THE TRUMP CARD

I could see the widow’s peak clearly visible now, on my frown-easy forehead. Usually, this hair-do gets immense attention when it comes to six-footers. She had occasionally told me about my adrenaline-imparted forehead. Unexpectedly, these outer contractor muscles have got something behind them, a history, a tale, an agonized heart’s bitter part.Death shows it’s the sign of macabre on various creepy things. If someone has got an eye like No.19/A, Krutches street, resident Valhalla Team football coach Mr Hardy then, creepiness will sleep some spooky nights and terribly inhales all those bliss of a soul with a single deep melancholic kiss.

The Wiseman involved here in this ‘twirl of a yarn’ is the same person inking your visible-eyes. If others don’t get the perspective of our hawk-eye, then there is something, inevitably strange in us.

“Ah…lots and lots of promises. Now, they are just like our house’s old and crippled artefacts, buried and forgotten. I am having headache, honey. Lend me your hand. Come yonder, it’s grinding like your free kicks”, said my beloved wife, laughing like an infant prank who sleeps only when he listens to his favourite lullaby. After unlocking the threads of the curtain, I steered upwards holding the rail of our steps.

Sunlight penetrated and entered our semi-old, love-filled, aroma spread house. The clutches of my hands relieved her headache. Maybe, olive played an essential role in that work. But, when asked, my wife would rather say, it is my hands, because of its magic, the ache took to his heels. Timely embrace is the key to chew on with a relationship till doomsday if one arrives. When she made moans of darkness, my manliness got hold of it. And, when it came of ecstasy, my flamboyant nature got hold of it. Those zillions and zillions of apologies and hugs showcased our eternal-euphoric love. She always enjoyed listening to good music. It reached her heart along with me and made her feminine-built even more delicate.

At most of the times, the dressing table’s edge reminded those earlobe’s bent she had. Now and then, she empowered with her charisma. She was there spreading the fragrance of love and motherhood. Around July she would make the petals blossom and give this world our baby. In the strands of my thick flock of hair, one cannot find a single grey hair. When I took care of her pedicure, she checked out the dying problems. Indeed, everything went very crispy until May 26, the previous month. Happiness evolved zones of our livelihood got struck between the cradles of the devil’s swing.

To some extent, we bore the obnoxious happenings. Things got even worse on Friday night when ‘Mareesh’ got awake and sat on my girl’s lap. She urged her for something. This was all happening without the knowledge of my partner’s consciousness. Except for awareness, everything is black magic. The true concept witnessed its prowess here, right here! In my turmoil and wrath-collaged house.

Hitherto, I haven't opened my mouth for something to my ‘elysian eyes possessor’, Mrs.Shuuju Hardy, the most beautiful possession of all she has, is her ineffable creamy-chocolate coloured eyes. Those pair of her little eyes glances came once from the ‘Red-cross stands’ and my pulse rate has been rising since then.

Some years back, I throttled the rain-drenched ball into the far corner; the ball just swings across the post to find the nests. We clinched a pyrrhic victory with my last-minute header. In that rain, whilst the celebrations of our boys, I just caught the glimpse of a beautiful girl. She was screaming in the joy one should say. At last, I waved a hand and got one back. She chanted something from the very beginning for our trophy. Finally, I summoned her and made my lips spell, “I LOVE U and will u marry me?”.She was taken surely by eldritch and so she hugged me and replied, “Why me? You knew me before, right?” After those words, I said,” Never, dear; I just fell for you at this very time” and snogged her forehead, Thanks for the rain which was all we needed.

The picture-perfect scenario is still fresh and undulant like Robert frost’s poem. She had a different route and I took the way and loved the lane she took. This trespassed finagler’s soul got conjured by her pristine ‘Eau-de-cologne’. These foreign words would come incessantly because some words of mine cannot conquer her beauty.

What bothers the circumstance of my livelihood needs complicated theories and many stacks of paranormal books. The knowledge to recognize the audacious footsteps galloped in our place can be easily obtained instead, the power to suppress those evil cries made by those tortured souls. The demand to cease this demonic activity to leave us. The grace of her eyes went all wet when the knob of the door crispy turned. “Stop fidgeting dear, it is just her way to show, it is time to doze off", I finished breaking the silence like a water droplet, down the stairs, rolling like a pebble and collided on the rail’s fine edge. Her conceived abdomen got a cut and a drop of her blood shredded on the pure white floor. It was very clearly visible from the place where I was standing. Some visible oil stains present on the floor’s surface became a reason later for me to console her regarding her fall. She would promptly believe me as we are one completely merged and blended beautiful soul.

By 10.00 pm, we reached home after a regular check-up. I took a handful of the ointment our obstetrician gave and applied on her injured, slightly cut area. She felt relaxed and it was Half-past already. Then, I adored and shoved her into bed softly. After a minute of passionate kissing, she hugged me and went to sleep. After throwing her favourite sky blue blanket on her silky skin, I switched off the lights and came out for my terrible, tedious work. I walked straight to the room where we had our attic scrambled with wrinkled old books. The smell of its crispness reached my windpipe and there came three incessant sneezes one after another.

My instinct of curiosity got increased by a sharp margin. The third part of the attic had a cantilever beam and for most of my life, I didn’t find the quench to lift it. The bolt’s cracking sound in the dungeon room made things weird and scary. As I was reaching my favourite hole in the house even not known to her, my ring finger got a cut. Blood drops traced my frightening, own books, the research’s hardcover. To my great heat, it was nothing but the rusted bolt’s work in my finger. With its foul smell and worn-out quality, it made the ambience even scary. Again, my boisterous adherence to my well-caressed outline of the book’s index got open. Out of those, my most interesting case was “The church bell and the psychiatrist”. Because it covered most of the modern-day haunting theories and the brief explanation is given by me regarding “Demonic activities and their poltergeist prodigy” by “Emmanuel Jones” were hard for anybody on my time to prove it wrong. Every tiny bit of wit, thrown by late Mr Jones on my prowess packed book picturised a shrill-poised frightening look on me. When it comes to a book, particular chapters come handy in mind. And, the only thing my mind focused on that evening was a terrific vision of a narrow street with half-painted brick walls on both sides. I have never seen such a weird scenario; because of a deep wail on those satanic outskirts of my ‘viperous’ vision. A decent looking, well built short-haired woman was the wailer. Her small little, cute angel was lying dead on the ground and she was begging for something holding on to the legs of two morons; they should be morons, I suppose.

Her demands were denied abruptly and the kid was burnt in front of her hazel eyes. I saw her beautiful toddler’s ashes finally in my vision and the lady’s cry was the least scary thing on my clandestine kept dusty sun-opposed room. My teammate Rupert often told about rhythms and his experiments with them. “When something unconventional and allergic is present in a room then, the sun’s rays denied rooms would show their sinister events, showcasing a doll or something demonic also the place would increase your pulse rate and your sweats won’t reach the surface. That too, when some bloodstains are seen vivid, then a brutal injury or even death may come your way, bloke”. The exact verse of my chum’s definition of poltergeist’s power made my eyes contract to view the corner, where I saw the same girl sitting immobile with the doll in her lap, trying to make it sleep.

To my bad side, my lighter too flickered with some serious trouble. Then, at the Far East corner, a candle was lit and to my expectations, the Barbie holding girl made cautiously and hurriedly steps towards me. Suddenly, I got shoved to the surface and my ring finger had something heavy, the bleeding blurted off like a wolf’s howl. It was not the girl but the Barbie doll which she tried to give rest. With sharply grown teeth, the little girl’s possessed Barbie bit my finger strongly and gave it a half-cut. I pulled the doll as I started running for life. Until I got out of the dungeon, she held my ring finger. Immediately the door slammed in front of me leaving me outside of the room and the Barbie got pulled back inside with some power. After a few puffs with my injured hand, I checked out the time. It was just three to one and it was time for me to get my chests adorned with her beautiful, drowsy head.

The non-euphoric troublesome pit hole I experienced that night made a thing very clear. Hardened and battered soul’s heart would melt away if they hear the hint of this story’s prelude. And the thing was in a delirious condition. Holding her little finger close to my chests my eyes got shut and my sudden vision was about my love’s “immediate recovery phase” I have to proceed.

Another gentle dawn broke her eyes to mesmerize the rest of the world and me with a cigar. Recollecting the previous night’s dream sequences, those suffocating scenes, the final puff made the story, a well-framed one. It had some intimate connection with my ancestors and that wailing woman in my past vision. I would make the story like an anecdote, as it is a real one. ‘Some 40 decades back, sinister practices infested the town of “Blue Rocks”’. Long ago, an innocent prodigy's iconic aim was burnt. Here cries and her mother’s efforts all went in vain and the community which suppressed Mrs Daisy’s mission began their child burning alive missions in a more widespread manner. It happened like this ‘ One among the female child of a family with hazel eyes and who are taller than their male siblings’ should be thrown to the Agni god as stated in the testament written by that terra’s ancient ‘satanic, female prodigy killer’, late Mr Arachnian. That ‘female underdog testament’s vital page that could have saved many lives got its presence mined and so murders got tremendously increased in the poor, dull –wit town of Blue Rocks. On that time, two followed this underdog theory. While many protestors were in the search of the lost manuscript, a blissful event engaged and made the much needed euphoric victory to the town. The brave philatelist Mrs Daisy brought back the lost glory, the thrown away sheet with much evidence. The former practice had only death as the end but, this one had something to be cheered for taller womenfolk with hazel eyes. The sheet wept, “the vineyard is another place after graveyard where, the abnormal girls can be sent. There, freedom for those creatures of Satan is given”. As they saw, vineyards as the place for demonic action.

Those two heart-plucked, divinity-emptied morons with brains made of devil shit inserted those bits of pieces into her child’s pocket. Hazel eyes of that child brought her death in front of her mother’s eyes. She was burnt along with the testament bits. Her mother’s weeps were never enough to stop the fuming fire which burnt all her beautiful child’s innocent possessed, sin unknown, skin. The awe-struck anger emanating story ends here.

While Hardy’s mind leaned on that, my eardrums were enjoying something, rhythmic but very sentimental piece of an artist’s work. To my knee collapsing sight, there was a 20-year-old damsel. She was playing the note, plucking the strings like the angel of pianos. Instead of running, I appreciated her masterpiece work with loud clapping. She ran away hurriedly carrying a few notes. Behind the main pillar of my house, she got vanished but dropped her notes for someone here. Without much fear, my girl came and held my hand pressing on the rail, she said “don’t worry everything will be fine” and she went to the kitchen, for a cup of coffee. My agonized, revenge unavenged heart for Shuju’s wound pumped me up the staircase to reach our bedroom. Again, once again, another mystique was sleeping. Pretty much of a reassembly thing it turned out to be Ahh! Those scorching effects of that phenomenal vision laid me with two notions. One, womenfolk have faced battering of tormented sin-merged souls and now, they have been carried out in a much wiser way.

Two generations of hopping ghost exist! Mareesh has travelled ages to petrify and slew my unborn baby. The name, Mareesh was once kept as it had to be since I used to name ‘Them’ as I Love. But, what I have achieved to prove would make a whole Liverpool club fans cheer for me. Yet another vital theory, the connection between paranormals and people like me, people who were born in 9th of any month is always a mystery. On our couch, checked up with the window’s curtain and cause for the breakage of the windowpane, my dull wit brain never paid attention to her breath. Maybe, that old lady could be 80 and above years of age. But she lied dead and when my hand went neat, very closer to check her breath, she did something. She held my chin with care and said, “This is how! I should have died, lying warm and fulfilled”. But, her hand was no longer there, not even her body. She kept the same way as the piano girl tons of questions bullied my miracle window’s peak forehead. Who were they? Where is the kid, Mareesh? Why I could see her name badge in the vision, where I was told she studied in a martial arts school? Why she didn’t use it some 40 decades back? Certainly, Shuju’s coffee made all those things somewhat no, incredibly clear. Yet, to stop her talking and to promote my thinking, I snogged her and finished thinking within 3 minutes.

Gathering those answers, everything got settled. Piano girl, an old lady and Mareesh all three of them were the same, she showed her life’s chart by three of her figures. I definitely knew the triad won’t return. To stop my female baby getting killed by me, Mareesh crossed 40 decades, it is beautiful when poltergeists help us. Yes, my community should kill their female child with hazel eyes. As a ‘Hauntings’ and ‘paranormal’ specialist I condemn and regret those misdeeds. Till now, no girl in our community had a hazel eye when she was born until she died. Eyes never change so, Mareesh warned me of my child’s birth without knowing Hardy’s wit and workplace. After explaining the reason for sudden lip lock and unlock, premonitions got fired on me and then when my Hazel eyed Darling came, I lifted her and kissed her chubby but long little finger, her mother smiled and said, ”Hazel, what a damsel she is” Then, my senses returned to cuddle both.

Harish Kannan