The Motive of the Hostess

The sky seemed dark and sinister amidst the dark clustering clouds. Dew glittered on the foliage and the strong winds heralded the arrival of a thunderstorm. The one storey cottage stood underneath the thundering clouds and amidst the dense woods encircling it.

Mrs. Anderson peeped through the peephole on the main entrance door of the cottage. She could see the trees that swung to and fro because of the wind, and the stone paved road. She had been in her late 70s, and had been in this solitary forest area alone for the past twenty years. She had white hairs, a crooked nose, small eyes and a shriveled face. Mrs. Anderson’s father had been a general of the British army. 

She moved to the living room limply shrouding herself in a shawl. She took her seat by the fireplace built around a marble mantelpiece. She started reading a novel placing some logs in the fireplace.

‘Ting tong!’

She could hear the sound of the calling bell. She quivered and sweat poured down her temple. No one had ever come to her house and she had quite forgotten the sound of her calling bell.

She supported her trembling legs and made her way towards the door with a stick in her hand.

‘Ting tong!’ the bell rang again and she skipped a heartbeat.

She could feel her heartbeat accelerating as she approached towards the door. She peeped through the peephole and could see a tall middle aged man with a thick beard. Terrified, she opened the door with a creaking sound.

“Who are you? Why did you come here?” she spoke in a stern and suspecting voice.

“I apologise for disturbing you. I just seek shelter until the storm calms,” the hoarse and menacing voice told.

“You may come inside,” Mrs. Anderson guided the man in a hesitant and shuddering voice.

“I shall never forget your favour,” the man said as he pushed his way inside the house.

Mrs. Anderson led him to the drawing room and asked him to have his seat on the sofa. She waited as he comforted himself on the sofa. Then, quietly she deserted the room and rushed towards the telephone located near the main door, gasping for breath. Sweat poured down her temple and her heartbeat accelerated as she groped for the telephone and dialed the numbers with her wobbly fingers.

She made a phone call to the police and informed them about her enigmatic visitor. As soon as her job was done, she slammed the telephone down. After a few minutes, she returned back to her guest.

“Would you like to have a cup of tea?” she asked him putting on a simpering smile.

“Of course, if that doesn’t trouble you.”

“Okay, I shall return with a cup of tea,” he said before abandoning the room. Before leaving, she glanced once at the stern eyes and the terrifying figure of her guest.

The man Akash, spent his time in the company of his companion, his smartphone. It had been an hour since his hostess had left the room.

‘Didn’t she go to bring a cup of tea,’ he thought, ‘She must have forgotten. It is common at her age.’

‘She suspected me and that’s the reason why she called the police,’ he thought as he recollected the memories of an hour back when he had hear his hostess call the police, ‘It’s true that a man may seem menacing to an old lady who lives alone. It’s not her fault,’ he murmured.

Another hour passed. The light thunderstorm had taken a sinister form. The menacing sound of the raging wind could be heard. The thunder roared terrifyingly and the lightning emitted huge sparks of light.

Akash started getting restless with every passing moment. He stood up and made his way towards the dark corridor with malfunctioning lights.

His eyes fell on a brown old telephone. He approached towards it and was startled to discover that it was not functioning.

‘Whom did the old lady call? It’s not working!’ he almost screamed.

A chill of nameless fear crept down his spine. He started getting suspicious of the true identity of his hostess. He reached out for the torch he had in his pocket and switched it on. He groped for his way through the long dark corridor with the help of his torch.

His eyes fell on a piece of meat that lay on the floor. He knelt down and examined it, but made a vain attempt to recognize what meat it was. It had a disgusting rotten smell, and he could not hold it for another moment.

Just then, a shrill and terrifying voice echoed in the dark. The bearer of the voice was singing an English song in a British accent.

He pushed his dandling legs towards the bearer of the voice until he found himself enclosed in a room.

The next moment, a sharp blade pierced into his back. Blood trickled down his back. He let out a cry of pain and turned towards the bearer of the knife. A lightning struck which delineated the features of an old lady with disheveled hair and dilated eyes. She had a sinister form and threatened to destroy Akash with her ferocity. She held the knife with her quivering hands and put on a wicked smile. The next moment, she launched an assault at his eyes with the blade she had been grasping.

She hurled the blade repeatedly into him, cutting into many pieces. The terrifying scream of Akash echoed through the woods. He was finally overwhelmed in a pool of blood as he became the old lady’s next victim.

“Ha! Ha! I have got something to eat at last after starving for the last twelve days,” the menacing figure screamed.

She returned back to the drawing room with a bowl of raw human meat and took her seat beside the fireplace.

“I have got something for you my dear,” she whispered wickedly as she threw a few pieces of meat to her carrion birds and closed the door until the arrival of the next visitor.