Wednesday, 24 July 2013

Why the Wind Screams...?

22 JULY 2013, 09:20 PM

The night was a little rough, yet enchantingly beautiful. The wind hummed and carried that infamous scream of a woman- full of pain, feeling, a haunting melody full of life. The night was yet young. The wind howled and echoed in the background. And gradually the inklings of a tale started rankling in my mind. The wind was some fearsome today. It howled with an unusual ferocity today. Although the night was still young, not a single star peeped out through the cloud.

There lived in the mountains a young rich widow who after the unfortunate and untimely death of her husband had opted for a life seclusion in an old bungalow belonging to her late husband . She had two servants-one middle aged woman who acted as housekeeper but lived in the village eight miles away. She came everyday at about six in the morning, let herself in using her personal keys to the house and promptly left at six in the evening after making the dinner. And the other was a security guard, very old and wise in a way that makes some people appear with age. Although he lived in the village he mostly spent the whole day and night in the bungalow's out house and only occasionally went to visit his grandchildren in the village home.

The bungalow was surrounded by mountains and pristine forests and the nearest civilization was the village eight miles away where the rich widow was infamous for her generosity. The young widow often found solace in long solitary walks that sometimes lasted for about half a day. As her days grew longer so did her rambles through the forest. After a particularly tiring and long walk she reached home after six and found that the maid had gone home and the food was growing cold on the dining table. Pretty soon the security guard came in to inform that he would be spending the night at his home in the village on the occasion of the birth of another one of his many grandchildren. The young widow expecting another quiet night readily agreed and bade him goodbye.

The evening gradually descended into darkness. The people of the village would later recall the utter blackness of that fateful night and the sheer lack of heavenly bodies. All that the village heard about the rich young widow was that night the wind screamed, or rather it seemed it carried a woman's screams. It is said that those were her last desperate cries for help, her calls for some much needed help.
The next day revealed the aftermath of a dark stormy night. Tress lay broken, the hounds had howled all night long and it was said that the dead walked through the streets last night. The maid as usually and punctually reached the bungalow at six a.m. and let herself in through the door with her keys. The scene which lay before her stopped her cold in her tracks. The blood ran cold in her veins. All material things which had been so adored in memory of her late husbands lay scattered around, but what her eyes seemed fixated on was the big pool of blood lying right in the centre of the room and from which were leading a pair of footprints right out the door she had just entered through. Screaming bloody murder she ran all the way back to the village and reported what she found. The men of the village formed a group and along with the sole policeman in the village set out towards the bungalow. Upon entering through the front door they found a similar scene as to what the maid had described. A search of the house revealed that no body was present whether living or dead in it. Upon closer inspection the footprints were found to be delicate and resembled that of a female. The rest of the house was found in similar disorder. With the directions of the sole policeman of the village the men inspected the surroundings of their benefactress. On finding no incriminating evidence against anyone and assuming the blood to be the widow's they concluded the investigation and put two sentries on guard. As the days passed no sign of the young widow was heard.

As the days passed into months the villagers realised that the wind through the mountains had now a haunting melody added to it, a woman's desperate screams. Soon the story became a legend, a thing of the past, a superstition. And gradually the incident was forgotten like so many things are lost into the folds of time.
And that my dear friends is why the wind screams!!!

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