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The Typewriter
It was the month of heavy thunderous rain in Kerala, the month of June. As I always had a thing for antique collections, I was just home drenched in the rain after my visit to the antique shop. You see, in Kerala you’ll get drenched even if you hold an umbrella, believe me, I’m talking from my experience here. So there I was; shivering and fiddling with my door keys, holding on to my latest object of interest, a typewriter.
Perhaps it is because of my childhood interest in writing that made me buy that beauty.
As I was sitting on my couch leisurely watching my usual dose of Comedy Nights with Kapil, I heard a noise from the study room. It was loud and strange. It was already late night. I took it for a warning and started readying myself to go to bed. Then I heard it again. Now, it was clearer. The noise started with a loud bang and then the sounds continued, smaller and slower this time. It was a mechanical tone. I started searching for the source of this-the windows, checked under the bed; nothing. Still the noise continued. I began to go frantic. Just then, I noticed my typewriter. Its keys were moving. But there was nobody there. It was like as if someone invisible was typing on it. I looked closer, suddenly; the typing came to a halt. Sweating and breathing heavily, I stared down at the grey, old machine. It was perfectly still. No sounds, no movements. Maybe this whole antique thing is getting to my head, I thought. I started going towards my bedroom.
Inside the room, I noticed a sheet of white paper on the floor. It was blank. Confused at how it reached there, I left for the bathroom. Under the wash basin, I again noticed a white sheet. I picked it up and saw a big, bold letter ‘I’ printed on it. I couldn’t make anything out of it. Then, yet again I saw a paper, hanging on the bath tub, half wet. This one was torn, but I could clearly make out the letters. K_I_L_L. kill. My hands began to tremble. The paper slipped from my hand and fell to the floor. I was another word then. It was as if it appeared out of nowhere. It said a name. A name that was not much familiar, a name that I’ve read only in books- Alexander.
Who is he? I’m Jacob. None of my friends are named Alexander. It didn’t make any sense. That night I couldn’t sleep. I kept on waking up in between hearing crackling and rattling from everywhere. I woke up once again and went to the bathroom. Slowly opening the tap and just cooling off my brain, I stared at my own image in the mirror. Just then, I noticed my image. It was fading. Thinking that it must be my imagination, I washed my face. Then looking at the mirror, I saw it. There was no face, just a body, drenched in blood. Torn clothes, body that seemed like rotting. A scream left my mouth, loud, screeching out my whole life. I took the strength to look back. It vanished. Not able to stand the fear, I ran out and locked the bathroom door. I went to the next room and decided to sleep there,
As I stared at the ceiling fan rotating, it just stopped working. Assuming that it is a usual phenomenon in Kerala, I looked out of the window, watching the rain lash heavily. Just then, I felt something touch my hips. I looked over and saw two feet were suspending; suspending from a body tied across the fan. Current came on again. I looked up. There was only the fan this time. But on the ceiling, it was red all over. Blood. A blood drop fell on my lips. I screamed, hoping I can wake myself up from this nightmare. The whole room began to reek of blood. I stood up and reached for the door, but it was jammed. There was no way out. More blood dropped from the roof. My shirt began to get wet, with blood. I saw the exact figure I saw in the washroom. It was moving towards me.
“It’s all a result of mental trauma. He couldn’t accept the fact that his 22 year old twin brother committed suicide. On trying to fill the gap that he left behind, he was trying to be his brother. There’s nothing wrong with Jacob. Just give him some time and everything will turn out to be just fine.”
“Thank you doctor” said Jenna, younger sister of Jacob. She took Jacob back to his own home in Aluva. She knew before that sending Jacob to the old house was a mistake. Jacob always thought that it was because of him that Alexander, the twin brother was dead in the first place. But it was a suicide and there’s nothing they could do now.
Back home, Jenna showed the directions to Jacob’s room. Jenna was watching TV when the phone rang. “Hello. Who’s this?” Jenna asked.
“Yeah, Jenna! I called in to tell you that my flight ticket got cancelled. I will come only next week. Isn’t it weird though? I never made any attempts to cancel it. After all the effort to come back to Kerala from London!!”
“Excuse me, who’s this speaking?” Jenna asked again.
“Haah! It’s me!! Jacob! By the way, tell your kids a hi from my side. They have a huge surpr……”
Jenna couldn’t hear anything more. She could only see Jacob sitting on the chair, just like that. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Just then, Jacob’s image flickered. Who was he? Jacob, Alexander, or someone else entirely?
Perhaps it is because of my childhood interest in writing that made me buy that beauty.
As I was sitting on my couch leisurely watching my usual dose of Comedy Nights with Kapil, I heard a noise from the study room. It was loud and strange. It was already late night. I took it for a warning and started readying myself to go to bed. Then I heard it again. Now, it was clearer. The noise started with a loud bang and then the sounds continued, smaller and slower this time. It was a mechanical tone. I started searching for the source of this-the windows, checked under the bed; nothing. Still the noise continued. I began to go frantic. Just then, I noticed my typewriter. Its keys were moving. But there was nobody there. It was like as if someone invisible was typing on it. I looked closer, suddenly; the typing came to a halt. Sweating and breathing heavily, I stared down at the grey, old machine. It was perfectly still. No sounds, no movements. Maybe this whole antique thing is getting to my head, I thought. I started going towards my bedroom.
Inside the room, I noticed a sheet of white paper on the floor. It was blank. Confused at how it reached there, I left for the bathroom. Under the wash basin, I again noticed a white sheet. I picked it up and saw a big, bold letter ‘I’ printed on it. I couldn’t make anything out of it. Then, yet again I saw a paper, hanging on the bath tub, half wet. This one was torn, but I could clearly make out the letters. K_I_L_L. kill. My hands began to tremble. The paper slipped from my hand and fell to the floor. I was another word then. It was as if it appeared out of nowhere. It said a name. A name that was not much familiar, a name that I’ve read only in books- Alexander.
Who is he? I’m Jacob. None of my friends are named Alexander. It didn’t make any sense. That night I couldn’t sleep. I kept on waking up in between hearing crackling and rattling from everywhere. I woke up once again and went to the bathroom. Slowly opening the tap and just cooling off my brain, I stared at my own image in the mirror. Just then, I noticed my image. It was fading. Thinking that it must be my imagination, I washed my face. Then looking at the mirror, I saw it. There was no face, just a body, drenched in blood. Torn clothes, body that seemed like rotting. A scream left my mouth, loud, screeching out my whole life. I took the strength to look back. It vanished. Not able to stand the fear, I ran out and locked the bathroom door. I went to the next room and decided to sleep there,
As I stared at the ceiling fan rotating, it just stopped working. Assuming that it is a usual phenomenon in Kerala, I looked out of the window, watching the rain lash heavily. Just then, I felt something touch my hips. I looked over and saw two feet were suspending; suspending from a body tied across the fan. Current came on again. I looked up. There was only the fan this time. But on the ceiling, it was red all over. Blood. A blood drop fell on my lips. I screamed, hoping I can wake myself up from this nightmare. The whole room began to reek of blood. I stood up and reached for the door, but it was jammed. There was no way out. More blood dropped from the roof. My shirt began to get wet, with blood. I saw the exact figure I saw in the washroom. It was moving towards me.
“It’s all a result of mental trauma. He couldn’t accept the fact that his 22 year old twin brother committed suicide. On trying to fill the gap that he left behind, he was trying to be his brother. There’s nothing wrong with Jacob. Just give him some time and everything will turn out to be just fine.”
“Thank you doctor” said Jenna, younger sister of Jacob. She took Jacob back to his own home in Aluva. She knew before that sending Jacob to the old house was a mistake. Jacob always thought that it was because of him that Alexander, the twin brother was dead in the first place. But it was a suicide and there’s nothing they could do now.
Back home, Jenna showed the directions to Jacob’s room. Jenna was watching TV when the phone rang. “Hello. Who’s this?” Jenna asked.
“Yeah, Jenna! I called in to tell you that my flight ticket got cancelled. I will come only next week. Isn’t it weird though? I never made any attempts to cancel it. After all the effort to come back to Kerala from London!!”
“Excuse me, who’s this speaking?” Jenna asked again.
“Haah! It’s me!! Jacob! By the way, tell your kids a hi from my side. They have a huge surpr……”
Jenna couldn’t hear anything more. She could only see Jacob sitting on the chair, just like that. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Just then, Jacob’s image flickered. Who was he? Jacob, Alexander, or someone else entirely?
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