The curtains flapped gently as the night breeze entered the room, bringing the faint scent of sandalwood smoke and spices with it. Shruthi shivered as the light wind wrapped itself around her and stirred the chimes above the door into life. Mother had once said the chimes caught the voices of spirits as they passed through this realm. Shruthi shuddered once more, gooseflesh running along her arms.
Sitting in the Lotus position, she bowed to the statue of the ugly woman before her and struck a match, lighting the black candle and two incense sticks on the makeshift altar.
He was still in the other room, with the rest of his family, laughing and drinking himself into a stupor, before he came to claim his new bride. She felt the anger rise within her, but pushed it back down inside, visualising it as a burning coal of rage deep in her chest.
“Mother Dhumavati, hear my prayer” she said to the statue.
She removed a thin strip of cloth from the faded red bag by her side and held it at eye level with upturned palms. A piece of Deepika’s Sari. Deepika, her twin sister who had originally been fated to marry the fat merchant and had refused. A wave of grief washed over Shruthi, constricting her throat and burning her eyes. Again, she pushed the emotion down and added it to the burning ember of fury in her breast, causing the coal to grow, to burn now with a cold blue flame.
She placed the strip of cloth into a small brass bowl in front of the statue and took an ornate knife from her bag, cutting deeply into the palm of her left hand. The blood dripped onto the cloth, staining its green fabric black in the candlelight.
“Eternal widow, accept my offering.”
Smoke from the incense filled the room, dancing on currents of air and forming shapes in the flickering candlelight.
A sound of a glass breaking in the other room followed by peals of laughter and stumbling feet on the tiled floor. Her husband would arrive soon, to take possession of his new wife.
She started singing softly, losing herself in the rhythm, becoming one with it. The ball of pain and fury at her core glowing white now, like a star. Gathering her will, she pushed it from herself, visualising it flow on the waves of music and entering the offering bowl.
Outside the room, her husband’s stumbling stopped for a moment as he yelled “I cannot keep the little bitch waiting anymore, if I am not back in an hour, call an ambulance!” to his brothers and they responded with lewd laughter. Shruthi opened her eyes.
On the window sill sat a large crow that regarded her with curiosity. She smiled and offered silent praise to the goddess. Her offering had been accepted.
*********
Mohinder steadied himself against the wall and waved once more to his brothers before heading towards his marital bed. Shruthi was not as pretty as her sister had been, but her peasant father had been glad to offer her as a replacement after his other daughter had shamed him. A grin spread across Mohinder’s face. Time to claim my prize, he thought.
He pushed the door to the room open and was met with a cloud of foul smoke that stank of mould and decay. He gagged and waved his arms at the cloud, which clung to him momentarily, writhing around his body before dissipating, leaving only a faint smell of rot.
The single candle illuminated the room, its flame causing the shadows of the room to dance on the white lime walls. His bride stood with her back to him.
“Come to me woman” he said, reaching for his wife’s left arm. As he touched her flesh he recoiled at the feel of her cold, slimy skin. The stench he smelled earlier had returned and the source was now obviously the woman standing before him.
She turned to face him, her face white and bloated. Maggots were visible, moving under the surface of her skin and crawling insects fell from her nose and ears. She opened her mouth to speak and river water poured from it, forming a spreading pool across the floor. It was the wrong sister! This was Deepika – the sister he had drowned for her rejection, her insult!
“Come Husband, do you not have a kiss for your wife?” she gurgled, stepping forward, her cold dead arms outstretched. A long, black centipede slithered out of her open mouth, falling to the floor to thrash around in the spreading pool.
Mohinder backed away, thudding against the wooden door. At the sound a muted cheer rose from his brothers in the adjacent room.
Deepika grabbed Mohinder’s hair and planted her cold lips against his, her rotten tongue forcing his mouth open. He felt things enter him, sliding between his teeth and wriggling down his throat. His screams were stifled by the dead flesh of the woman he had killed.
*******
Shruthi looked at the corpse of the dead merchant, lying on the dry tiled floor. She stepped over the body and walked out of the bedroom, giving the corpse a kick as she left.
“Come quickly!” she shouted to his brothers, barely suppressing a smile “I think Mohinder has had a heart attack!”
—
©2009 Graeme Reynolds
Graeme Reynolds is a 38 year old freelance destroyer of computer programs and horror author. He lives in the South West of England with a long suffering girlfriend, two cats and three delinquent chickens. You can read his work on his homepage http://www.graemereynolds.com
Tags: Graeme Reynolds
July 2nd, 2009 at 6:39 pm
Brilliants Graeme! One of your best!
July 6th, 2009 at 1:18 am
I love a wicked revenge tale, and this one comes with great atmosphere and a nice twist…. excellent.
July 6th, 2009 at 10:13 am
Well described story, Graeme! I was really drawn into the story by Shruthi’s hate of this man and her offerings to the shrine to get her revenge.
July 6th, 2009 at 7:23 pm
Great voice and flow. As usual, a marvelously chilling tale.
–dj
July 7th, 2009 at 5:41 pm
Wonderful story! Loved it!