Maitri Painuli

The Junked Doorbells

An intimidating squeal at the midst of the night left me awake. The shout was repetitive and via the window mesh of my room I tried to figure out what was going on. I could make out a man’s figure, though blur, shouting uncontrollably with few people trying to get hold of him. I surmised him to be a drunkard, dismissed the matter and slid back into my blanket. Only after few minutes of him being dragged inside did he appear again shouting more profoundly and this time, the words & the figure more clear. “I could see him, he’s a ghost, he’s here, he’s talking to me, he’s not leaving me alone, What do I do’, these were the words landed to my ears while I was discreetly trying to ascertain the matter. Both of my brothers were also awake and one was already struck with fear. The figure on the road still shouting horribly, started marching towards neighbouring gates and thumped them as hard as he could. One gate after the another, ours was no exception. We were tenants dwelling on the first floor of the house so the banging at our entrance didn’t reach clearly to our now wary ears. Ten to fifteen minutes into the dreary scene and finally no voice was heard and no figure appeared thereafter.