The Revenge

That night was unusually the darkest night of all. A very strong wind was blowing. Trees swayed and dry leaves were flying in all directions. All of a sudden the wind stopped. In a few moments, the environment changed drastically. It became quiet. Except for the hoots of the owl occasionally, there was no other sound. 

Neil was all alone walking in the forest. All he wanted was to reach the end of the forest. He tried to concentrate and did not let his fears bother him. He pushed away from the leaves of the plants and trees that were blocking his way down the road.

It was a very long road, or so it seemed, the darkness was all over and he could see only as much light as his torch could give out. A little further and there was a gleam of hope. He could see the road at the end of the forest. He walked faster and faster. He wanted to get out of the forest as quickly as possible. At last, he reached the road. Across the road, he could see an old bungalow. He knew he had reached his destination. He was relieved. As he went towards the bungalow, he was suddenly startled by the presence of a shadow.

A close look and he saw it was a woman. The woman was facing the bungalow. She turned and Neil gave out a shriek. The woman's skin was all black and rough. Blood dripped out of her lips and her eyes were big and red. Her hair was long but dishevelled. She had long nails and her hands were scaly. She was draped in a saree. 

Neil tried to run away, but the ghost caught him easily and flew inside the bungalow.

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Sam was not happy with what he had written. He was trying to write a horror story but it sounded all very cliched. He crumpled the piece of paper he had written his story on and threw it in the bin in the corner of his room. The room was dimly lit by a small table lamp. Overall it was dark. The paper bounced back unlikely and hit him on the head. 

At once, the light from the lamp flickered and there was no light at all. Sam couldn't see anything. As he got up to get the candle from the other room, something hit on his head from behind and he got knocked out.

A few minutes later, Sam woke up. But he couldn't move. He realised that his hands and legs were tied up to a wooden chair. He looked around and he realised that he wasn't in his home. It was a huge bungalow. It was very old. It looked like nobody inhabited the place as it was very untidy. Old furniture, bookshelves that were layered in dust, ancient crystal chandeliers that brightened the room - but somehow it all looked familiar.

Sam was shocked to discover that this bungalow was the very same one he was imagining a while back when he was writing the story. All sorts of questions raised in his mind as to how he managed to be in the settings of the story he was writing. His doubts were convinced when he saw the same figure standing in front of him now. 

Sam could hear his heart beating loudly. He detested looking at the figure in front of him. He did not want to look at it directly. But the figure touched his cheeks and at once he flinched. And his gaze went to the figure directly. Eye to eye. But the figure looked familiar. Someone he knew. At once, he called out loud, " Amy!"

The ghost gave out a laugh which was loud and evil. She said nothing but nodded in agreement and started torturing him slowly by twisting and turning each of his fingers and toes.

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Back in Sam's house, Amy in a human form was sitting on his chair. She was relieved after so much waiting. And now she could 'live' in peace in her house. Yes, it was her house too. 

Amy and Sam had been married 5 years ago. Sam was an established author. Amy too aspired to be one, but Sam never let her go ahead. He was a chauvinist. Once, when Amy showed her husband a story she had written, Sam tore the pages saying it was all crap and that she lacked the creativity. The truth was that Sam had loved the story, but he was insecure. He didn't want his wife to earn more than him. He knew she had talent, but he also knew if he would keep discouraging her for a while, she would be ready to give up.

But Amy wasn't ready to give up. As time passed by, they fought daily. Amy was bored sitting at home doing only the mundane chores. She wanted more out of her life. She wanted to be something. She wanted to create an identity of her own. She couldn't take it any longer. And so did Sam. Amy thought of publishing a book by herself, without her husband's permission. But Sam had other plans. He was so fed up with Amy that he decided to get rid of her. And so one day, as usual, when they broke up into a fight, with a fit of rage, Sam took the kitchen knife and killed her. 

But time had passed, and Amy now had taken her revenge. Now all she did was wait for the night and be in her usual self and torture her husband daily. She did not want to kill him. She just wanted him to beg her to let him die. But she was in no hurry. She did not want him to die so soon. She waited for 3 years. 3 long years. She could've killed him years ago but she waited. Waited for him to fail. A day when he will be out of ideas. A day when he will be frustrated at his writings. And today her wish was fulfilled. No, she won't let him die. She will make sure that his wish won't be granted easily just like he did with her career.