In the name of Allah, the Almighty.
Two weeks ago, there were many, urm, peculiar occurrences happened to me. By peculiar, I meant it's related to the spirits and ghosts. And today, as I was bored in a course at school, I managed to finish a thriller short story, using one of the events as the base. This is my first attempt on thriller/horror genre, so why don't you read up and give me some feedback later?
A PECULIAR NIGHT
BEEP.
The
beeping sound broke the silence of that still night.
BEEP!
It
beeped again. A soft white light on top of my mobile phone flashed twice,
notifying me about the newly received text message. I reached for my phone,
unlocked it and read the message:
"Come to my workstation now if you want to
hear about [it]."
I
hesitated. Should I go see him? I want to know about "it" but it's
only one hour away to midnight.
"4 real? Only 1hr more 2 midnite. U still
workin?"
I
texted him back.
BEEP!
A
quick reply from him, as usual.
"Chickening out now? Don't come if you're
scared."
Nobody
calls me a chicken. Nobody. So I texted him back,
"W8 4 me. Im otw."
I
grabbed my sling bag, reached for my keys and quickly left my house.
*
I pushed the door open.
The staff room looked dimmer than usual. Without teachers scurrying around with
books or papers in hands, the space looked somewhat spacious yet empty. I
looked around and found his workstation at the quietest corner of the room. But
he was not there.
I
approached his workstation and noticed unfinished exam scripts lying around in
bundles with a red pen, uncapped, sticking out in between the bundles. The
workstation was a total chaos, but that's how he liked it best. 'The messier
your table, the more creative you are,' he oftentimes repeated it in class in
defense of his messy table whenever we teased him, and I had to agree with him
-- he always came out with weird ideas for his lessons like writing a letter to
our future self or giving funny analogies while explaining anything, but it was
those weird ideas that made his lessons fun and attracted students to him. And
that was why I am here right now, less than an hour to midnight: I want to know
about [it].
"You're here."
I
nearly jumped out of my boots if it wasn't for the familiar voice. I turned
around and there he stood, smiling. I knew something was amiss but I couldn't
quite put my finger on what made me feel so.
"Where you've been?" I asked.
Went to toilet to freshen up, he muttered
to himself. Mr. Hafiz is usually a bubbly yet sarcastic in conversations (which
made me love and hate talking to him at the same time). But tonight, he seemed
somewhat quieter than usual.
"You want to know about [it], right?"
he asked. I nodded as he pulled a chair and offered it to me, "make yourself at home."
"Sir, can't you pick a better time to tell me
about [it]? Like, say...tomorrow morning?" I enquired.
No, can't wait till tomorrow, he
muttered to himself again. "Plus,
ghost stories aren't scary at all in broad daylight, don't you agree?"
He
glanced at me, and I noticed he was wearing an eerie smile on his face.
"Now, it happened about a week ago when I was
teaching my night class..."
***
It was a still night,
unlike any other days. Heavy rain just stopped fifteen minutes ago yet there
was no sign of frogs begging for more rain, or insects buzzing around. Such a
peculiar night, thought Mr. Hafiz as he walked out of the staff room and
marched towards the class next to the English Language Room where he usually
held his night classes for 5AG.
The
two-storey building seemed quieter without hostel students. Mr. Hafiz entered
the classroom and began his lesson. They learnt how to properly write
sentences: simple, compound and complex sentences using the formulas Mr. Hafiz
taught them.
While
they were engrossed in the lesson, Mr. Hafiz suddenly stopped. He craned
forward and asked,
"...did you hear that?"
The
classroom was wrapped in total silence as the students looked at one another in
confusion. A few students near the windows shook their head, the ones in the
middle looked clueless, but those sitting near the back door -- their faces
were as white as a sheet.
A
boy sitting in the middle broke the silence,
"Sir, what did you hear?"
Mr.
Hafiz described the sound when wooden table or chair is being dragged across
cemented floor. Yes, the sharp, high pitch sound you often hear when people
upstairs are moving things around. But there was supposed to be nobody
upstairs. There were supposed to be thirty three students and one teacher in
the whole block that night, occupying the classroom next to English Language
room. So who made the sound just now? Or rather, what made the sound?
Most
of the girls already looked terrified. The boys were forcing a smile on their
face, trying to look brave. Mr. Hafiz was about to continue his lesson when the
girl closest to the back door raised her hand,
“Sir, we heard it too. But it was a different
sound...”
The
other three girls sitting close to her nodded.
“What did you hear?” asked Mr. Hafiz.
The
girl, Husna, looked at her friends as if asking for permission to speak up
before she turned to Mr. Hafiz and explained,
“We heard a knock.”
“A...knock?”
“Yes, a knock. On that door...”
Husna
looked at the back door.
Knock.
The
whole class was now silent. Everyone was looking at the door too. Their faces
were white as if they had seen a ghost...or had heard a ghost.
KNOCK.
KNOCK!
Some
of the girls were already hugging one another. They boys were no longer
smiling. Mr. Hafiz approached the door, cautiously checking what could possibly
make the sound. His usually cheerful face was no longer wearing a smile. The
students were holding their breath when Mr. Hafiz pulled the door to reveal the
source of the knocking sound: It was a security guard. He was standing there, smiling,
before apologising for scaring everybody.
The
whole class broke into laughter. Who could have thought that somebody was
really standing behind the door?
***
“So it wasn’t even a ghost?” I asked,
disappointed. I looked at the clock: It was quarter to midnight.
“Hasty, aren’t
you?” Mr. Hafiz chuckled. “Can’t you
wait until I finished my story? As I was saying, the whole class broke into
laughter, except Husna. She did not even smile...”
***
Husna did not even smile, not even when Mr. Hafiz
cracked his funniest joke that always made her laugh. It was then Mr. Hafiz
knew something was not right but he did not say anything to anyone until he
concluded his lesson that night. While everybody else was leaving, Mr. Hafiz
approached Husna and asked what was wrong. She was trembling,
“I smelled
something when everyone was laughing... Something peculiar.”
“What did you
mean by peculiar?”
She looked behind her shoulders, just to make sure
nobody was listening before she whispered,
“I smelled
something that shouldn’t be here.”
Mr. Hafiz’s eyes widened when he heard Husna
mentioned the word “corpse” but he tried not to show her that he was shocked.
Husna described the reek of decaying smell that came and went – sometimes
strong, sometimes faint.
***
“Whoa!” I gaped. “You don’t say...”
Mr.
Hafiz stood up, straightened his necktie and went straight towards the door.
Need to go to the loo, he said then left. I did not think about it before, but
now I wonder why would Mr. Hafiz wear his working attire late at night like
this? He always changed into his comfortable jersey and track bottom.
It was
five minutes to midnight and Mr. Hafiz still had not returned. The night began
to feel a bit chilly, yet I could feel cold sweat streaming down my back.
Images from Mr. Hafiz’s story began to fill my head.
Screech.
It
was as if a piece of sheet was dragged against a rough surface. I looked around
warily. There was nobody else in the staff room.
SCREECH!
The
sound came from the opposite side of the staff room where lights and fans were
switch off. I reached for my cell phone and quickly dialled Mr. Hafiz’s number.
Tooot...
No
answer. I dialled again.
TOOOT...
“Hello?” I could hear his voice on the
other end of the line. His voice sounded sleepy, as if just woken up from
sleep.
“Sir? Where are you?”
“Kimi? Is that you? Sorry, I was already
asleep when you called.”
”Why did you leave me alone in the staff
room? What’s taking you so long?”
“What did you mean? I was feeling a bit under
the weather today, so I called in sick. I did not even go to school today.”
I
could not believe my ears.
“Why are you in the staff room at this hour?”
I
gulped. The reek of decaying smell began to fill the room...