The night of the full moon clad itself with a grey, smoky
cover, throwing a muted and dispersed glow over the dark valley that was once
inhabited by happy villagers until the fateful evening when a to-be-bride,
jilted by her lover, jumped off the cliff to a violent death casting a
permanent gloom over the village.
Ever since it was claimed that the girl, clad in her bridal
outfit, disheveled hair left open and empty eyes, was seen standing at the edge
of the same cliff on every full moon night, inhibiting travelers and natives alike
from passing by the route, even as rumours of mysterious deaths in the
valley gripped everyone with fear.
Not to be tied down by such superstitions, and with a
lustful eye on the petite belle he could claim as his trophy, the village bully
took up the bold challenge to drive down alone via the infamous route on a
full-moon night at the behest of his inebriated ruffian cronies.
The stillness of the night, the accentuated sound of the steady
roar of the two-wheeler, the swishing of the tree-branches as though in a hypnotic
dance to an imaginary haunting tune, all added to the dark atmosphere and then
all of a sudden there was a loud, screeching sound made by the abrupt halt of
the rubber tires at the sight of a white apparition.
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| Lillie McFerrin Writes |
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