That Frequent Visitor: Every Face Has A Darker Side (The Ghost Whisperer Chronicles Book 1) by John Harker & K. Hari Kumar

Author:John Harker & K. Hari Kumar [Harker, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Srishti Publishers & Distributors
Published: 2014-12-25T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 28

Later that night

The night was rather eerie. The full moon thickly covered by evil clouds and the sound of thunder occasionally bolted in chorus with the howling of Chennaya. It would be raining soon. Lavanya had gone off to sleep early. She had been upset after hearing the story from the priest earlier that day. I enjoyed it as a story, for it was a perfect plot for some Hitchcockian suspense thriller but too absurd to be true. In fact, reality was the most rational case of the absurd. Talking about absurdity, I was about to read this highly talked about book by a French chap called Albert Camus. The French write weird things that the English world cannot understand or appreciate. I had picked up the English translation of the book from London. I had heard a lot about it; praise and criticism from the same mouths, and I wanted to experience the story of the stranger. I took the book and a lantern into the study room after a solitary dinner. I placed the lit lantern alongside the book on the reading table and sat on the wooden chair. After adjusting the intensity of the light, I put my right hand into my breast pocket and brought the shining half rupee coin out and examined its surface under the incandescent light of the lantern. I thought about the visitor's story and how I had placed myself in the lap of that legend, all because I let my life follow the toss of a coin. I sighed and placed the coin on the table. I opened the book and started reading.

Suddenly I heard the sound of glass shattering and it came from the staircase. I got off from my chair, picked up the lantern with my right hand and started walking towards the staircase. I must have looked like a maiden in distress. I was curious, not scared of course. The mansion had two staircases, one was a typical spiral one that led to the terrace and the other one was a closed compartment that led to the cellar. The sound came from the one that went down to the cellar. I was presuming some valid explanation for the same. But the continuous thundering did raise the hair on my arms. The staircase commenced beneath the wooden floor that was just half a dozen steps to the right of my reading table. There was a square tile that had to be pulled in order to open this passage. The tile had a small handle and a high tensile bronze bolt that locked it from outside. I unbolted it and I pulled it open. It was pitch black below and smelled like pungent vinegar. There was a distinct buzzing sound. I sneaked inside; the light from the lantern partly illuminated the dark world. Upon placing my leg on the third or fourth step, I felt as if I had stepped on something. It felt like broken glass. Indeed it was broken glass.

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