Mysterious Girl

Warning- This story contains violence, and could cause distress. Enjoy!

“Hi Mumma, hey Papa! I miss you guys! It’s been so long since I’ve been there to see you two, but I promise I’ll visit soon. I’m having so much fun at school, meeting new people, and learning. Dad, you were so right, the food here is horrible. When I get back, we have to go to the Sandwich By The Bay for a proper sandwich night! Oh, and Mom, how’s Leo? I miss my sweet puppy!

    Anyway, I should get going! I miss you guys, and I’ll see you soon! Love you!”

The message ended, and my heart sank. It couldn’t be.

My husband looked at me. I opened my mouth to speak, yet nothing would come out.

This wasn’t real.

Isha’s dead.

She has been dead for seven years.

“Chetana. . . It’s a prank. It has to be,” my husband stammered.

“A prank? Who on earth could pull such a sick thing like this?” My voice broke, with tears in my eyes. “She-She knows about Leo. It got hit by a car two years ago. And Sandwich By The Bay!”

“Anyone could know about that! Anyone! This is a small town. Everyone knows everything.”

“She’s dead Karan!” I sobbed.

“Get a hold of yourself!” Karan shouted, stopping my sob. I wiped my eyes and started stutter breathing. “This is a prank. Isha died, Chetana. She died when she was eleven. She’s gone.”

I nodded slowly. A prank. A horrible, horrible prank.

“Yea. . . You’re right. Yes, a prank,” I agreed, wiping my eyes. “A prank.”

Karan nodded with me, taking my shoulders in his hands to comfort me. I leaned into him, clenching my eyes shut. This wasn’t real. She was dead. She’s been dead for seven years.

“I’ll delete the message, all right Chetana? Listen to your favourite piano tune, and calm down. Then we’ll go get some dinner, okay?” Karan always knew what to do. Always.

I looked up at him, and my tension melted away as I looked into my husband’s eyes. He would always make sure I was all right.

“Okay. . . I’ll go do that.”

Karan kissed my forehead and I carefully walked up to our bedroom, my eyes glancing at the music player.

I tried to wash away the thought of the message by tuning in to the melody of the piano.

We had been experiencing things like writings on the condensed mirrors and glasses or things falling from Isha’s room. At night, I had dreams of Isha playing around in the garden, sleeping beside me and many more. I even had visions of her once in a while which were terrifying initially, but I got used to it as time elapsed.

Karan and I decided on pasta for dinner. A picturesque place, the place he took me on our first date. It always felt warm and loving, reminding me of a simpler, better time. We were happy. I was content and calm. Everything was normal again.

Until we came back home.

You have one new message.

My heart jumped into my throat; the blood rushed to my ears. No. It couldn’t be.

“One of the neighbours? Or. . . perhaps Aditya, from. . . from work?” I said, eyes darting between Karan and the phone.

He started reading the message.

“Hi, guys! You would never believe what just happened! I came first in my class! I’m so happy right now.

We need to celebrate! When I come to see you guys, we are partying!

I love you guys, bye!”

No. No, it wasn’t real. She’s dead.

Karan furiously deleted the message, face red with anger. Panic ensued once more.

“Chetana, no. She’s gone. This is a joke. A sick joke,” Karan interjected, giving me a stern look.

“But Karan-”

“NO!” He shouted, eyes ablaze. “Isha is dead. And I’ll find out who’s sending these to us. This is not her.”

I stayed quiet, fingernails digging into my palms. I only nodded, hurrying past him upstairs to our room. I collapsed onto the bed and held the cushion tightly. There were burning tears in my eyes. Karan didn’t follow me to the bedroom right away.

“Karan?” I said softly.

“What, Chetana?”

“She’s dead, isn’t she? Isha’s gone?”

“Yes, Chetana.”

I nodded, laying in bed as my heart began to return to its normal pace. Karan lay on the bed, not saying a word to me, but when he lay beside me, he wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed my forehead, just like he always had. I sighed, my head resting on his chest. My eyes were almost closed until I heard the phone beep with a new message.

“I miss you guys. It’s been so long, hasn’t it? Mom, I miss your cooking, and Dad I miss your jokes.

Sorry, I know it’s late. I love you guys, goodnight.”

My heart sank.

Another beep. Another message.

“Hi, guys. . . Do you guys miss me as much as I miss you two?”

Karan was already getting out of bed. Another beep.

“Remember my tenth birthday? All I wanted was a puppy. And I was so excited when I came downstairs and this little guest was on the couch. I was so happy. I love you guys.”

Karan asked me to get up and started leading me out of the house to the shed. We were getting in the car. I tried to keep my mind steady, my mind on the stars burning in the sky or the rumble of the car around me. That day it happened; it was raining. The day she died, she was as cheerful and happy as ever. She was wearing a blue t-shirt and jeans, in big rubber rain boots, stomping through the puddles in the yard. I yelled at her to come in as she would get sick. Lunch was ready.

She came in, muddy boots tossed to the side at the door. Her hair dripped with water, however, her smile never faltered.

The day I found out I was pregnant, I was not that happy because I wasn’t ready to be a mother, but I still chose to have her. As the years passed, I got used to being a mother, but the love wasn’t there. Karan and I showered her with gifts and enrolled her in the best of schools. But something was always wrong.

We arrived at her grave. We knew it was her, because of the small rock with her initials marking the spot.

She had gleaming skin. Perfect brown hair. Dreamy eyes. But that rainy, awful day, I did something I didn’t regret.

Soon, we were both digging. My shovel hit something with a hard thud. I gasped. Karan knelt, opening the small wooden box with ease. She lay there, still, wearing that blue t-shirt and jeans, maybe not so blue anymore, strings of what was once her long brown hair hanging loosely around the small, broken neck.

I let out a breath. She was there. No one knew she was here, no one except us. Because we put her there.

“There. . . She’s still here. Let’s go home, Chetana,” Karan huffed, out of breath.

I nodded, watching him close her small casket and climb out of the hole. We buried her body again, surrounded by only the sounds of clinking shovels and dirt smacking the wood.

The town thought she was kidnapped. I cried to the cameras, begging for my little girl to come home. Karan held me in his arms, the same arms he used to hoist her over his shoulder after I had strangled the life out of her.

Again, I never regretted what I did.

I tried to love her, but in reality, I hated her. I couldn’t bear the responsibility of having her and I tried it for a few years but I simply couldn’t feel the love. Even Karan was not that happy having her, as things were tight at the time, so we felt that was the right thing to do. In a fit of rage, I ended her small, little life with nothing but my hands, and watched as my husband hid her in the ground.

Karan and I started driving home. I took the wheel this time because Karan was feeling sleepy. It was pitch dark and we had to cross a patch of a thicket. It was a one-way road but I sped up the car. I was still thinking about the recent incidents when suddenly I had a vision of Isha in the middle of the road. I moved the car out of the way and it rammed into a truck which was coming from the opposite side. The car crashed with a loud thud.

The violent crash resulted in severe injuries to the head. Karan got down out of the car half unconscious when all of a sudden, a truck ran over the love of my life and I could just see him getting crushed under it. I was crippled with severe injuries and came back to my senses in a hospital a few days later. The doctor told me that I lost my eyes in the process and I couldn’t walk for the rest of my life. Since then, I have been alone and bedridden. I was left with Karan and Isha’s memories and remorse. My bad luck got tangled up with my bad decisions, and I’m paying the price for it.