We are happy to release sample chapters of World’s first InstaRead, Karma by Kevin Missal for your to glance at the story! A MUST READ!
The girl’s corpse was stinking now.
It had been hours since they had been seeking for a place to hide the body. Raju, sitting in the back, hearing the constant thuds of the corpse in the trunk, was reminded of how much of a dire situation they were in. Prashant was in the passenger seat while Yadav sat, driving solemnly.
Raju licked the sweat that trickled over his lips.
“Fuck man, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he stamped his feet. “This was not the plan.”
“I freaked out, man,” Prashant sighed.
“We just had to have a little fun and get away. We weren’t supposed to be killing people here.”
“Chuck that. I hope they don’t find any traces that link it to us in the flat.”
“We were clean,” said Yadav, breaking the silence. “Just hold your tongue and be quiet. After this night, we are done, keeping out of contact for a while. If we are seen together, things might turn fishy.”
They both nodded.
Yadav stopped the car, close to the dense foliage. It was 3:00 AM at night and the fog had just welled up. Raju came out first, leading the way to the car’s trunk and opening it. He found the girl, pale like the overhead moon, her one hand over her cheeks and the other on her lap.
How did this even happen?
But it was a stupid question. He was responsible for it, or at least a partial accessory to it. He was there, beating the husband ruthlessly while Prashant was playing with her. Things escalated, she protested and he broke her neck. And Raju saw the last of it, the horror of it, as her blank, lifeless eyes stared at him coldly.
Now those same, cold eyes are watching him again and his heartbeat pounds, almost breaking apart the skin.
“Let’s do it,” he exasperatedly sighed.
EIGHT YEARS LATER…
“Any courier for me, Rastogi Ji?” asked Karman, sitting on the porch of his bungalow, the one his Daadi had left him for.
The postman shook his head. “Nothing, sahib.” He had a crooked grin, that postman with heavy brows that shielded his entire eyes. He had a gray cap and gray costume.
“Saala,” he groaned as he pulled up from his seat. He had been waiting for a book he had ordered from Amazon. The money has been deducted from the bank and they haven’t even sent it.
“I’m sorry for your loss, sahib,” said Rastogi.
Karman shook his head. “Thank you.”
“Your daadi was a very sweet person,”
“Yeah, she lived a long life,” he grinned. He wasn’t really sad. She was ninety-one when she passed away. It had been only a week and initially, it was sad, but things were looking up for him. He had got a job as a content writer for a new startup so he just needed to stay at home and brainstorm. Otherwise, he concentrated on his novel, hoping to write something amazing in the fantasy field, something supernatural. He had even bought all the books concerning Hindu mythos that was dark in nature.
Rastogi waved him farewell as he left, becoming indiscernible in the distance after a while.
Karman scanned his surrounding—a dry, pathetic desert with greenery hardly to be seen. There were a few houses; bungalows in fact, close by but nothing or no one that he would consider as neighbors. And yet he could see a woman, walking in a salwar kurta, with her long wavy hair and a bindi on her forehead.
“Ms. Roma,” he came on his feet. “How are you doing?”
She had blue eyes, which Karman fancied. There was always one trait about an individual that would hold a person’s interest and for him, in Roma’s case, it was her blue eyes.
“I’m fine, Mr. Malik, how are you doing today?”
Karman noticed she had a metal tiffin box in her hand. “You bought me laddoos again?”
“No re, Mr. Malik. This is paneer ki sabzi.”
She handed it to him, and Karman reluctantly took it.
“But why do you travel so far on foot to give me these food items?”
At that, she blushed. Karman noticed how fair she was and how whenever something awkward would come up, her cheeks would just fluster.
“I feel you live on eggs and bread, having no woman in the house, so I thought I would give you some food beyond your bare means of subsistence.”
Karman nodded, peering over her shoulder to see her bungalow. She lived some fifty yards from him, with a little bit of dry, patchy fields in between and a tree that resembled geriatric wrinkled hands.
Old Gurgaon had always been a cowboy field, according to him. The sun was always bright here, the heat was strong and the fields were long
stretches of indefinitely marked out lands. At night, this same place would become frightening with owls and ravens, adding to the cacophony of rushing winds.
“How’s your mother?”
At that, she frowned. “Trying to find me a husband.”
“Well, you are old enough now. You deserve a boy. ”
“Ah, no ya. I don’t want a boy. I want a man.” She bit her lip.
And why did Karman, all of a sudden, feel threatened by that statement? He wondered.
“Well, you’ll, um, find a man too, I guess, heh,” he grinned nervously. “I would like to invite you to the house but it’s quite dirty as of now.”
“No, no it’s all right,” she began to walk further.
Karman stopped her, his hand moving away from her shoulder when she instantly froze. “I hope you don’t mind.”
There was a brief, humorous smile on her face. “No, no, not at all. We will meet again.”
“Great, Roma. Bye,” he waved.
Well, that was weird.
Karman, holding the tiffin box walked back to the bungalow, entering through the black gate, passing his Honda Civic and walking inside.
There were flashes of memory—the pipe, the dupatta, the blood and the smacking sound. Those eyes, he recalled, how horrible they were, glassily watching him as she breathed in the last seconds of that day. He would later wake up, with partial memory loss, but slowly he had gathered the truth. But he wishes sometimes this
hadn’t been the case, and as he now thinks about it— he remembers how he was useless, not able to do anything that day, feeling cripplingly ineffective. He was just a coward. And he still was, he admitted. They never found her body, thinking that she was a missing case but she isn’t a missing case, she’s dead. He knew it. It was the last thing he saw.
Those pale eyes…
He woke up from his bed at the sound of the thud, sweat beads trickling down his forehead. He came out of the bedroom, bare-chested, as he walked to the staircase. He descended to the ground floor, moving to the gate. He could feel something was out there. Was it Roma? No. She wouldn’t come so late. He hoped it would be some animal but as he stepped out, he grabbed a sweeping broom, deciding to investigate where the thud was coming from.
In the coldness of the night, there was a
silhouette. And slowly light gleamed on the shadow’s face revealing it to be a cherubic, pale faced girl with blood drenched clothes and a mouth that was smeared with dry blood. Her hair was dry and crumpled, pulled down till her shoulders and she looked dazed. But when she smiled, there was a sense of hope that just bloomed inside Karman.
Never in the wildest of dreams had he imagined his ex-wife would return from the dead.
Karman sat at the corner of the bathtub while the soul ripped Urvi sat inside, the water covering till her collarbone as she rested her head on the wall. He was playing with her skin, pinching it a little, wondering if she was really real or not. But she was. They had kissed and she had said a few things that were difficult for an imposter to know.
Now she was here, without any explanation of how she returned but only having a partial memory of waking up from the ground.
“You remember those guys?” She asked.
Karman sighed. He did, in fact. The faces of it, the remnants were clear but the massive head attack had resulted in him forgetting their names.
“What did the police say?”
“Not enough evidence to really catch them.”
“I’ll find them,” she said, her voice turning cold. “I’ll find them and make sure they pay for what they did.”
“Revenge is not the answer,”
She shook her head sheepishly. “They have turned me into a monster.”
“What do you mean?” Karman saw the same Urvi he knew eight years ago. In fact too same. She hadn’t aged at all.
“Something happened when I woke up,” she sighed. “That shouldn’t have taken place.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I pulled myself out of the ground, I saw a policeman shining a torch on my face. He wasn’t able to understand what was going on but he helped me initially, asking me bizarre questions about how I got here and it was all too blurry. But then there was a throbbing sound, the sound of arteries pumping blood and I couldn’t help but look at his throat—his tender, black throat that I wanted to rip apart. I had never felt such an attraction to something. It was like, I had to have it and if not, I would die.”
“Oh yes,” she nodded.
“You ripped his head?”
She circled her long nails over Karman’s skin. And most of the time, it would feel nice but as of now, the swirling only made the hair at the back of his head stand in fright.
“I ate it,” she said…..
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