by Namita Singh
really don’t want to let him down. At exactly the moment I am thinking of him, a knock appears at my door and upon revelation, I see that it’s my father. I immediately sit up on the bed and switch on the bed side lamp. Solemnly, father comes and sits beside me on the bed.
“Did I disturb you?” is the first thing he asks.
“No.” I tell him, actually a little pleased that he is here to see me, even at this ungodly hour.
He nods, “How are you feeling?” he asks.
Throughout the day, he has been the only one who hasn’t been pestering me about if I am feeling sick, or constantly checking up on my sick-looking state. It isn’t in his nature to coddle, I know that. I did not even expect him to inquire about my state, even at such an important stage. But here he is, asking me how I am feeling. And nothing can be more pleasant to me at this particular moment, to know that he is worried, even apprehensive of my future. It’s quaintly welcoming.
“Alright.” I tell him, a smile developing on my face, “I don’t feel weird at all.”
He frowns and places his palm on my forehead, probably checking my temperature. I don’t even get annoyed by the gesture. Probably because it’s my father. He nods his head slowly as his hand retreats.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“What if…what if I am not maturing? It’s been almost twelve hours and I don’t feel anything bad like everybody keeps saying.”
“You are maturing.” He says simply.
I swallow and nod at his conclusion. If he says so then that’s what’s happening. My father is seldom wrong. He remains in the room for some time, both of us silent. The silence is not unwelcoming. Gradually he commands that I inform him if I start feeling sick. He pats my shoulder once, says goodnight and departs from my room. I sleep peacefully through the night.
The next morning, I feel absolutely healthy. Aakir is up and about, but sulking. The elders, except for my father, look a little worried to see my perfect state. Oh, the irony. I even hear Aakir mumbling under his breath, ‘Why do I have to be different every time?’ He thinks that it is only him who got sick. I assuage him, informing that it’s me who is being different this time. He looks dubious, but accepts my explanation. I do not know what is wrong. Aakir’s maturation, or anybody else’s maturation for that matter, hasn’t taken more than ten hours at the most. Here I am, almost seventeen hours after the development of fever and as healthy as everyone, removing my clothes, so I can parry against father. Just like yesterday, I remain pale and slightly sweating.
Aakir reveals to me that he is going to meet his partner today again. Silvia is the name he tells me. He is bailing on our mothers for that.
“I thought she sort of rejected you?” I ask, still moving about in my pyajamas. I am given a holiday, considering my state. Or rather the state I am expected to be in.
Aakir frowns, “She didn’t reject me. She just kept saying that I am a kid.” He said, looking annoyed. “She did tell me where she resides. That counts for something, neh?”
It’s much later in the evening when Aakir returns home. His mood is not any better, but he sounds optimistic for the future. His partner, Silvia, is four years elder to us and in her final year of graduation. He is happy that he has managed to get her phone number, but utterly displeased that she treats him like a kid. I tell himthat technically we are kids if compared to people four years elder to us. He simply frowns. Nothing seems bizarre to him of his situation. It has me slightly on edge. I would never want to be in this kind of a situation where I have to convince an older woman that I am worthy of her. Aakir is fine by it. He has never been the type of guy who runs after girls, even though he may ogle plenty, but he is a romantic at heart from what I know. He probably figures his story to be part of a fairytale or something.
Night rolls overand I am still feeling fit. My father enquires about my health again and this time even he seems a little confounded by the lack of any unpleasantness happening to me. Everyone is a little worried and their concern rubs off on me. My mother is no longer in a joyous mood and Terry uncle is frowning constantly. There is no party decided for the weekend, not even for Aakir, when he himself expresses that he is not in the mood. I don’t know what to make of this anymore. Not to make it a bigger deal than it already is, father gives off a subtle order to everyone to go back to sleep. Everybody complies and I sulk back into my room. I am beginning to believe this is all a gaffe. Sleep obviously doesn’t come to me because of my apprehensive state.
It starts at around midnight, approximately thirty four hours after I started to run a temperature. I am sprawled on my bed in the darkness, the constant sound of clock ticking being the only sound in my room. A slight burning sensation begins in the pit of my stomach. It is probably radiating from my liver, I conclude. I almost sigh in pleasure at the discomforting feeling. I didn’t realize how worried I had become over not getting sick. But gradually my pleasure subsides. The burning sensation becomes steadily uncomfortable by the second, making me feel as if I am having a heart burn. Maybe I am.
I lay quietly for half an hour in the discomfort. Then another sensation begins. This one seems to be emanating from my diaphragm, spreading over my chest. It is not exactly a nauseous feeling, but something that may lead to it. My chest involuntarily constricts, forcing me to sit up to ease the tenderness. I do not know how long the distress continues as I sit against the head board. I feel my breath becoming shallow, my mouth drying. The sudden footsteps outside my door jolt me. They are uncharacteristically loud and not on a pleasant end. The footsteps coincide with my fast heartbeat and before I know it I can feel my booming heart beats in my ear. My eyes turn rheumy due to the sudden hellish feeling overpowering me. The acrid taste on my tongue coincides with an unpleasant ringing of my ears. The knock on my door is incredibly loud, making me wince. Dizzily, I watch as my father comes into view. He sees me, his eyes widening. I only manage to gesture with my hand and he is beside me in an instant, picking me effortlessly and dragging me towards the adjoining bathroom. I reach the toilet just in time for me to dry heave violently.
I’ll spare the gory details but just divulge that not every time my heaves were dry. It’s after a couple of hours, I think, I am not sure of time, whenmy stomach tames down a little. I sorely regret my dinner. Almost unaware of my surrounding, I clean myself up with some help from father. I feel like a toddler again as he supports my weight and wipes off my face, as the vertigo doesn’t allow me to be thoroughly conscious.I feel dizzy and every single sound is too loud for my sensitive ears, making me grimace all the time. Soon, I am settled in the bed, a glass of water in my hand. I am sweating profusely, the sickening feeling still rumbling in my chest. My breaths are faster than usual. But I am assured that I will not need the toilet bowl again.
“My head’s spinning.” I mumble, closing my eyes.
“It’ll pass away.” My father says gently.
These are the first words spoken since he has come. Through my dreary state, I let myself feel happiness that my father is right next to me. It’s even better than having mother take care of me.
“Why do we get sick?” I moan, shaking my head to get rid of the heaviness.
“Your body is going to adapt to the changes. These are just the side effects.”
“I didn’t sign up for this.” I say.
Father chuckles quietly.
“What changes will occur?” I whisper after a while, willing myself to be distracted from the queasy feeling.
Father sighs, “It’s basically the changes in our nervous system.” He explains, “Our neurons are going to undergo spontaneous mutation. The sensory ones, so you’re more sensitive to everything around,-”
“Yes, everything sounds very loud.” I interrupt.
Father places something wet on my forehead and continues to speak, “More nerves are conforming and accommodating, so to let you provide the sensations. It’ll allow you to sense the waves with wavelengths matching that of the emotions of people.
That’s how you’ll be able to sense their auras. New cells must be forming, so they can jointly work and allow you to partly convert to an animal. The adaption is going to force some unpleasantness.”
“Technical.” I mumble.
“I know, son.” He says, dabbing my forehead with the wet cloth. I don’t even know where he got it from.
“I don’t sense anything.” I say after sometime.
“You will, once you sleep and then get up.”
“I don’t think I can sleep like this.” I moan, helplessly squirming to make the suffocation and dizziness go away.
“It’ll be okay.” Father whispers. Then it’s quiet and eventually, I do fall into a slumber, albeit in an uncomfortable one. My father stays with me the whole night. And he is still there, as wide as a clock, looking after me even at the crack of dawn. It’s after a long time my father’s actions have showed me the affection he holds for his son, for me. I reprimand myself mentally, to think that my father can love me any less. If he did, then he would not be sitting right here, right now beside me. Nothing can make me happier than that knowledge. Nothing, except for the strong, dominating power waves I feel, exuding from my father’s body.
I can feel his aura.
4.A Beautifully Wrapped Horror
“I think the centaur thing was cool.” Faith says, taking a