It Thrives in Winter
Photo: Karan Madhok
Short Story: ‘There was a pale, mouldy smell around him, and then, Abhi smelled himself. He had a stench, too, mouldy, and woody, and old.’
They took a trip to the mountains a month ago—the trip before everything had gone downhill. Abhi had been very excited, and his father had said he could take as many toys as he wanted to. It was rare for his father to be in such a good mood; he had become a man short of words ever since Abhi’s mother had passed away a year ago.
The road up to Pint was covered in snow with beautiful green trees sheathed in small white cotton sheets. Except for the grey and brown of the roads, all one could see was the white, over speckles of green on the trees.
It was the first time Abhi had seen so much snow. Fascinated, he stuck his nose flat against the window screen to take a better look outside. There was not a soul on these roads for many kilometres.
As his father had a few meetings to attend earlier in the daytime, they had left later in the afternoon than they would’ve preferred. Now, Abhi’s father’s phone blinked; there was only a cross where the network bars should have been. He clicked on the car stereo to put on an FM channel, but all they could hear was static.
The sun had set. It was beginning to get dark.
“No signal here Abhi. There must be some music on my phone. See if you want to play that.”
Abhi scrolled through the list of apps and opened the one with a picture of a musical note.
“There is only one song here!” Abhi sulked.
“Oh, right, I had to format my phone. Sorry, play it, if you like.”
Abhi frowned, but played the instrumental song. It sounded like one of the old Hindi film tunes his father kept listening to. The tune was nice to hear for a couple of times, but soon, the repetition only began to sound eerie on loop.
They had already driven for a few hours and their destination was still another hour and a half’s drive ahead. Soon, it got close to pitch black outside. The trees, which had looked so pretty in green and white, were now a mass of black looming figures on top of their heads. The only light that was coming was from the car’s light beams.
Abhi’s heart began to race. He wondered what would happen if their car were to stop working here. Soon, there were no other cars on the road, and no houses in sight where they could stop to seek help. Abhi was unwilling to move even an inch, even to risk the chance of toppling the balance of the car. In the back of his head, he knew that it didn’t make any sense. But fear knew no logic. Shadows engulfed them at every twist and turn.
Abhi willed himself not to look at the steep mountain below. They were winding up a narrow path, which kept getting narrower and narrower.
And then they reached it. The obstacle.
His father stopped the car, but didn’t turn off the engine, because he needed light to see what was ahead. There was a huge tree on the road blocking the pathway . His father opened the door on his side.
“Papa, don’t go,” Abhi pleaded, stretching his hands out.
“Wait here beta, there is that tree. We can’t go ahead. I am just going to see if I can somehow move it.”
His father got out of the car, and Abhi couldn’t help but follow him out.
“Abhi… I don’t think we can go any further.”
The trees, which had looked so pretty in green and white, were now a mass of black looming figures on top of their heads. The only light that was coming was from the car’s light beams.
“Papa..!”
He sighed, “I know, but look, that tree is very heavy, I will not be able to lift it up. Look, look there. Do you see there ahead? I think there’s a lodge out there.” His father pointed at a brown building ahead, “Let’s see if we can stay there for the night. We can figure out what to do in the morning. Okay? Please?”
Abhi refused to look at the building, but dragged his feet back to the car and picked up his water bottle from the car seat. He slammed the door shut and made his way toward the back of the car. He removed his small bag from the trunk, and his father carried the bigger bag. His father switched the backlight on his camera on and they made their way forward.
Abhi walked a few steps ahead and squinted his eyes, and that’s when he noticed a small light, coming from some kind of structure. When he looked closer, he saw that the lights blinked on the sign, “Madhura’s Lodge”. The “o” in the Lodge was unlit.
Unhappily, he clung close to his father, one hand tugging his shirt as they marched on in silence. Did he see something in the trees watching them? Abhi shook his head. He looked straight ahead at the sign.
*
A young lady handed them their keys.
“The cabin is at the far back, once you take a left from the entrance,” she said. “It says, ‘The Readers’ Cabin’. It’s hard to miss.” She flashed a smile as she returned his credit card, after swiping it for payment.
“Is there anything to eat out here? Any restaurant?”
“In the cabin, there is a menu card and a phone number you can dial and order what you want. There are limited options and they close by 9 pm. Can I help you with anything else?”
“Do you know if someone will come to pick up the tree in the morning? I wanted to go further up, but the road is blocked.”
“Not sure, Sir. Not sure. It could take days. That’s part of the charm here.” A smile was still plastered on her face as she spoke.
“Okay,” he sighed, with a sense of resignation. “Thanks.”
“Anyway, I wouldn’t go further up if I were you.”
“Why is that?”
“Oh, just. The weather is about to get really bad out here. You might want to go back.”
“But the weather app shows it will be sunny for the next week.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said, baring her shiny white teeth.
They walked to the back of the woods to their cabin. There were loud angry barks, and Abhi flinched and jumped.
“It’s alright, they are chained. Don’t worry.” His father’s shoulders slumped, as if he was thoroughly harrowed himself.
The cabin was small, but comfortable. There was a living room with old, rackety dark brown furniture. A round coffee table stood in the centre of the room, taking up most of the space. It was accompanied by a three-seater musty green sofa. The sofa and the coffee table looked like they had seen better days and colour. The room itself was done in a garish red, and the bedroom, an equally garish blue. The paint was chipped off in places making the once-white coating make way for a pale yellowness. The walls were barren of any paintings or decorative items, but Abhi traced an outline just above the sofa. It seemed like the mark of a painting that once hung there.
They turned on the heater. It gave out a red glow, and spat out creaking noises. Then, they sat down on the rug beside the heater to warm themselves. The lamp gave out a dim yellow radiance to the room.
They removed their jackets and hung them on the hook beside the bedroom door. His father flicked the switch on but the bulb in the bedroom was not working.
Abhi felt himself transfixed to his spot. It must be his imagination, it had to be. He waited for a few minutes, but the paw remained, making the horrible scraping noise.
“What do you want to eat Abhi?”
“I am not hungry. I just want to go back.”
“Me too, buddy. Me too.”
*
Abhi woke up with a jerk. He narrowed his eyes to see better in the dark. Something had pushed him down from the bed, or was he dreaming? His father was snoring on the small bed they were sharing, unaware of the world.
Abhi could hear a scraping sound from the back of the cabin. He got up and strained to look out of the closed window, not daring to open it. He could see one paw coming and going from the wall behind. That must be the scraping noise he thought. And then he saw a hand, wrapped on top of the paw.
Abhi found himself transfixed to his spot. It must be his imagination, it had to be. He waited for a few minutes, but the paw remained, making the horrible scraping noise. Abhi needed to pee, but he worried about leaving the bedroom.
Slowly, he got to his feet and began to walk on his tiptoes. The old, wooden flooring still made creaking noises under him. In the dark, Abhi soaked in the antiquated, rusty look of the cabin. The door knob made a noise as he turned it. There was a pale, mouldy smell around him, and then, Abhi smelled himself. He had a stench, too, mouldy, and woody, and old.
Abhi made a face in disgust and felt an angry breath near his ears. He shuddered and ran to the bathroom. He bolted it shut behind him and flipped the lights on. He removed his pants in such a hurry and peed, as if he was on a deadline. He didn’t even wash his hands, and neither did he switch the lights off. He ran to his bedroom and hugged his father, shutting his eyes tight.
An angry, hissing breath had followed him to the washroom.
*
The birds of the forest were chirping at dawn. They needed no alarm clocks. Abhi rubbed his eyes and found the side of his bed empty. He heard a clunking noise from the makeshift kitchen sink and jumped out of the bed. His father was making tea, pouring sugar into a cup and stirring it.
“Is this yours Abhi?” Abhi saw what his father was pointing at: a light-green diary on the centre table.
“Nahi toh, no, no.” Abhi shook his head, still yawning at being woken up early from all the morning noises.
“Okay, someone must have forgotten it then. I will go have a bath and then we’ll get out of here, okay?”
Abhi nodded. He liked that idea. He had had a very restless sleep and wanted to get out of there. He folded his clothes and packed the small bag that he had carried for the trip. His father always took a really long time in the shower, so Abhi knew there was still time to kill.
The cabin did not have any TV or radio to be played. Abhi’s eyes fell on the diary his father was talking about. He could have sworn it wasn’t there last night or maybe they were just too tired and dismissed it as some kind of a manual. He turned its pages to find tiny scrawny handwriting about someone’s day. Maybe it belonged to a young boy or a girl, he thought, judging by the handwriting. They had written about their trip in the woods. He turned the pages without reading them fully. Only the first two pages were filled and the rest of it was empty. Every page had a sentence written on the bottom of it.
“Bury me in the woods so they can hunt for me.”
Abhi touched his fingers over the sentence. This was done in a very pretty cursive handwriting, coloured in gold letters giving it a slightly embossed feeling. He tore the first two pages and threw them in the dustbin.
*
When they checked out the young woman was still there, looking as bright and chirpy as she had the night before. Her name tag read ‘Nancy’, in golden embossed letters on a blue background, pinned to her white top. And her jet-black hair was tied up in a bunch, away from her light brown face. Like she meant business. The pale and sleepy sunlight of the dawn lit the dull reception area.
Last night, Abhi had been too scared to notice anything. He had just wanted to get out of this place. But on this morning, the woods didn’t have that daunting effect on him anymore. He could see green coloured flowers blooming outside the window.
“Oh,” Abhi’s father suddenly said, smiling to Nancy in apology. “I think I left my wallet in the cabin. I’ll go get it.”
His father dashed off from the room, a hand in his hair to smoothen it out, muttering something to himself.
Now, there were a few moments of silence between Abhi and Nancy, before Abhi finally spoke. “Aren’t flowers supposed to wither in winters?”
“This is Pental, a special type of flower, it thrives in winter.” Her eyes suddenly sparkled in a new way, as she spoke.
The green colour reminded Abhi of the diary he had left in the cabin.
“It is for you,” Nancy said. “To protect you.”
“The flower? Can I take one?” Abhi sounded confused.
She shook her head and smiled, “I am not talking about the flowers.”
From a distance, Abhi’s father returned to the reception. “I got the wallet. We can checkout now.” He signed the receipt that she handed out.
“Please suggest our lodge to people you know who are coming down this route,” she said. “We specialise in accommodating those who are stranded.”
*
When they came back home the diary was in the trunk with them. And that is when it all began.
*
Home was a small town at the foot of the mountains. A place where everyone knew everyone. Where the mornings started with a newspaper and milk delivery at all the homes. Where the kids all went to the same school. Where all secrets were all out in the open—even if everyone pretended not to know them.
Buriya was simply not a town for secrets.
He was very handsome—Abhi’s father. Or so his classmates’ mothers thought. He had heard them saying earlier in the day too.
“Wonder why he doesn’t get married again.”
“Yes. It’s such a shame.”
“I think it is because of the boy.”
“Shhh…he is inside playing with my son.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I think he should marry because of that boy. Be nice for someone to tame that unruly kid.”
Abhi could hear their hushed tones. Adults, he thought. They thought he didn’t know. They thought he didn’t understand.
“Please suggest our lodge to people you know who are coming down this route,” she said. “We specialise in accommodating those who are stranded.”
None of the other kids wanted to play with him anymore, unless he brought his expensive toy car collection—including the battery-operated ones. One of his cars could run vertically on walls. He had sneaked it to school to play with it during recess. He hated being alone, and the cars gave him company.
Samit began calling him to play with his friends after that day. “Abhishek, why don’t you come play with us? Will you let us play with your car too?”
They were playing pakda-pakdi, and Abhi was thrilled at being included. All he had to do was let them play with his cars, too. Abhi knew that the other kids were just mirroring their parents, who had told their children not to mingle with him. It was when he replied with a sharp tongue to two of his classmates’ mothers when they asked him how he was coping after his mother’s death. They wanted to show they were being sympathetic, but he was in no mood for it. He told them to mind their own business. That they had to concentrate more on their sons’ falling maths grades. The other parents had heard it too; he was loud.
Things had been tough before the drive up the mountains. They had gotten worse since they’d been back.
*
Abhi had noticed the diary when they removed their luggage from the trunk. He hadn’t picked it up from the cabin, he thought that, maybe, his father had. The following day, he decided to write something in the diary after school. He poured out his feelings on the tiny pages. He wrote about the classmates who didn’t speak to him, about those who only liked his toys, about the father who was too busy to give him time anymore, about the mother he wished for again.
He had immediately felt better after writing all of this. He had a good night’s sleep after a long time.
Just a week later, Abhi found himself alone with one of his classmates, Sahil, while everyone else had left for the school bus.
“Do you want to come play with me?” Abhi asked Sahil.
“Can we play with your train set after we go home?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then.”
Suddenly, Sahil banged his head on the door. He broke out into a loud cry, and then repeated the banging. Again, again. It made a gash on his forehead. Then, one on the side of his nose.
For a few seconds, Abhi was too scared to do anything, before he finally pulled Sahil away from the door.
Later, when Abhi was summoned with his father to the principal’s office, Sahil complained that Abhi had pushed him to the ground, making his nose bleed. Abhi denied it all.
Abhi’s father did not speak with him for a week after the incident.
He spent more time in the diary, writing about how unfair it was that his father didn’t trust him, about how he felt so lonely in his big house with all the toys. He wrote in it for the rest of December, and felt a strange calm.
It was by New Year’s Eve when his father’s mood improved. They sat by the fire and listened to old Hindi movie songs to celebrate.
Abhi hadn’t realised that he had missed his father so much; he went to bed with happy thoughts that night.
*
Soon after, Abhi began to take the diary with him to school. Now, he didn’t feel the urge to face his classmates, or even watch them, when they played by themselves.
It was a cold January morning in Buriya. Not many kids were on the playground. Abhi sat on the grass with the diary in his lap. A girl, two years Abhi’s senior, swung on a swing set nearby.
Abhi thought it would be nice to play on the swing set too. Maybe he could wait till she was done. As soon as he thought this, he felt a chill run down his back. He could feel it in his bones that something bad was going to happen. He couldn’t explain how he knew this, but his heart was wrapped in a cold wave, pumping out fast heartbeats.
Sahil banged his head on the door. He broke out into a loud cry, and then repeated the banging. Again, again. It made a gash on his forehead. Then, one on the side of his nose.
The girl felt a forward push.
She was propelled in the air, before roughly making contact with the ground. She broke her nose and chipped her tooth.
She swore there was no one behind her except for Abhi. The principal suspended him for a month. He advised Abhi’s father to seek counselling for him.
“My son is not unstable,” his father plead. “If he says he didn’t do it. He didn’t do it.”
“Mr. Kode, there was no one except for him on the playground.”
“There must be another explanation. Someone hit her and ran away. Why would he stand there incriminating himself?”
The principal shook her head, “We asked him if he saw anyone. He said he didn’t.”
*
Abhi was scared and silent the whole way home. Finally, his father asked him about it.
“Abhi, what is it? You can tell me; what is happening? Why did you hit your classmate?” His father had an exasperated tone. Abhi knew that his father, too, had been feeling out of sync with his own emotions. Abhi knew that his father doubted if he could raise him alone.
“I didn’t do it. I swear.”
“But it was only you on that ground.”
“It's been happening ever since…” Abhi lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Ever since what Abhi?”
He lowered his voice even further. He was convinced it could hear him. It could read his thoughts. He hadn’t brought the diary with himself; it had chosen to come with him. It had simply appeared in the trunk when they unloaded their stuff.
“Ever since the diary came with us,” Abhi finally added.
“What diary?”
“The green diary from the motel.”
His father looked at him as if he had lost his mind. But then, as he drove ahead, he grew silent, deep in thought, as if he, too, was considering what he’d heard. The drive up the mountains. The cabin.
“We have to take it back,” Abhi’s father finally said. “We have to.”
*
They reached the spot where the tree had been. The road had now been cleared. Abhi’s father parked the car at the same spot by the side of the road, not wanting to take it all the way to the lodge.
They started heading towards the lodge. Abhi was sure the motel was only a two-minute walk from where the car was parked. But they had already been walking for a long time, without seeing any motel in sight. They walked farther down the road, for another five minutes.
Neither father nor son wished to admit what they already knew in their hearts already. There was no lodge.
They dropped the diary into the woods in silence, and then walked in the direction of their car, as fast as their legs could carry them.
***
Ushma Shah is a short story writer and an aspiring novelist. Her latest short story, “Colours” was published in the online literary magazine, Kitaab. She was born in Mumbai and raised in Mumbai and Cochin. She currently works, writes and resides in Seattle. You can find her on Instagram: @penthythoughts and LinkedIn.
