The Hand Gloves

The moon had been shining in the black pitched darkness of the lonely night. Rustling some leaves beneath the feet, he was walking down the alley, in a hurry.

His hands were trembling, wrapped up in those white clinical gloves. He was a man on a mission – a mission to end his past.

He stumbled upon a big stone that barred his way, but avoiding tripping himself on the road, he stood steady and started walking again.

’12 am.’ He read his digital watch. ‘Perfect,’ he mumbled.

Leaving behind the weary streets of the dark, he stepped inside his house – unlatching the bolt, slowly.

‘Moni must be asleep by now’ – he thought.

He sprinted upstairs, tip-toed, and peeped inside his bedroom to find his wife, Moni, embracing the slumber.

‘Bingo!’ He jolted ahead, and without a second thought, strangled her. Squeezing her neck as tight as he could, he ignored her legs swinging desperately for a rescue and stopped only when she left her breath.

He drifted and packed her up in a big jute bag, buried her somewhere deep in his estate, and turned around to go home, sighing loudly.

‘My prey down’ – he smiled, slyly.

----

“So, how was the night?” Rahul asked Nihal while sipping the steamy coffee of the morning.

“She’s been missing after I went out for some work, that bitch,” Nihal smirked.

“Where did you go?” asked Rahul, curiosity ringing his mind.

“For some work at Kumar’s,” answered Nihal, lost in his thoughts.

“Kumar? Psycho Kumar?” Rahul asked with his jaw dropped down.

“Nay, he isn’t a psycho, honestly. Just that his ways of experimenting are weird.”

“Hmm, so why did you go there?”

“He had called me yesterday night, to show one of his ‘inventions’, as I am the only one to listen to him patiently,”

“. . . so what did he show?”

“A pair of hand gloves.” Nihal coughed a little.

“Easy champ. By the way, hand gloves? What’s with that now?”

“He said that those white rubber hand gloves tempted the desires in a person.”

“Desires? Of what?”

“Murder . . .”

“What?”

“Yes, he said that . . . and he tried to scare me more with some chill-coated stories of him, to which I never give an ear to.” He paused. “But this time, I wanted to check it myself, so I brought the gloves with me.” He winked.

“Woah! Where are they? I want to see, pretty please!”

“Here,” Nihal pulled out the pair of gloves from his handbag, “These are those lies of him.”

“Cool . . .” Rahul drooled over those gloves, checking something flipping it upside down a number of times.

“But . . . I am still wondering where that girl went, Moni!” Nihal’s eyes shot a glare.

“Chill dude, she shall be back, don’t worry.”

The session ended there, with Nihal and Rahul departing for their houses.

----

‘Shit! I left the gloves with Rahul!’ mumbled Nihal back at home, husking.

Feeling raged for a moment, he immediately calmed down, sitting on the bed.

‘Though leave it, I have more works to do.’ He swung himself onto the bed, meeting the dread awaited sleep.

***

He was walking on the dim-lighted road. Sensing that the traffic was quite lesser than the evening, he increased his pace of walking.

Stepping ahead a little faster, he tightened the hand gloves that he was wearing.

Bloodshot in his eyes – red to the core – he straightened his spectacles, jerking his nose a little.

He was nearing his target; the target he had been waiting to meet since long.

The boldness of the bats that flew over his head signified the intensity of the black shaded streets that lay silent; as if for his arrival.

He looked sideways, yet again, to confirm that he was alone there.

Pulling out the key from his Denim, he sturdily unlocked the door. Walking slowly upstairs, he saw Rory – his black cat – glaring at him with those green hued eyes. He stood startled for a moment, but sensing that she had recognised him, he smiled and climbed the stairs confidently.

His smile grew wider when he saw his brother, Rohan’s, room door wide open.

He sighed in relief and started walking; and reached near Rohan’s bed in a jiffy.

Rohan tossed on the bed for a second and started snoring again.

‘Perfect’ – he thought.

Moving Rohan a little towards his side, he quickly grabbed hold of Rohan’s neck. Grappling his shoulders to stop Rohan from moving, he pushed a handkerchief into Rohan’s mouth to lower the voice his intensified – terrified – yells.

Watching the blood oozing out of Rohan’s nose, and his body showing no movement; he pulled back his hands and rubbed the gloves over each other.

‘Strangled, finally’ – he smirked.

----

“I need to meet Rohan, like right now!” yelled Nihal – over the call.

“Umm . . . Nihal . . .” Soham – Rohan’s brother – hummed.

“What, Soham?”

“Rohan was killed yesterday . . .”

“What? How? When?” Soham could easily figure out the puzzled face of Nihal. 

“ Yesterday night.” He paused. “Somebody strangled him to death. No evidence is there . . . but . . .”

“But what?”

“A pair of hand gloves were seen near the stairs, today morning.”

“That solves the mystery!” Nihal yelled, startled.

“What do you mean?”

“I am coming there!”

“. . . by the way, don’t tell the police about it!”

***

The scenario wasn’t so pleasant. The women of the house were beating their chest crying loud. The police Inspector was taking some notes from Soham. After the required information had been exchanged, Soham came towards Nihal the next moment.

“Tell me now.” Soham insisted.

Nihal narrated the whole story, as quick as he could.

After done with the unfortunate musing, Nihal asked Soham where the gloves were.

“Those are upstairs, in the drawer,” said Soham.

“Will grab it soon then.” Nihal sprinted upstairs.

But, the destiny didn’t want to see the happy ending of the series, maybe. It asked for more.

“The gloves are missing!” Nihal yelled from the room itself.

“Maybe I kept it somewhere else; I would contact you as soon as I find them.” Soham assured.

----

Sweating profusely, Nihal was feeling uneasy while sleeping. He was moving all around the bed, here and there, to relax himself.

‘Only if I couldn’t have robbed those gloves; it was entirely my mistake’ – he kept shuffling on the bed.

Closing his eyes as strong as he could, he was chanting the Almighty every now and then.

But, something was wrong. He suddenly heard a jolt over his shoulders, determined to defeat his efforts, and telling him that he wasn’t alone.

He quickly opened his eyes to see what was that beastly force which was squeezing his neck.

‘Soham!’ – He tried to yell.

But, Soham wasn’t in a mood to listen. He was mumbling something beneath his breath, it seemed.

With all the efforts intact, Nihal tried to listen what he was saying.

‘He must die. He knows the secret. He knows my secret. He must . . . die.’

Nihal was taken aback. He was now losing his consciousness. He tried to scream, but it all went in vain.

Giving up every try of his, he lastly glanced at the demonic bloodshot eyes that Soham wore, and then breathing his last, he eyed Soham's hands, which bore – the hand gloves.

THE END   

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- ©Aniruddha B.Pathak