This post is written on for the Ultimate Blog Challenge and The Blog Chatter on Day 18, ‘A night to be remembered’. For the entire challenge for 31 days in October, I am writing short stories.
‘A night to be remembered’
The night fell like owls disappearing and surfacing on the empty and deserted road on the Mumbai-Pune Expressway. The place was famous for the scary ghost stories and narration of a random woman, wearing short white skirt popping up in the middle of the night to scare the shit out of travellers and hustle them away. They say, she is a catholic woman who killed herself by jumping off the cliff after he made torrid love with her.
Shrikant was drunk at the party and charmed the ladies off the perch, waltzing and smooching his way to heaven, making out with the hottest chicks. The wild stallion, that he is stormed out of the party and doggedly insisted that he will drive the brand new SUV alone on the deserted streets in the wee hours in the morning. “I am not scared of ghost women. Bring them on. I’ll give them a good time. After all, I am a khula Saand.”
The dude fastened his seat belt, steered the engine and gulped the quarter bottle of whisky as the music of Lady Gaga thundered loudly in the car. The night was scarily eerie as the car zoomed past the bridge and halted in front of the church. A woman, dressed in white saree and long hair flowing past her waist paraded, walking seductively bulging her assets and moving the upper part of her body. It was enough to knock Shrikant and the car screeched its way towards the pavement. The playboy was stirred and shaken at the same time.
The stories of the lone woman soared temperatures high and tormented him to death. Shrikant bolted the doors in his cars and steered the engine back to life. He breathed heavily. He almost neared a heart attack. His heart was beating furiously. He was sweating and his hand fidgeted with his Apple cell phone, losing his grip on the wheel and shaking like an old man. The door of his car flipped open on its own.
Shrikant was feeling dizzy and almost closed his eyes, as the women gently held his hand and whispered into his ears, “Come with me to heavenly bliss. You no longer belong to this world. You are already dead and chucked out the physical body. We will make love in the garden of angels and jinns. I have found my love. You have reached salvation.”
The man was convinced that he has left the physical body ushered out of the car as his angel led towards the rocky terrain. She unveiled her face. “My God, she is so beautiful, mysterious and sensually enticing. How come I never met her when I was still alive!”
She caressed and cupped his face, blowing a passionate smooch that bruised his lip. He heard claps behind him and someone yelled, “Well done. Cut! Perfect scene.” Shrikant turned around and saw a group of men and women, cheering and someone sitting on the director’s chair laughing.
The girl smiled wickedly to him, “Sorry Shrikant. We were shooting a film and you became the bakra. I am no ghost and touch my hand. We wanted to make the scene authentic. I am Mrinalini.” She offered her hand. Shrikant was besotted.
Mrinalini seductively turned her face towards a bunch of people and pointed with her manicured fingers. It was his friends he left at the party. It was their doing. They intentionally led him towards this path in his drunken state and dissuaded him by instilling the fear of ghosts. His friends knew that he is stubborn and will prove he is not scared of ghosts. He cursed them, “Bastards…Fuckall, man.”
Shrikant held the heroine’s hand, “I gotta give it to you. You scared the shit out of me. I wanna take the revenge and kiss you.”
She smiled seductively, “When did I say No?”
He caressed her lips and smooched his best.
Postscript: The story was influenced by one of the prompt on Ganga Bharani’s recent published book ‘Creative Writing, Plot Engine.’ A short book which gives amazing leads to newbie writers wanted to get published. A must read. Check on Amazon.