Shuvam Sen

VISITORS OF NIGHT

I lived in a house which is situated nearly 2 blocks away from a cemetery. I don’t know anyone in my locality; I lived alone in my house. But I had got some friends; they were the visitors of night. They always came at night and took the same path through the cemetery. At every night they came to my home. I could always hear their footsteps on my lawn, though I pretended to be asleep.

 Then, I got out of bed, took their hand and walked them back to the cemetery gate before the people of the locality woke up. It all started 1 week ago, when I took a walk inside the cemetery.

I took some things from some random graves and hid those inside my house one of those was an antique Smith & Wesson revolver (maybe from WWII). After that walk they came to my house every night in search of their lost things; but they could never find their lost thing.

It became a kind of game for me and I used to enjoy it.

But they didn’t come for past three nights. Their absence made me anxious. Had they caught on to the game? Or had they given up the hope of finding their things?

On the fourth night I decided to look for them. Maybe they had lost their way or were having a long doze in their graves. But this would be their last visit to me and then I would leave their things on top of their graves and they wouldn’t bother walking around at night dead and blind.

At 2 o’clock I left my house quickly and quietly, taking care not to wake up my neighbours. Then I crossed the garden and made my way towards the cemetery. I didn’t think about how I was going to persuade them to visit me. I didn’t have any particular plan in my mind. But what dead person doesn’t hope to be invited out for a walk at night so that they can breathe cool refreshing air?

At the cemetery gate I spotted two shadows moving in the distance. I couldn’t make out their features in the dark. I went closer slowly and watched them from behind a large tree. It was one of them laying into another one with the revolver. He was trying to avoid her blows but he wasn’t moving from where he was or making any noise.

From my hiding place I heard her say, “You bastard, I told you not to hit him on the head. Don’t hit him on the head or you’ll kill him.”

I felt my head and found a deep bullet wound covered with dried blood.

A few minutes later the two of them were making their way towards the house with tired and heavy steps.

I went through the cemetery gate and disappeared among the graves sunk in darkness.

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