hour walk on the narrow mountainous road, which was very lonely and dark.
About twenty minutes later, I started to have a weird feeling. None of the streetlamps were alight, and the road was in complete darkness - even the sky looked black as the overhanging trees formed a dome over me. Everything was immersed in an eerie silence; even the night animals were quiet. I felt a little afraid and was glad to have my handy flashlight with me. My hotel being only ten minutes away, I was looking forward to the end of this grueling walk. A moment later, I noticed a strange looking porcelain cup lying on the roadside. Surprised, I picked up the cup to examine it; it looked brand-new. The cup was colored black and there were some red markings on it. Upon closer examination, I discovered the strange pictures to be portraying a Satan-worship ritual, and the markings to be writings in Sanskrit - the ancient language of Northern India. The cup was so beautiful yet daunting, so put it in my pocket. Maybe, I could put it up for auction on eBay!
It was 1:00 am when I reached my hotel. Dead tired from trekking all day, I placed the cup on my dresser, leapt into bed, and soon fell asleep. It was 3:00 am when I suddenly woke up with a feeling that something was touching my neck. I looked up and saw the whole room immersed in an eerie red light; Then, I saw the same porcelain cup hovering in the air, right above my chest! Terrified, I tried to move, but in vain - my body seemed paralyzed! I could hear demonic chants and voices emanating from the cup, and speaking to me in Sanskrit. Soon, a pair of large, wringing hands materialized and clutched my throat! Their clutch seemed to be getting stronger and stronger every moment! I couldn't breathe, and was chocking and fighting for my life! Then, another pair of oversized hands materialized and started punching me all over my body with bone-shattering force! Furthermore, I felt a very heavy mass placed on my legs, then my upper body, and felt my bones crushing under the added weight. My grueling torture finally ended after ten minutes, when, using every ounce of energy, I managed to toss and turn, and fall off the bed. The pairs of giant hands broke free. My legs were crushed; I dragged myself to the door, opened it and fainted in the hallway.
I awoke the next morning, and found myself in bed. Strangely, everything looked perfectly normal. Had I dreamt that harrowing experience last night? Even stranger, I saw a bunch of people walking up and down my room. Some were police officers and some were photographers. They were looking towards me, and photographing me as I lay in bed. Astounded, I sat up and asked them what was going on - no one replied. I noticed the black porcelain cup still sitting on my dresser. Also, there was a commotion going on outside my hotel room. I got up and walked towards the hallway - the place where I dreamt I fell the previous night - and there lay on the floor, bruised and battered - my corpse.
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