Pay-Phone
It was raining hard that night. I was trudging along the sidewalks, trying to fit under the shelter on my umbrella. Mostly my thoughts accompany me to my way back, and I was happy to finally reach the student-house.
In my hurry to get into the house, I didn’t notice the black car parked across the road. I realized something was wrong when I sensed someone was calibrating my movement from inside the car. The windshields were drawn, inside it was dark and formed a thick haze of vapor, and not even the street lights can penetrate.
My instincts were alarming me of a threat, but an unadulterated curiosity was edging me to take the leap across the pavement to the other side. I opened my umbrella, and took vigilant steps towards the car, ready to face the danger.
The rain was blurring my vision, and I saw a man, close to 6 feet tall, in a bizarre hooded coat, disappearing in the shadows of the alleyways. Okay, at this point, sensible people will dial, alarming the savior. But, in heightened sense anxiety, normality seems non-trivial.
Inside the car, a figure was slowing forming shape, seemed to be in distress. I opened the door, and gasped in horror, to find a man bleeding to death.
I don’t recall the chain of events later, but a strong hand grabbed me by the shoulder and shouted, “Sir, are you okay? Did you see anyone? Are you hurt?” I was drenched in the blood and salted water, while the police escorted me to home. Somehow, I managed to make that panic call from the pay-phone.
Sitting on my porch, a year later, the images of the night are still taunting me, of an obscured mysterious hooded man, who was never traced, yet I could feel his breathing on my neck, watching me always.
In the most amazing set of circumstances, a night doped with thrills and mystery, my life flipped the moment I crossed the street, as I succumbed into the pursuit of curiosity.
