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The television blared, a re-run of Animal House; Babbu paid no heed. He stood in the center of the commons room, alert for footfalls. Yes! A blond young man eased down the steps, and settled his backpack and duffel onto the floor. Babbu hurried forward, speaking even as he extended his right hand.
“Greetings! I am Babbu Singh, assistant hostel proctor.”
“My name is Damien Hunter,” the young man said. Babbu’s dark eyes widened.
Easy-to-Read B&W Format
Fiction
Horror
The television blared, a re-run of Animal House; Babbu paid no heed. He stood in the center of the commons room, alert for footfalls. Yes! A blond young man eased down the steps, and settled his backpack and duffel onto the floor. Babbu hurried forward, speaking even as he extended his right hand.
“Greetings! I am Babbu Singh, assistant hostel proctor.”
“My name is Damien Hunter,” the young man said. Babbu’s dark eyes widened.
“You have come early,” he said. “Classes do not begin until Monday.”
“I caught good rides all the way from Pocatello,” Damien said.
“And you have caught us by surprise.”
The new speaker, a tall man with thick black hair and a heavy moustache, stood within a doorway leading to an office. Babbu genuflected toward the tall man.
“Bhagwan, this is Damien Hunter, for whom we have been waiting,” Babbu said. “Mr. Hunter, this is Bhagwan Shatrunjay, hostel proctor.”
“It is an honor,” the tall man said.
“My pleasure, Bhagwan,” Damien said.
“Please, call me Shatrunjay. Bhagwan is an honorific Babbu insists on using.”
“Honorific, indeed!” Babbu said. “Mr. Hunter, Bhagwan Shatrunjay is a holy warrior, the twenty-fifth Teerthankar of the Jain.”
“Oh,” Damien said. “You’re Hindu, then?”
“I am Hindu,” Shatrunjay said. “Babbu is Sikh.”
A rhythmic thumping sounded within the warren beyond the commons. Damien glanced toward the sound and Shatrunjay winced; Babbu ignored it.
“The Bhagwan and I now begin our fifth year as proctors,” he said. “No one else has lived here so long.” The thumping increased ten-fold and was joined by a mournful keening.
“What is that?” Damien asked.
“That is the Yaksa,” Babbu replied.
“Hush, Babbu,” Shatrunjay said. Babbu shrugged the order away.
“If he is to join us, Bhagwan,” he said, “he must know.”
“Know what?” Damien asked. Babbu spread his arms.
The hostel is an unholy space,” he said. “Haunted by the Yaksa, a night demon.”
“Bullshit,” Damien said. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
The moaning rose in volume. The television selector clicked until it stopped at The X-Files. Babbu opened his hands, empty.
“Nevertheless,” he said. “It has been so since Dillard Hall opened. Objects move; vapors float through walls and things go bump in the night.”
“The ancient manuscripts say that such spiritual manifestations will continue until the Yaksa’s physical manifestation is destroyed,” Shatrunjay said. “I cannot leave until that occurs.” The moaning stopped and laughter, high-pitched and maniacal, filled the commons.
“I’m not leaving, either,” Damien said. “I know what you two are up to.”
“Oh?” Shatrunjay said.
“You’re trying to scare up an open space for a friend.”
“We do not wish to frighten you away,” Babbu said.
“Good, because it won’t work,” Damien said. “Hostel is the only way I can afford to attend the university.” Shatrunjay shrugged.
“If that is how it must be,” he said. “Have you registered for classes yet?”
“No.”
“Come with me, then. I will give you the tour before you do.”
“What about my gear?”
“No one will touch it while we are gone.”
Damien followed Shatrunjay from the commons, with Babbu close behind. As they threaded the maze of halls, Shatrunjay pointed out one feature or another; after a time, he unlatched a metal door, motioning Damien through.
“Where’s the light switch?” Damien asked.
“Are you afraid of the dark, Mr. Hunter?” Shatrunjay replied.
Damien drew his shoulders back, marched through the door, and Shatrunjay slammed it behind him, shooting the latch home.
“Hey! Let me out!” Damien said. Pounding.
“I cannot,” Shatrunjay said. He stepped close; his forehead touched the door.
“Open up, damn it!”
“You must prepare,” Shatrunjay said.
“For what?”
“Feel about for the handle of a sword. It will glow when the Yaksa draws near.”
“This has gone far enough,” Damien said. His voice was hoarse. “Let me out.”
“Please understand,” Shatrunjay said. Hoarse, too. “I have tried to kill it, many times. It will not come to me.” Babbu moved in close and bent forward until his mouth was near the door.
“Be brave, Mr. Hunter,” he said, “Spring quarter, last year, Shiva visited me in a dream to tell us the Yaksa, hunting in a land settled by white-skinned men, only can be killed if a white hand wields the blade.”
“And that’s me?” Damien asked.
“You are not the first to try,” Shatrunjay replied. Almost a whisper.
“Shatrunhay, something is coming!”
“Take up the sword.”
“It sounds big!”
“Take up the sword!” Metal screeched upon concrete.
“Look at that!”
There was ferocious noise beyond the door, as if something gigantic wished to fill the space. The sword rang twice more upon the walls; Damien did not make another sound.
When all was still, Shatrunhay opened the door. A serpentine blade lay upon the floor, at the edge of darkness; there was no sign of Damien.
Shatrunhay gathered the sword, set it against the wall, closed the door and slid the heavy bolt into place; Babbu sighed.
“With that name,” he said. “I had such hopes.”
“As did I,” Shatrunjay said. He turned away and retraced his steps; his right hand trailed along the walls. When he spoke, his voice was thin.
“I am not certain I can continue this.”
“You must be strong, Bhagwan,” Babbu said. “Shiva requires it.” When they entered the commons, Babbu collected Damien’s gear.
“This appears to be a good back pack,” he said. “Mine is all tape and patches.”
“Our karma builds, Babbu. We have much to pay for in the next lifetime.”
“I have much to pay for in this lifetime," Babbu said. He raised the duffel to his shoulder. “If only he would have removed his leather jacket.”
The television snapped on, ran through channels, and settled upon Happy Days.
“Shall we watch, Babbu?”
“I would, Bhagwan, but I have laundry to fold and showers to scrub.” Babbu glanced at the screen. “In any case, I know how this one ends.”
Copyright 2009, K.C. Ball. All rights reserved.
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