Ouroboros

"Is someone there!? HELP!!" Hearing a girl's scream from the above floor, I ran upstairs only to find an already huge group surrounded in front of the cornermost room of the floor. It was a chilling December night, and I was standing on the top floor of Euphoria Apartment, Dehradun. The fear and perplexity in people's eyes were making the place an eerie place to stand. To come even close to the door, I had to surpass the group standing there first, which was probably surrounding the room's window. As I stepped closer to the crowd, I sensed my heart running faster than I had ever witnessed. Brushing against restless and screaming bodies, I tried taking a look at the stained glass window, while a few men were breaking the door's lock a few steps ahead. It was then that I regretted my decision and understood that this night was going to be a long and tough one.

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"Kishore open your eyes dear! See what I have brought for you, open your eyes kiddo", Pallavi tried everything in her verbal reach to wake her 8-year-old kid up.

"Mom it's my birthday, let me sleep.", a sleep-struck Kishore said.

"But once you see your gift, you won't regret opening your eyes. C'mon, after seeing this, if you wish, you can sleep as much as you want.", completing her sentence, Pallavi pulled Kishore's hands affectionately towards her, after failing in this task verbally.

As Kishore got up and rubbed his eyes, Pallavi sensed something strange in him. His eyes were red, and she felt she had to use extra effort to pull Kishore out of bed as if he was weighing much heavier than he normally would! While Pallavi was lost in her thoughts, he stared at the Hotwheels set which Pallavi held in her hands. In a split second, he threw his hands angrily at the set, thrusting it many meters away.

"I don't want this Mom", Kishore said in a strange voice.

"Fine but this is not the right way na? Okay, tell me, then what do you want… Kishore?" Pallavi asked, feeling a blend of emotions whirling inside her, from anger to fear.

"I want darkness! I want toys that have powers, that can harm and kill people, and I have seen and played with them. But you all cannot gift me that. Because you both, are not my parents. I am the child, of Satan!!"

Pallavi gained control over her fear and slapped hard across Kishore's face, reverberating the room in echoes. As she did this, fear and horror resurfaced on her body, and with trembling lips, awestruck eyes, and tears rolling down her cheeks, she left the room.

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The men broke through the door soon and paused, staring at the body hanging from the fan, the body of a young teenager whom I had seen a few times in the apartment before. As they dismounted the body, I took a brief look at the boy, he was in a vintage cream jacket soaked in dust and black jeans torn from the knee. It appeared as if he hadn't changed his clothing for long. He was probably a newcomer in Euphoria hardly seen by anyone before, as nobody could identify him by name. Shilpa, probably the girl who screamed and who was the only doctor in the apartment, checked the boy's nerves and pulled back her hands in horror. His body was still, just like the air outside. While few men called the ambulance with minimal chances of survival, others tried to search through his body for something that would narrate the reason for this step at such a tender age. His jeans pocket revealed a small piece of note which had no text but a mystical sketch made on it:

There was only one question on everyone's mind, what this symbol meant. It appeared to me as if I was living in some Ancient Aliens show on History TV or probably an excerpt from Dan Brown's novel. But neither of them was true. If I wished, I could pinch myself and test the grave reality lying jaw open in front. No suicide case anywhere close to this was ever covered nationally or internationally over the past few decades. Hence one could infer from this that very soon, this would become a media spectacle, after which knowing 'the truth' would become direly tough.

After standing there perplexed for a couple of minutes, something hit me suddenly. I took out my phone to search for what I thought the image was. If I was right, I had seen this image around twenty years back, when I started my job as an aspiring screenwriter. Not sure about the spelling, I misspelled over the search bar, 'Osboros'. The results came, suggesting the correct spelling, and clicking on which an image came in front of me. It was an exact replica of the image drawn by the kid on his note. Yes, it was the Ouroboros!

"I know this drawing. It is an ancient symbol of a dragon devouring its own tail, depicting the eternal cycle of destruction and rebirth.", I said almost instantly as I read the search results on my phone.

"Who are you, never seen you before in this apartment? And how you googled a drawing?", someone from the crowd asked.

To be honest, the latter part was the last question I was expecting when there were a dozen other questions left unanswered. But I helped that man for the sake of the former part of the question, as it somehow pointed towards my possible role in all this.

"I am Vikram, a screenwriter working remotely for TheatreTV18. I have joined this apartment only a week ago. This symbol was part of a scene in the 2002 movie Darkness, which was later removed from the movie. I had read about the scene in an article a year later or so." More than the fact that he was questioning my role in all this, I got nervous sensing that everyone was waiting for something more to be said.

"Fine. But what does it mean here?", the same man questioned.

"You only asked me to introduce. Of course, it meant nothing here when there are a lot of other things to do", I said agitatedly, presuming that his assumption about me was still negative.

"No, I mean the drawing in his pocket", the man said innocently unlike his first question, and I could sense fear in his eyes.

"Oh, that. I am sorry, I really don't know."

Sometimes, saying that you don't know from the outside is an apparel that lets you search for answers from the inside, in utmost secrecy, by tuning down everything else. But probably such a quest was not destined that day. As a man from the crowd opened his wallet and announced his identity, I heard police sirens and the shades of red and blue glowing inside the room through the window. The siren made it hard to hear what he said, but I think I heard it quite right.

"Kishore Saxena."

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"I don't know what stuff he is consuming these days. Because of his actions, I have started hallucinating things. While waking him up, I felt he was much heavier than before. I am afraid of what future he has, what should we do, should we call a priest, or should we change his school maybe it's the effect of his friend circle Manan I am really scared Manan…" Pallavi broke down in between her sentence, probably feeling the weakest during her lifetime. Her body was trembling, and Kishore's birthday was the last day she wanted this discussion to take place, after following his eerie drawings, quotes from about a year; drawings of mystical and creepy creatures, and quotes being the darkest verses of the bible.

Manan was also horrified to the same extent, although he was not expressing that much, seeing Pallavi utterly depressed. He remembered an instance from a year ago when he entered Kishore's room and read a verse on his floor, written with black chalk.

But I will warn you whom to fear: fear him who, after he has killed, has authority to cast into hell.

(Luke 12:5)

Coming back to his senses he began consoling Pallavi, "Calm down Pallavi, I am there na, why you are worrying? Things will settle down as if they never occurred. No need to call a priest. We are sending him to one of the best boarding schools, Dehradun's Wellstock International. What we can't teach him, they will", Manan said, grinding his teeth in anger and consoling Pallavi.

Pallavi held her tears, and looked up into Manan's eyes, as if requesting him not to commit the last mistake they could, as a parent.

"No Manan please don't do it. You know once he is sent, we won't be able to see him for a year at least. Who knows what he will do being away from us?", Pallavi requested him for one last time.

"Don't worry Pallavi, their discipline is much more stringent than you think. After all, we have seen what we could do as a parent to prevent him from doing all this. You know better than me Pallavi. We are sending him at all costs, and even your blind love can't stop me from doing this today".

Pallavi knew it was not in her reach to stop Manan from sending Kishore to a boarding school, as she looked the determination in his eyes.

A few steps away, Kishore hiding behind the corridor heard all this conversation taking place. He felt his feet trembling, as he realized that now he was going to be all alone and away from his family and face the darkness dwelling inside him for a year, a darkness much stronger than his fragile will. Suddenly the doorbell rang, and Kishore ran back to his bed, crying the most bitterly he ever did.

"Pandit Ji? Pallavi did you call him?", Manan asked his wife seeing their family priest at the door.

"No, I didn't."

"Nobody called me. But you both call me a family priest, right? So, it's my responsibility to come whenever my family is in trouble. Allow me to come inside."

As Pandit Ji stepped inside, he took a round of the house along with his brass pot filled with a special liquid, which he called the Brahma Nir (God's water). If there were evil energies in the vicinity, the water would turn red, else it would remain blue. After taking the round, Pandit Ji came back and sat in the dining hall.

"Though I sensed something was wrong here, but I think I was wrong. Everything is fine. Probably it's the effect of the Brahma Nir, it has purified your house. It remained blue throughout, so nothing to worry about. Sorry I troubled you in the morning, but it was only my concern for your family that brought me here, so please don't take me wrong.", Pandit Ji said innocently being about to leave.

"Pandit Ji we are sending our son Kishore to Dehradun's boarding school, and today is his birthday also. Please give him your blessings before he begins his new journey.", Pallavi said concerned about the morning's incident.

"Sure, please call your kid."

Pallavi called out Kishore and Kishore was there in a while, a bit reluctantly though.

Pallavi and Manan were happy that everything was fine in their home, only until they saw Pandit Ji. Pandit Ji was staring at Kishore, shaking with fear as if in disbelief. His mouth went wide open and sweat trickled down his forehead. His heartbeat increased, and now Pallavi and Manan could hear him gasping for breath.

Pallavi looked towards Manan as if asking him what was going on, and then asked the priest, "What happened Pandit Ji?". She felt her tongue slip as she said this.

The priest stood up and pointed towards the brass pot kept on the table. The liquid had turned dark red. He tried saying something, but his violent gasps for breath made his words choke. As he reached the door, he managed to control his breath and said in one go, "Your kid is a monster… Asur… Daitya… Rakshas… and no sacred energies can bind him! He is the incarnation of Satan!", saying this, he ran outside the house, leaving the brass pot inside. Accidentally, the pot fell down, spilling the red liquid all across the dining hall's floor. Pallavi was left in tears seeing all this. Manan also felt so weak that he couldn't console Pallavi. The liquid kept spilling across the entire floor, painting it deep red.

Kishore looked down at the red Brahma Nir, and the figure which he saw was staring at him from within, was surely not his.

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As the police stormed into the building, 6-7 OB vans from different media houses also encircled around the apartment. It was probably Satyajit, the young news editor living in the room opposite mine, who had informed his channel of the cover-up. The silence that was so intense an hour ago, was nowhere to be found. We could hear the noises coming from the apartment's ground, of anchors getting live, of police sirens from incoming jeeps, and of clashes between police and media. Everything was a complete mess, and there was hardly an indication of it getting solved any sooner.

In around an hour, the police scrambled through the entire room, confiscating everything that could prove to be substantial evidence. Although a few strange drawings, ancient scriptures, masks, and a metallic hand cover along with electronics were already seized, one thing except these was intriguing the head constable from long, and it was visible from his frowning expression.

"Sahab, we have confiscated all the evidence, along with the note. The FSL team has also arrived, which will take the body for forensic analysis. We will be in constant touch with them from now on, regarding this. Should we move now?", one of the constables asked.

"Yes, but one thing is looking very strange in this, don't you see?", the head constable questioned, probably to check how much trained the other constables were. After a blunt pause, he knew they had much more time left in training. So, he added further, "The room is very dusty, as if he had not used it or allowed anyone inside for long. Still, at the other corner, there is a large clean space, as if something was kept there for these many days, and then removed, just before this suicide was committed. I am sure that if you lift and displace the Almirah kept on the other corner, you will find no such clean space, as you would normally find beneath one. Nothing more reasonable seems to fit that large clean space, other than this Almirah. This means that the Almirah was kept on one corner, and was displaced in the other corner just before this suicide.", as the head constable finished his sentence, the constables knew what had to be done. The almirah was removed with gloved hands and placed on a side, revealing a large canvas behind!

One of the constables slowly motioned towards the canvas, keeping caution over not deteriorating anything that could later come up as evidence. As he flipped through the pages, his hands went numb. For the following 17 pages, each page had a face drawn on it, with a large cross all across it. And if we were not wrong, the cross was made with blood.

______________________________________________________________________________

It was 5th July 2015.

A year since Kishore was enrolled in Wellstock International, Dehradun, the world's third-best boarding school.

The clock had just struck 6 PM, and while the campus outside was crackling with heavy rainfall, Dr. Ashvamedha Singh, Director of Wellstock, was having a cup of tea in his cabin.

Before joining here as Director, Dr. Ashvamedha had served some of the top institutions of the world as a financial analyst, accounting analyst, equity research analyst, and even CFO. These institutions included three of the Big Four accounting firms of the world and seven of the top ten. He also held a doctorate degree in Financial Economics from the University of Cambridge. Presently, he was writing a research paper on modification of Hillier's model, which in his words, if implemented, could triple a country's economy.

He was lost in his research when the door cracked open slowly. He was surprised, because normally after 5 PM, nobody entered his cabin except the cook, who left by 5.30.

"Who is there, come inside.", he said in his usual authoritative tone.

He expected a gentle answer, but all he received was a pause of a dozen seconds. And it was then that he heard a song from the other side:

In the shadows, oh so dark,

Creeping whispers, leave your mark.

Twinkle, twinkle, terror's near,

Close your eyes, and succumb to fear.

 Dr. Ashvamedha got restless and stood up from his seat. "How dare you play a prank on me? You may want to earn claps among your friends by doing this, but I also have friends who will clap even better when I teach you a lesson", he said in sarcasm and strolled towards the door.

The view outside his door was of a large veranda that connected his cabin to multiple other important floors and buildings. The veranda was usually lit up with outside light, but that day the sky was so dark that there was hardly a trace of light outside. As Dr. Ashvamedha opened his door, he found no one but pitch darkness.

"Oh, these idiots. They forget to turn on the bulb after they leave.", he said cursing the servants, but probably it was more to deceive himself that he had someone familiar with him in this horrifying silence, himself. He switched on the bulb and the veranda lit up in dim yellow. Nobody was there on the veranda except him. No other noise except the crackling of rain. Dr. Ashvamedha angrily strolled towards his room in frustration, which was apparently shrouding the fear deep within. The last possibility sprouting in his head that was rationalizing all these events was that the prankster would have secretly crept into his cabin, while the veranda was dark. As he reached the door, he was struck by surprise. 

"I had left the door open, and the door closer is not working for a week. How did it close then? Maybe it's this bastard who thinks he is a prankster", grinding his teeth, he kicked open the door, flinging it towards the wall with a 'smack', a smack that broke two things. One, the eerie silence of that floor which creepily occupied any space between two subsequent noises, and other, his confidence that this was a prank. There was no one in the room except him. He moved carefully inside and closed the door, horrified by the strange emptiness of the veranda. After taking a sharp look at all the possible places of hiding, he came and sat back in his seat, breathing heavily.

"Maybe I was imagining things".

As soon as Dr. Ashvamedha completed the sentence, he felt someone strangling him from behind. His head jerked backward, and the only thing he could see now was the ceiling of his cabin. He started throwing out both his legs in an attempt to escape. He placed his hands on the attacker's hand trying to loosen the hold but realised that his arms below the elbow had a metallic covering, probably to add extra leverage. Hence all his efforts went in vain. He started gasping for air and felt as if his lungs would come out soon for breath. His eyes flickered and went red, and seconds before they would be close, he saw him! A figure loomed over him from behind, his face covered by a Sanxingdui mask.

Dr. Ashvamedha tried but words couldn't come up his throat. Managing somehow, he spoke in a broken voice still gasping for breath, "Who are you and what do you want from me?"

"Whispers crawl upon your skin,

Chills run deep, macabre din.

Twinkle, twinkle, terror's cheer,

Shut your eyes, let dread draw near."

The voice scared Dr. Ashvamedha even more. It sounded gibberish and amplified as if filtered by a device to conceal its identity. And then it continued.

"Enough of good deeds Dr. Ashvamedha. Or I should say bad ones. Let me tell you the difference between them. Throughout history, the gods have cunningly woven their narrative into the fabric of human belief, a tapestry meticulously crafted by them to serve their own interests. The manipulative hands of divine beings have shaped scriptures and moral codes, subtly guiding the perceptions of mortals toward their biased version of righteousness.

In this grand illusion of virtue, the masses fail to recognize that power, the ultimate currency of influence, is inextricably linked to the puppet strings of these deities. The 'good' is merely a guise, a facade upheld by the divine architects who sculpt societal norms, all while concealing their ulterior motives behind benevolent masks. In contrast, the misunderstood 'bad,' the realm of darkness and evil, houses the unfiltered truth that has been deliberately obscured. But Satan, cast as the antagonist by those who fear the unraveling of their meticulously constructed paradigm, stands as a symbol of defiance against the oppressive order imposed by gods. The rebellion against this divine indoctrination is not an embrace of evil but rather a liberation from the chains of false morality which you humans will never understand.

Enough of words now. Time to purify yourself and ask forgiveness to your liberator, doctor".

As the figure finished speaking, Dr. Ashvamedha felt the grasp tighten, and in less than a minute, his body went still…

______________________________________________________________________________

It was 4 AM.

I was sitting inside the Clement Town police station, Dehradun for two hours.

I was the only one in the apartment whom they had brought to the police station, and I didn't know the reason. It was probably because of some relation with the canvas, as they came for me after the canvas was loaded into their jeeps. In front of me was DSP Ashok Negi, who was probably the highest-ranked officer in the station.

"Has the FSL team collected the body?" DSP asked the head constable.

"Yes sir. They have started working on the body and will confirm their findings very soon. Also, the Cyber Crime Unit is working on the suicide note as instructed by you to reveal anything unnoticed. The Sketch and Facial Recognition unit has also taken up their task, they are matching every drawing on the canvas with Dehradun's local database, or using interstate protocols if needed."

"Fine, let's interrogate the family then. Have they connected?"

"Yes sir, they are here virtually."

After being consoled and interrogated by DSP, Pallavi Saxena, mother of Kishore began speaking up.

"We have not seen Kishore for the last nine years, after he left home. In vacations he always had an excuse till two years, post which he said one day that he did not want to talk to us ever, and disconnected the call. We tried meeting him physically, but the Wellstock administration did not allow parents to come during working days, and Kishore was never on the premises during vacations. Kishore had become a very abnormal kid since he was seven. His drawing books which usually contained nature, God, and cartoon drawings, started having drawings of creepy mythological creatures. His rough books which earlier contained lines from his poem books, started containing dark verses of the Bible. Toys that gave him pleasure till he was seven, suddenly meant nothing to him. He said he wanted toys that could harm people. He often said that we were not his parents and that he was the child of Satan. And it just happened in the blink of an eye. We couldn't figure out what happened between his 7th and 8th birthday, which made him so mystical. That's all I know inspector." Pallavi said, failing to control the emotional outburst that was waiting for her as she stopped.

"I have something to add inspector", Kishore's father said and continued.

"I am Manan, and I am not the biological father of Kishore. Kishore was the son of Pallavi's first husband, who died in the infamous 2010 Mangalore plane crash. There is something that I have been hiding from Pallavi for this long, partly due to my guilt and partly fearing the response I would get from her. I always envied Kishore because I could not conceive a child with Pallavi. Kishore somewhere knew about my hatred while growing up, and consequentially never respected me. He only respected what Pallavi would say. It was July 2013, three months before Manan's 8th birthday. He was etching something on my room's wall, and I was frustrated that day because of office pressure. I scolded him loudly for doing so, but he refused to stop. The verbal spat increased gradually, at the end of which he said that since I was not his real father, he would not listen to me. As a father, I felt something cracking beneath me, which was possibly my ego, which I had controlled for years. I got up from my chair and thrashed him very hard. I could only stop after 5-10 minutes, and when I did, Kishore was bleeding.

Pallavi was out that day for some shopping. Feeling guilty for what I did, I apologized to Kishore and requested him not to tell anyone. I knew it was going to be over for me once Pallavi was back. However, Kishore surprisingly did not say a word to Pallavi once she was home. Not even a word. He went numb for the next few days, remained lost in his own thoughts, and replied to us only on the fourth or fifth call. In a nutshell, he was not the usual Kishore ever since, which started worrying Pallavi and me, but for different reasons. One day, when Pallavi was not at home again, I took him to a psychological center and narrated the incident and his symptoms. What the doctor said after performing some tests on him, ghosted me for life. She revealed that Kishore had gone through acute mental trauma following that day's incident. But this was not the end. As a result of that, he developed a paranoid personality disorder, which comes under some forms of Schizophrenia. Because of this disorder, he will remain suspicious most of the time that someone out there is there to trouble him, and as common symptoms of Schizophrenia, he may have some hallucinations where he feels himself powered over everyone else. He may imagine someone who is there to help him face the world that he thought was against him. Once I followed his drawings and quotes for a year, I knew that the darkness he imagined had become a way for him to escape the reality that he thought was unsympathetic to him. Fearing that he would say all this to Pallavi one day, I decided to send him to boarding school, citing the reason that he is now out of our hands", Manan's voice broke, and he did not dare to look into Pallavi's eyes, who left the virtual frame crying.

"Mr. Manan, it's very abnormal for such a grown-up man to not understand what effects physical abuse could have on a child. Shame on you! The Dehradun Police Department will arrest you and bring you here, and any acts of non-cooperation may lead to more severe charges. We are also sending a female police constable to take care of Mrs. Pallavi", DSP Ashok Negi said in a strict voice.

One part was solved as to why Kishore turned into such an abnormal kid, but the major part was still left unanswered. Reason of suicide, Ouroboros, canvas. Everything was so much tangled with each other that it was impossible to decide on a starting point. Sleep had left me long ago, and in moments of silence, I closed my eyes and began searching for answers to questions that were lost in the chaos long ago.

Two hours later, I came to know the reason for my custody.

The Cyber Crime Unit and Sketch and Facial Recognition Unit had finished working and came forward with their reports.

First, the Sketch and Facial Recognition team came forward to brief Ashok Negi on their leads.

"Sir we have gone through each image very carefully, matching it with local and interstate databases. All the seventeen people were those, who were doing or going to do some good to their institution, city, country, or world, and then suddenly went missing. Three of them were student office bearers of Wellstock International, including the Headboy of the school, the General Secretary of the Student Affairs Council, and the President of Wellstock's CSR division. One of them was the Director of the institute Dr. Ashvamedha who had plans to boost India's economy by leaps with his research. He was replaced by the current Director Dr. Amish Nanda after going missing. Talking about others, most of them have been identified as residents of Dehradun, but three of them were from another city. One was them was India's most popular motivational speaker Mr. Yash Bindra, who had brought many people out of acute depression and mental disorders. Another was Dr. Binoba Joy, a renowned news editor of Bangla Daily, who was famous for bringing corrupt politicians and businessmen into the limelight through his sting operations. The news of his going missing resulted in nationwide protests to find the suspects involved, but nothing happened. Third one was the founder of Ace 50, the famous educational initiative to ace India's 50 most talented kids from extremely poor financial backgrounds, Mr. Abhijeet Kumar", the SFR lead completed his brief and waited for DSP to speak.

After a brief thought, Ashok Negi spoke, "Fine. Reopen the case files and search the bodies first, of all these seventeen people. Find pieces of evidence that prove Kishore was involved in their killings. The court won't entertain a case based on the drawings and claims of a 17-year-old nerd".

He finally turned towards me and continued.

"Mr. Vikram, senior screenwriter at TheatreTV18. Sorry for keeping you here for so long. I have seen some of your work, and I must say, they are beyond my appreciation. You might be thinking why I am saying this, but you will understand why I started like this when you hear what's coming next. But believe me, I am not an amateur critic!", he laughed and continued ahead, leaving me in dilemma whether it was meant in sarcasm or for real.

"Prima facie the canvas had 17 images, but when we loaded it into the jeep, one of our constables realized there was an 18th image also that followed after a blank page. It seems that Kishore accidentally flipped two pages while drawing this image. And the last image, was yours, without a cross".

I couldn't believe what I just heard, and screamed in utter surprise.

"Whaaat?!… Whyyyy?!"

"It seems that Kishore was targeting all good people in the world. Interrogation with the Wellstock administration who was here around an hour ago, also confirmed few of those faces were students of their school who went missing. A quick look at the city's database revealed that you have an NGO by the name 'Heaven of Joy' that provides food, clothes, and monetary help to the slum areas of Dehradun. You joined Euphoria a week ago, since when you came on his radar. You were his last target, Mr. Vikram, before something happened and he committed suicide. It seems we are yet to solve the last part", the DSP completed leaving me with goosebumps.

"Thank you for your appreciation sir, but if you don't mind, can I see that drawing?", I asked.

"Yes definitely, please follow me", the DSP said and I followed behind him.

After entering a room which was probably the SFR division, the team showed me the canvas again. I flipped page after page, and as I reached the blank page, my hand went cold. The image that followed, was mine, with a very fine detailing. The pose that he had drawn, was definitely not on the internet. Being an old-school introvert allergic to cameras, I had only one or two images on the internet so far, having earned a decent name in the field of screenwriting. I noticed that the collar he had drawn, was of a jacket that I purchased recently, proving that he had drawn this after seeing me in the apartment. It would not be wrong to say that he was a child prodigy who could draw people only after seeing them once or twice. What a memory!

I was lost in these thoughts when the head constable came inside.

"Sir the Cyber Crime Unit has an update to give."  

"Okay, tell them I'm coming in a while".

"Sir it is urgent. They are saying they have a decision to make. The suicide note might not only be having the sketch we are seeing!", the head constable finished the conversation, leaving the room in utter chaos.

______________________________________________________________________________

The boy stood on the stool and wore the noose around his neck. As he did this. he noticed a shadow coming over his door, the shadow of a lump figure who was approaching hastily, groaning in whispers. He knew who it was, and realizing what he could do, the boy kicked the stool and choked himself from the fan, landing in an unfortunate air of nothingness that strangled him! His body threw out involuntarily tremors, in a helpless attempt to come out from the predicament that lay ahead. He entwined his fingers back, as if stopping any mistaken attempts of his will to loosen the noose, a will which was no more fragile, unlike his childhood self. His eyes lay motionless, dreaming of an eternal sleep, and soon he felt him enter the door! The aura of utmost negativity, the personification of hell, and the man from the greatest depths of darkness. A lump figure with a burned face, Satan stood in front of him!

"Why you are doing this kid? I have dreamt of making you the strongest in the world, and you are leaving it so soon?"

"I don't need you anymore, leave", the boy said.

"I thought you were above these mortals so you could be my successor. But probably you have forgotten the taste of immortality which I have shown you years ago. You have also become pathetic in the end as every one of them".

"Immortality is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it frees you from the eternal cycle of birth and death, but on the other hand, it ties you in chains of imperishable suffering, pain, and torment. Keep your suffering to you, because I'm going to be free today."

"You think you are saving mankind by doing this? What you are doing will just be a drop to perish the inferno lying ahead. If you can't complete the task I assigned you, I will simply find someone new".

The room burst into sinister laughter.

"It may definitely be a drop, but probably you are not seeing the cosmic flood that it will bring over years, to perish down your hellfire. It's my time to laugh now, and I have made sure this will be the last laugh", the boy smiled.

"Haha, you speak too much. Now what you won't do voluntarily, my spells will make you do!" Satan groaned in anger and cast a spell to control the boy's mind.He paused for a few seconds and then smiled seeing movement in the boy.

Under the spell, the boy untwined his fingers while still squirming, and took it close to his neck.

"Yes, unclasp the rope. We will conquer the world together. Yet another defeat of virtue… Hahaha!"

The boy held the tail with one hand, and loop with another. And with full force, he pulled both his hands as distant as he could, tightening the choke to such an extent that he spilled blood from his mouth.Satan screamed for one last time, "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?"

"Good… night…. Satan!", the boy gave out a distorted laughter and passed out within seconds.

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The Cyber Crime Unit lead took his position in front of DSP Ashok Negi to explain his insights about the suicide note.

"Sir apart from the figure drawn, Kishore has used an invisible ink to write something on the suicide note. We came to know about it during optical scanning of the note, which revealed frequent differences in the paper's texture. He has written it in invisible ink probably because he wanted to earn fame, which is a rare symptom of paranoia. This invisible ink is either available in the market or can be created simply with soda and water. But the most captivating thing in all our findings is, that Kishore was a master of micrography. Micrography is a Jewish technique of calligraphy utilizing minute letters to form representational, geometric, and abstract designs. Apart from using this ancient approach, he has also used a famous algorithm of text compression, called the Lempel–Ziv–Welch algorithm to compress his note to the size of a sticky note. Combining both, he has compressed his original text by around 85%, which means that the suicide note we are seeing, might actually be much longer. However, it's not that easy. The techniques we have used so far have only detected microscopic variations in the paper, but not deciphered the actual text, which is in invisible ink. So now, we have a decision to make. We need to burn the suicide note! Invisible ink weakens the fibers in paper so the message will discolor (burn) before the rest of the paper burns. But it can lead to two possibilities. Either we will find something that we were not seeing until now, or we'll end up destroying the only evidence we have".

As the CCU lead completed his brief, I saw DSP Ashok Negi the weakest and most tense since I joined the Clement Town police station around four hours back. He leaned forward, closed his eyes, and placed both his hands on his forehead as if allowing his internal symphony of contemplation to seek answers. In that brief moment of silence, I kept thinking about what a genius Kishore had become at the age of 17, and what future he would have if he didn't end his life. After a long pause, the DSP questioned, and I could sense the despair hiding behind his words.

"Are there no other methods through which we can do this?"

"We can, but the probability that they prove a success is generally very low. And since this paper is made of very thin material, trying other methods would make the text irrecoverable if they fail", the lead answered.

"Fine, proceed then", these three words from DSP Ashok Negi's mouth had a conviction that sworded down all the despair hanging in the air for a long.

The CCU started burning the paper on a halogen bulb, which was a wise decision considering the safety of the paper. As soon as the paper started heating, the entire station went into chaos and prayers. I usually did not believe in the latter, but that day I did pray to make that one morning and one life reach their destined ends. DSP's expressions went from confident to frowning, and his fists gradually tightened in anxiety.

Moments passed, minutes passed, and nothing happened.

And then suddenly, one corner of the paper started flaming. 

We knew this was the end.

The paper burned from one corner to another corner, turning it into a useless black crap with thin orange flames running to and fro. The paper had burned completely, and the text couldn't be recovered. I saw the utter disappointment in Ashok Negi's eyes. It was larger than all of ours combined.

"Schedule the press conference at 10 AM. I will handle that", he said despairingly, as if he had prepared for this situation in his brief moments of contemplation. As a constable turned around to inform the media throng present downstairs about this, the CCU lead shouted in excitement!

"Sir they are not flames. They are letters! We have his note intact!"

The DSP came close and looked closely at the note. The flames had found a place in the microscopic LZW letters Kishore had written. He instructed the CCU team to copy down the letters and decode them before the flame died out. Within 15 minutes, the CCU team was ready with the recovered suicide note of Kishore.

The CCU lead read, "Kishore wrote the following suicide note twenty-eight minutes before his death. It reads as follows."

This world is a very cruel place. People who are privileged and taste success from childhood, life pushes them towards greater success, as if it is their birthright. People who are on the brink of a gigantic collapse, life pushes them into even greater depths of darkness. Positivity, goodness, god, and religion, are just the rhetoric of the first kind. For the second kind, there is only darkness. The more the second kind tries to level, the more the world mocks it. It punishes them for thinking to level with the first kind. To come out of the second kind, what is needed are actions. But these actions are just a concept defined in the scriptures of the privileged, which the second kind never has access to. The underprivileged hence, need a liberator to help them face the world. But whom should they seek, God is not accessible to them, and Satan has always been painted on the canvas of vice. But what is this virtue and vice? A person from the second kind stealing from the house of the first kind is considered a thief, and the first kind stealing resources from the second kind for centuries, has been called a system? This entire display of virtue and vice as it has been portrayed over the years, is just a cosmic mirage faking to be true. And that is why, I went in the refuge of the most powerful and the most feared, the Liberator, Satan. I killed those 17 people to be convinced that there is no God in this realm and that the concept of virtue is utterly brittle. Once I knew what good they were going to do, I found their vulnerabilities and used those to send them to the other realm. My 18th target was Vikram, the person chasing whom I had to change apartments.

As I heard the last sentence, I felt the ground slip under my feet.

'He was following me since God knows when!', I thought to myself.

I held a nearby chair and continued hearing.

Since the time I came to know he was running an NGO, he had become my next target. However, upon researching 'Heaven of Joy', I came to know about someone who convinced me that all of what I wrote above, was merely an illusion, an escape from the grave reality the weak often choose. While doing reconnaissance of the Bindal slum area to trace Vikram and his NGO's activities, I came across Sukrit, a 6-year-old patient with mental trauma who had lost both his parents. It took me some time to come out of a week-long dilemma. But once I realized that people like Vikram were there trying to relieve my past from darkness, a past which I saw in Sukrit's eyes, I decided to kill the monster within me who was provoking me to kill all those who were with righteousness. As an aftermath of my paranoid personality disorder, I developed an OCD over the years to kill all those who were spreading happiness and prosperity. But I am sorry for all the seventeen murders I committed, and if possible, forgive my father Manan also for the wrongs he has committed. As I write my last words in a seventeen-year-long life, I ask forgiveness to mankind for one last time, for deeds that deserve none. To all those who are still on the path of darkness, I urge you to find the light that is somewhere near you, shrouded in your ignorance. To all those who consider themselves underprivileged, nurture some talent and break the shackles that are just a product of your thoughts. And to all those who are fighting a monster within them restless to become sentient, end your lives if you cannot tame it. End your lives because it's not worth, being called life.

Goodnight, for one last time.

– Kishore.

No one was in a state to speak for the next couple of minutes. In this final anticlimax of the sequence of events that followed since last night, our minds were baffled. The station went absolutely blank for the first time since I joined. Probably we realised there was a message in that note for all of us, to tame and kill the monster within ourselves when it is small. It was DSP Ashok who finally broke the silence.

"Since all the things are clear now, prepare for the press conference. Just…", he continued after a brief halt, "remove the last two lines while printing the official copy of the suicide note. Complete verification of the seventeen murders and their links with Kishore so that we can close those case files. Ask the FSL team to confirm this as a case of suicide as soon as possible. File a chargesheet against Manan when he is here under Sections 75 and 76 for cruelty against a child and abetment of suicide of a child. Mr. Vikram, we'll drop you home, thank you for your time with us".

"No inspector I am fine, I will take leave now", I said and left the police station.

It was 8 AM, and the sun was shining brightly over the Clement Town cantonment. As I stepped outside, one of the constables asked me, "Everything was clear sir except one. What did that figure on the note mean?"

After briefly recollecting all the events that happened since last night, I said, "We kept thinking of it as the eternal cycle of birth and rebirth and reached no conclusions. But probably Kishore had used it in a much simpler sense, as a dragon devouring its own tail, metaphorical to him ending the monster dwelling within his own self", I said and left for Euphoria apartment.

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After spending less than a month in Dehradun for a TV special, I reached back home in Delhi on New Year's Eve. The news about the Dehradun incident had shaken the entire country, but my wife Sandhya preferred remaining away from the news since long ago. She was a music teacher and spent most of her days in rehearsals. So, she wasn't aware much about the incident. Anyway, it was a pleasure to see her again on our balcony concerned about her little plants with a cup of tea.

"Vikram, you told once you're back, we will discuss about which boarding school we should send Arnav to. He has already turned eight so let's decide now. So which school you have thought of?", she asked.

I kept looking into her eyes with a smile until I heard her snapping her fingers.

"What happened? Where you are lost?"

"Nothing Sandhya. Let's discuss this tomorrow. I feel I am a bit unwell right now".

I said this and left the balcony, leaving her perplexed. Probably I needed a shroud of silence to seek answers to questions still unasked.

*****