It was half an hour past midnight. The sky was a deep shade of velvet, placid as ice, and silent as only midnight skies can be. It was a cool, clouded night, pity that the stars lay hidden behind the wispy curtain. It had just rained, and the occasional clap of remnant thunder bore testimony to the fact. I was on my apartment terrace, in that secret place only I knew. A small nook on top of the penthouse roof, snug beneath the covers of the building, yet open to the elements. I'd sat there, untouched by the drops, yet touched by that rainfall. The wind had rushed to greet me like an old friend, and it many ways it was one. I sat there, the world forgotten and forgotten to the world. As the breeze sang its lullaby, I found fatigue spreading its tendrils all over me, and my eyes became lead-lidded. I bolted upright to fight it, and decided I'd overcome it by doing something. That's when I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to go to that parking ramp.
There was a parking ramp that I could see from my spot on the terrace. And for some reason, I could sit there for hours, transfixed by the view of car lights winding upwards and downwards. Somehow it all looked so beautiful to me. I always felt there was some story to that place, or to every parking ramp for that matter. And so this time I decided I'd finally go there.
It was quite a ways from my place, its funny how close everything can look from up above. But after fifteen minutes of walking on the empty, cool roads, I finally found myself at the entrance to the building that housed the parking lot. I tentatively made my in, checking to see if there were any guards about at this time. There were none. And so I stepped into the world of the parking ramps.
It was shrouded in pin-drop silence, and the distantly spaced florescent lights flickered and played shifting shadows on the floors, coyly assuming coherent shapes before dispersing into the obscure again. About half of the slots in the lot were filled, with cars as varied as a Maruti 800 to a Mercedes E class. I made my way up to the first floor without incident, and felt my initial excitement at being here slowly waning. It wasn't as exotic or different as I thought it'd be. Just more empty and lifeless cars, sitting mutedly in their places. That's when I heard a slight rustle to my left. I was frozen out of unexpected fear, and looked around to look at...nothing.
Was the light just laughing at me or was that a particular passing shadow?
Then there came a low, grating sound, followed by what sounded like a muffled moan. Like that of long claws scraping around solid ground. I gulped, suddenly wishing I wasn't here. I turned around to go back out, but then stopped dead in my tracks. Standing right across the exit, holding a small blunt axe, was a figure in a hood. In a second, things had gone from pleasant to boring to ominous to downright horrific. Again that scraping sound came, only closer this time. Cornered, I did what anyone could only do. I ran upwards, away from both those things, whatever they were.
I huffed and panted my way to the second level, only to get blindsided by a small figure. I tried desperately to crawl away from it, get a good look at it. That was when things really spiraled from the realm of the ordinary to the completely bizarre. Because the figure was that of my childhood friend Mehak's. We were friends since I could remember, but when I was eleven, she had suddenly disappeared, reported missing.
Apparently she had been right here. But open closer inspection I realized the full extent of the horror. It was her, that figure, but she was still eleven years old...
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