Bessie writhed and rolled in sleep. Her dream had taken a dead end. A dead end that just won’t end, even as she vehemently tried to shove it away. She was tired of fighting with her subconscious for so long. She stilled, agonized however, as she waited for the dream to end on its own. It was the very same dream. Action to action, visual to visual.
Bessie was no superstitious old woman. Not once in her life had she believed in ghosts. But lately, she had started questioning her own beliefs. For one, why would she ever see the same dream every time she slept — the dream that had no end, no matter how hard she tried to get out of it? It would never be until just at dawn when she would be able to open her eyes and breath some fresh air. Also, her dream never really made any sense to her. She would see a well, and before she could even know it, she would be inside the well — miraculously alive (and asleep). But the strangest part of the dream was this man, the man that would stand in front of her for the rest of her dream— smiling. With the bushy eyebrows, eyelids that looked like a lizard’s, and a cold stare that would give away absolutely nothing — he would observe her silently. And then after a few hours or perhaps some years as it seemed to Bessie, she would wake up scared but quitely.
Bessie woke up then— alert and confused. Unsurprisingly, it was just after dawn. She heaved a sigh of relief. She lived at a farm in the outskirts of Mussoorie. The place being an escape for her from the dark past of an abusive husband and a child that was lost to an ill fated miscarriage. It had been more than thirty years since that day, when she had found her release and ran away from the abattoir of a house she had married into.
Her years passed in isolation. She had formed a bubble around her being that nobody was allowed to step into. Her grief for the lost child never seemed to end. She always wondered if she could ever get over her disastrous marriage and the poor dead child.
It had been another monotonous day for her. Tired as she was, she was afraid to fall asleep in case the nightmare might turn up again. It had just been late afternoon when somebody knocked at the door. How odd, she wondered. Nobody ever came to visit her — not even the neighbors. She had made it very clear that visitors were not welcome.
The farm was pretty big. The owner being a doctor who lived outside of the country, he wanted a person who would look after his property. Bessie, the woman who was in a pathetic state — beaten blue and black by her husband, was helped by the kind doctor as soon as he discovered her. She also needed a place to live at and a job to feed herself, which the doctor generously provided her with.
Bessie walked towards the door thoroughly distracted wondering who the person behind the door might be. As she unlocked the door, fear washed over as she remembered the dream. The man, the man!
The door opened under her shaking fingers. There he stood, smirking. He was here.
He had her hands tied behind her back. Old as he was — he was still stronger, much stronger than her. She screamed and struggled under his grip around her. His face remained tranquil and devoid of any emotion. He carried her out of the van and kicked the door close.
The place that she was at, looked oddly familiar. Horrified, she realized it was the same place she had been seeing in her dreams all these days. The well stood less than ten meters away from where they were.
Before she knew it, her voice spasmed into a blood curling scream.
“Why did you come back again? Why’d you did this to me?” She yelled.
“You got me crazy, bitch! I have been trying to find you for more than thirty god damn years! You stinking liar! How could you leave? Where is my son, my child? Where is he?” Her husband yelled back.
“It was not your child!” She screamed. “You are a monster! You can’t ever father a child!”
He froze mid stride.
“What did you just say?” He asked, horrified. “It was…” his legs gave away and he fell along with Bessie.
“Yes, the child died.” Bessie said through a lump in her throat.
Sobbing uncontrollably, he sat on the ground, agonized and torn. Suddenly his head flashed up. “I knew you were a useless piece of filth. You could never be a good wife — but my child… how could you kill him?”
Standing, he violently fisted her hair and pulled her towards the well.
“You killed my son.” He whispered menacingly. “Now you must die.”
Then he swiftly threw her into the well.
END OF PART 1 OF 2