Rupsa Seth

Thriller

4.4  

Rupsa Seth

Thriller

A Strange Visitor

A Strange Visitor

4 mins
601


The passive desolation of disuse was everywhere silently manifest about it. Within doors, curtains dropping heavily, lost their folds and shapes. Mirrors were dim as if with the breath of years. Pattern of carpets faded and became perplexed and faint. Keys rusted in the locks of doors. Mildew and mould to began to lurk in the closets. 

       It was summer and the sun shone brightly.The artist returned to his old workshop after about a decade. His company provided him with residential facilities and a myriad of opportunities to develop his talent and consequently, he felt no need to return to this old, shabby place. He came to the decision to sell the workshop and use the money for registering himself into a new course of Fine Arts. As he was back after a long time, he made up his mind to look around old things that belonged to him, that evening. 

        However, things did not turn out according to his plans. Above the solitary, woodden lodge, a lone jet- black raven circled in the stormy sky. As soon as the darkness of the evening set in, the weather got atrocious; heavy rain from the slate- grey clouds was pounding against the thin, glass windows and it seemed to show no improvement through the hours. 

         In the dimlight of the bulb, the artist sat down to read the newspaper and flipped through the pages. Then he read to himself ---

   --- "Serial Killers by the countryside- could not be traced". Before he had a chance to read the next line, he was interrupted by a loud banging on the door. A few seconds pass and another " Knock Knock! " This time the noise was louder and more menacing.

 "Who is it? ", his voice slightly quavered. There was no answer but it was followed by another loud banding on the door. Finally he summed up the courage to open the door.  

      - " It could just be a wild bash of winds " , he tried to calm himself down. 

        He opened the door to find a totally drenched woman. She was breathing heavily and her hands, the artist found it a bit unnatural, though he did not know in what way. A dainty scarf was wrapped around her neck, the colour of which was red and black. " Quite uncommon, isn't it? "

     The room was shabby - not even a room - it was his workshop, but the woman did not seem to care about the appearance of the room at all. She sat down in a corner and the dim light of the bulb fell on her face.

      The sun reflecting through the water drops after summer rain is beautiful. A painting painstakingly drawn from blood, tears and passion is beautiful. Love Is beautiful. To say that she was beautiful would be an understatement.

 - " Can I ask you for a favour? ", she broke the silence in the room.

 - " Yes, definitely. "

 - " Can you draw me some portraits? I know it's too much to ask for our first meeting... "

 -" Yours? ", the artist asked.

 - " No no. One -- tw- three men. "

      The artist was quite surprised at this. " Why would such a gorgeous woman not ask me to make her portrait, but some men...? " -- but he never asked anything about it. He drew the portraits just as she described their figures. She certified his portraits --

  " You are a great artist " and smiled. However, her smile --- there was something different in that smile, he felt. After all, he had an artist's eye. 

    The artist, already tired.... 

        The artist woke up to the glowing sun next morning. 

 " Oh wait!! I fell asleep? When? How? Did I wish goodbye to that woman? "... 

  Before he could go on, his phone rang. It was a call from the police station asking him to collect some legal papers that he had asked for. He got out of bed, got ready and went to the police station. 

    On reaching the station, he was flustered. To his terror, he found the three portraits drawn by him the previous night on the top of the MOST WANTED  LIST and he whispered to himself in fear ---

  " I wonder why she wore a scarf in summer. "



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