Chhaya. That’s my name. And the day I was born was the most insane day of someone’s life. I was the uninvited outcome of an occult orgasmic ritual, and now the world is full of people who tolerate me. Literally.
Many things have happened to me since childhood, and perhaps this was one of the best. A new town, a new job, a new life. A life I’ve always wanted to live. That was three months ago.
“PANIC GRIPS THE CITY, SERIAL KILLINGS RAMPANT.”
The newspaper said. As I sat sipping my iced latte, I read further.
In the wee hours of Saturday (27 March 2021), a passerby found the body of a man with dismembered limbs and a completely shaven head. His body was found mutilated with a sharp knife presumably and branded alive with a pentagram between his shoulder blades. The police have identified this seemingly random brutal homicide as the fifth one in the city and have attributed it to the same culprit. The police investigation has been intensified and they are expecting to nab the murderer soon.
Let’s hope so. I thought. A strange sense of intoxicating gratification filled my nerves. I popped one of those ‘special’ oral pills for that additional euphoria. Just as I was slipping away into another world I was rudely interrupted by the doorbell. I opened the door. A police officer stood at my doorstep. His nameplate read Vikram.
‘Ms. Chhaya? I would like to have a word with you regarding the murders in the city. You’re one of our prime suspects.’ said Vikram.
‘Mr. Vikram, please come on in. We need to talk. I can explain.” I replied ushering him in.
I looked towards the mantle, my sacred sanctum. The candles flickered merrily on the mantle as if on cue. The molten iron pentagram brand was ready for use. Time for another human sacrifice. Perfect moment. I grabbed the knife from the mantle and stabbed Vikram in the chest with all the force I could muster.
Blood spurted onto my face. With a surprised shriek, his body slumped down to the cold-tiled floor. I watched as life slowly left his being with much joy. A familiar ecstasy I had felt watching five victims succumb to my power. Five sacrifices were made to Satan. Six now.
That was neat. I eerily smirked as I wiped the knife clean of bloodstains with rubbing alcohol that I had sneaked out from my pathology laboratory.
I’ve always felt that I was chosen by Satan himself for a higher purpose. I was unique which is probably why His voice follows me wherever I go. I looked at the reflection in the mirror. My eyes were still bloodshot. Veins cold.
Everything was normal. No regrets whatsoever.
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Dear readers, I am Pooja Warrier, at least thats what my birth certificate says ! Since I failed miserably in finding a magical gemstone, I am an HR Generalist who works to earn a dime . As a creative writer, I have published a couple of articles on The ArmChair Journal and also coauthored some anthologies. Roles I juggle on the personal front : an unruly daughter, a pestering wife, a nagging mother and an overprotective elder sister. I admit having a somewhat unhealthy obsession with dancing, sketching and drawing. Would that be enough?
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