Why I'll Never Use PPT-Part II
Why I'll Never Use PPT-Part II
I am seriously confused. I thought all the horror was beside me. That Powerpoint’s last scare was the end of it. How come I am always wrong? Here is the story-
Football has never been my strong suit, like ever. Before every match, I snuck the ball away and hold it in my hands for a few seconds. If it is too hard, oh boy- I am NOT jumping in front of it. I seriously don’t think a goal in our favor is worth breaking my skull, or any other bones for that matter. Why am I talking about this anyway?
I was walking home from the Soccer Turf we have at a walking distance. I had spent 100 rupees and an hour running after the ball and acting as a human shield. Aah, do my thighs hurt!
It was a calm evening. The ones where your mother calls you aside to see the sunset get angry when you say you are watching T.V and she comes and turns the T.V off, leaving you with no other choice but to watch the stupid sunset. Good times! I was walking towards my flat, a blue one in a cluster of blue, gray, and brown. The security waved at me when I went inside. I waved back.
I know what you are thinking “Sravan, you promised horror, I didn’t come here for falsely advertised stories (angry face)!” And to that I reply “hold your equestrians, guys, I am getting there. Sheesh !” Where was I- Oh yes!
I pressed the call button on the lift in my flat. It opened up, as usual. It began playing that annoying lift music, as usual. I pressed the button to my floor and stood there, humming to the terrible music. That’s when things went downhill.
The music suddenly stopped (I sighed with relief) and then suddenly started again, just this time, it was completely different music. “Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.” I almost had a stroke and a cardiac arrest at once. The same music, the same tone, the same sinister/ happy voice that sang it. The same thing that made my PowerPoint program go wild and glitch. I looked at the screens displaying the floor number and felt my pulse quicken. The screen was empty- both of them.
The music continued as the screens lit up again, this time showing not numbers, but a face ( Yes, I know lift screens don’t have enough pixels to show a face, but I wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk science). The face of a girl. Her mouth movements mirrored the song. “ Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumbling after” she squealed in delight. The music stopped. Her eyes stared at me. “Hello”, the same sound, the same- you get it. This time I did not faint (hurray for me !). Instead, I shakily replied, “Hello.”
“Are you him ?” she asked.
“Him who ?” I replied.
“ You are not him,” she said, a tinge of sadness in her voice. “You are not him…. then who are you ?”
“I’m me (don’t insult me, it’s a miracle I replied at all).”
She giggled. “You are most definitely not him. He was big and muscular, tall and dark.” Her tone is a bit less cheerful as she says “ He took me away that day. I will get him, one day.”
I was still for a moment, weighing its implications. All this while, this stupid ghost was mistaking me for some big evil dude. I was neither big, tall, muscular nor evil. Why, I thought, why me?
“I suppose I have no purpose with you.” She thought out loud. “Bye,” her cheerful voice said. A blinding flash of later, I found myself on my floor. I wouldn’t use the lift for weeks after that. My mom was very happy, thinking I was trying to reduce my weight. No mom, I’m trying to increase my lifespan.
The second breakthrough came when I was sitting with my friend (whose name I won't reveal for security purposes). It was three days after the incident. I was still brooding over it when he noticed and asked.
“Just an incident in the lift,” I said.
“What, haunted lift with a girl seeking revenge on a dark-big man ?” he laughed but stopped when he saw my face. “ You saw her too ?” he asked, in a voice that was a mixture and disbelief and the slightest sign of ecstasy. “She-”, “Anne” he cut me off. “Her name, its Anne,” he explained.
I sat back in my chair, weighing my options. Then I turned to him, “come to my house,” I said. “ We’ve got a lot to talk about.”