The Daughter's wail
My uncle lived in a farmhouse in the mountains. Retired army colonel; well decorated, he was. Had a nag for old collectibles, walls were lined with trinkets from the raj and different finds from various archaeological sites. He had a Ph.D. in tomb archeology and had spent a lot of time in Libya and Lebanon.
He had left though long ago and had now adjusted himself in this life of the hermit. Though sometimes he still went to read a paper or two in the Singapore College of archeology.
His place for me was a summer escape from the northern heat. I never ever remembered visiting his farmhouse in the winter months as the north was already chilly and here in the mountains it would be freezing.
This was my first visit to 'the armory' in winters. That was what uncle had named his farmhouse. The farmhouse was spread over acres and acres of land. Two ancient cannons brought in especially from the state of Bikaner flanked the front of the farmhouse. The tapestry inside was very antiquated and delicate as well.
Uncle loved me and I always put on a few kilograms after leaving from here. A retired soldiers life; expensive scotch and mouth-watering food served by the best butlers in the most exquisite arrangements.
The rooms were huge too. I was given the best guest room on the third floor of the huge mansion. The room was literally the size of a party hall. You could easily hold a party of around 12 people in the room by keeping everything in its original place.
The house though big hid a dark secret; a mysterious tragedy, the death of uncles one and only daughter Misha. No one had solved the mystery yet. Just that she was in her room at night and was found thrown over a tree the next morning with her wrists slit and tied to bleed.
My uncle had taken the loss bravely and Misha was buried next to her mother in the family graveyard behind the mansion. The mother had also died only a few years ago of cancer. The soldier had lost everything he had held dear to him in a fraction of months.
My uncles only solace was Remmy; the hellhound. He was the infamous dog named after the famous Remy Martin. For those of you who have read Conan Doyle's hound of Baskervilles would know how scary this breed can be in terms of size and strength for those of you who have not let me put things in perspective by stating that Remy actually resembled a werewolf in the dark.
I did not expect the winters to be so harsh. Even with the fire lit in the fireplace in my room; I was adjusting with two blankets over me and trying to read a book held in my shivering hands.
Only two rooms were occupied in the entire mansion that had a sum total of fourteen rooms. One was my uncle's room on the ground floor and one was my room on the third floor. Misha's room was just below me on the second floor and had been locked after her death. The butler was given a cottage adjacent to the mansion.
My room had two large French windows; one, overlooked the forest trail that lead to uncles mansion and the other opened out into the view of the graveyard where one could see two tombstones one belonging to the late wife and the other belonging to the late daughter.
The beauty in the hills here was so magical that one could easily forget the pinch of the cold. Even in the night the forest from the window looked like a thick carpet swaying in waves in the winds. In places where the moonlight reached the forest floor one could see some or the other nightly creature lurking in search of prey or food.
'Not only the house but the amenities here too were ancient. The area experience power cuts after eight in the evening but people did not mind using lanterns because the whether was cold in summer and chilly in winters. The light of the lantern provided assistance as well as convenience in either whether.
I placed the book beside me on the bed and was just about to turn the wick of the lantern to sleep when I had this crazy idea of walking to the window that overlooked the family graveyard. The wooden floors creaked under my gentle footsteps as I slowly walked to the window. I threw open the large panes and looked down.
The first thing that lapped my face was the icy cold wind of the night. I could not feel my face in a matter of seconds. AS my watery eyes became clear. I got a magnificent view of the graveyard from here but other that the graveyard something else caught my eye. A human figure was lurking near Misha's tomb; it was rather speaking to it with hand and body gestures. Who could it be? It was nearly two in the night. You had to be either mad or absolutely two hundred percent courageous to walk into the graveyard at night. I quietly closed the window and retired to my bed to sleep.
I woke up late the coming morning. My uncle had already left for his morning jog with Remmy. I wanted to tell him about the events of the past night but I had lost my chance as of now. The butler served me breakfast and I got dressed to leave the mansion. I had promised a friend that I would come and see him whenever I was in the mountains.
It was nearly eleven when I stepped out of the mansion onto the graveled path that lead to the large iron gates. The sunlight proved rather soothing on the chilly winter bites that had grasped the whole body in an invisible chain. I walked a few steps on the uneven gravel till the road bifurcated into two paths. One led to the main Iron Gate while the other lead to the graveyard.
I was so eager to find out whether what I had seen was true or just a dream that I actually changed my direction to go and see the graveyard. I was hoping to find footprints all around my deceased cousin sisters grave.
The entry to the graveyard was through a small glass nursery that housed some of the most rare and exotic mountain plants. Another of the old soldiers eccentric muses.
My aunts grave was marked by a cross that rose about three feet high into the air while my sisters grave was marked with a rather oblong gravestone on which was engraved the edifice of Mary. I peered closely at the gravel that separated the two graves for signs of any sinister activity but unfortunately could find nothing. Probably, the heavy winds had readjusted the gravel to hide signs of any activity. Dejected and disheartened at my find I retraced my steps back through the glass nursery to the iron gates and the road beyond.
I had met my best friend after a rather long time. I had never met him in the summers I was here before I had always given some or the other excuse to avoid him primarily for two reasons. The foremost and the best reason was the fact that I was lazy and the second rather more plausible reason was that we had both fallen in love with the same girl in college. We had both ending up dating her without knowing that she was playing with us both and we had both ended up having sex with her. It is her that we had found out the whole story. Well things became really awkward after that I mean for a guy to know that his friend was inside the same lady that he was in was rather icky. Though I had decided to give up on the naïve thoughts and meet him after about six years of mysterious separation.
We spent some good time at a local brewpub in the mountains catching up on old times and bitching bout the slutty bitch; that had hurt us both. Our conversations though took a rather serious enlightening and paranormal turn after a few ales.
"So where are you staying mate?" he asked me, keeping down his beer pint
"Well in the mansion at the top of the mountain" I replied keeping my empty bottle down as well
" So you stay in that haunted shack up the hill, don't you feel scared"?
"Haunted shack?" I asked looking literally taken aback
"Yes, 'haunted shack', or at least that is the word around here. People say a few years ago the retired colonel who lives there lost his mind. He had gone to the town nearbuy to have a drink. In town he apparently got so drunk that he bough a harlot from there to stay with him. He brought her in the mansion to get lewd with her. This is when his daughter saw him, she apparently tried to bring the old bloke to his senses but he did not listen. Rather he shut the daughter in a room and continued with his activities
They say the daughter loved him so much that she actually tried preventing the old guy from going astray each day. One day, the colonel grew so mad of his daughter's insolence that he walked up to her room with a bottle of chloroform and a knife, drugged her to sleep and slit her wrists so that she bled to her death.
Apparently his keep also saw this crime being committed, they say that the daughters body was found hanging on a tree. Story also is that the keep too was murdered by the old man but she was hidden rather convincingly somewhere in the walls of the mansion"
For the first time in my life I was feeling as if I was staying with an unknown murderer. I cursed myself I wished I had not met my friend I wished I had not seen the figure lurking in the dark the previous night and I wished that I had not heard the fact abut the harlots body being hidden somewhere in the mansion.
When I returned back home it was almost dark. The mansion was lit up by the moonlight and I could see my uncle pacing up and down on the first floor corridor. My blood began rushing in different directions as I opened the large Iron Gate to step onto the graveled path that lead up to the door of the mansion.
The butler grreted me on the doorstep and asked for my overcoat. I handed him the same.
"The colonel is waiting for you with scotch and some authentic lamb rice, you might want to go and meet him upstairs"
I slowly climbed the steps to the first floor landing. AS much as I wanted to believe that the story was fake; my fear was not letting me believe so. My uncle's face lit up as soon as he saw me. He was waiting for me with an elaborate laid out table and the finest scotch.
I wanted to ask him so many things beginning from the incident of the previous night to what I had heard in the village side today. But then again mistrusting the only man I had been seeing every year and who had taken care of me so well did not seem like a very good option.
I enjoyed the rest of the evening with him keeping my fears at bay and making him recall different stories from the border areas that he had spent his life in.
That night I could not sleep at all. It was not the chill of the winter air that was disturbing but the dark thoughts in my mind. Every now and then I would suddenly sit up in a fear imagining the skeletal hand of the decaying harlot who had been buried somewhere in the mansion. She could have well been in my room, hidden, in the walls somewhere.
It was a very unsettling and anxious night for me. I paced up and down the entire length of the room at least thrice before I decided to go up to the window again. I peered down as usual
In the dark night I could see the slender streamlined edifice of Remmy digging away savagely in the area between the two graves. It was funny and rather unsettlingly crude as well.
I slowly opened the door of my room. The hallway was dark and silent. I had to walk at least ten steps to reach the stairway that went down to the ground floor. The floors of the creaky wooden mansion echoed with the weight of my body. Every second it appeared as if someone or something was following me. A weird cold whisper of a lady's pained voice had filled my senses. A dead woman, who was hidden somewhere in these walls was crying out to be found.
Lost in my thoughts I somehow reached the top of the stairway and looked down in the darkness. My uncle was asleep and so was the butler. I could hear the squeaking of a mouse scurrying across the floor somewhere in the dark. My back was drenched in cold sweat in the chilly winter. I slowly started making my way down the staircase. The darkness and the silence were horrible. As I reached the ground floor clutching the flashlight in my hand tightly I heard a rustling and creaking noise coming from the inside of the four major pillars that were holding in place the edifice of the entire house.
The walls I felt were closing in on me and I immediately broke into a run to reach the main door. I jolted out of the large teakwood main door of the mansion and fell flat on my fore on the graveled path. My flashlight rolled out of my hand and came to a halt a few meters away from me. My legs and hands were bruised and paining. I got up dusted myself and grabbed the flashlight. I turned back to look at the grandeur of the old mansion in the moonlight. All the lights of the mansion were flickering vigorously. Suddenly, the loud scream of a woman filled the valleys. I was very sure it came from within the mansion I was not sure whether I wanted to go in or not.
I started running away from the house and entered the path that lead to the graveyard. Not really a wise decision but I kept running through the nursery till I reached the graveyard. Remmy was still clawing away in between the graves he had nearly dug halfway through. I was feeling scared that he'd unearth the remains I immediately raced up to him and grabbed him by the collar but he turned back and snarled at me baring his teeth like a beast
He did not look like the pet I knew. He appeared as if he was possessed. Suddenly I heard a man's groan coming from the mansion. It sounded like my uncle. I immediately rushed back though the nursery and back into the mansion. The sight that awaited me was a horrifying one. The memory of which I have still not been able to erase completely from my thoughts
My uncle's dead body hand halfway between the ceiling and the floor of the mansion, The lights in the inside of the mansion kept flickering and for a brief moment as my eyes moved to the third floor I could see a shadowy figure of a lady with a decomposing face grinning at me through her decaying teeth.
My parents came the next day as they heard about the incident. The local cops arrested the butler for the occurrences, though I was pretty sure it was not him. No one believed my story of the hanging body or the dog digging the graveyard.
My uncles left over belongings were given to my dad. The mansion he sold but kept the rights over the graveyard after all it was his brother's wife and niece. Remmy came over to stay with us and also among the belongings that came was also a chest that had the army mans gun and a few other belongings.
AS I went through the stuff I found a rather old and tattered diary. It was the daily recounts preserved by the old man
Wen I started reading everything became as clear as water.
Here is a small paragraph from his diary
"Dear Diary
There is no forgiveness for my heinous crime. In the summer months when the heinous incident occurred, Remmy and I can still here my daughter wailing from the grave. Remmy believes she is alive and keeps trying to dig her out but I try to stop him. "Dad save yourself...she is in your house" she keeps warning me even tries to protect me from my mistake
The harlot's spirit is a strong one. She sometimes reaches out for my heart and tries to choke me. Sometimes she tries to bring down something on me. I should not have killed my daughter for her. I should not have killed the harlot in rage. Maybe someday she becomes the cause of my end."
Everything my friend had told me was true. Every single word
Even today at nights I wake up to find Remmy in my balcony facing in the distance with ears cocked
Probably he can still here his young mistress calling out to him to save her father
Some stories are best remembered as stories
I wish you all never have to live something like this...