“You might want to find an alternative
route...”
I loved looking at the golden glow of the evening coming to
a close behind the canvas of tree green and mountain brown. It felt as if the
universe is getting ready to sleep, tucking itself under the blue black blanket
that has stars sprayed across it. It felt good to be out in the open like this
after so many months of being cooped up inside a cubicle. Away from the same
old routine. Same old faces. My husband and I, along with our little baby girl
are on our way to visit a few friends in Hatton. We passed pockets of towns hustling and
bustling in their hurry to close up after another busy day. The orange color of
the setting sun reflected off city walls while people and vehicles were on
their way home after a heavy duty routine. Evenings are my favorite parts of
the day. You see the sky gradually
loosing light above you and everything close to earth, around you start
lighting up. Shops, street lights and car head lights steadily illuminate your surroundings.
It’s as though the universe is transferring light energy from the skies to the
earth, and your right in the middle of all that magic.
It had been a few hours since the sun set over the pointy
tree tops. More than the darkness, I noticed the chill in the air. Us Colombo
folk sometimes forget what natural air conditioning feels like. We were driving
down up a winding road, with steeps on both sides. On these steeps grew acres
and acres of tea trees. So much that it was impossible to think that there are
actually houses peeking out from small gaps. You know how these roads are, a
bit dodgy at times, twisting and turning like intestines. It was dark and only
our headlights guided the road. We were moving through a difficult, convoluted
road called Stagecoach Pass, an old Colonial English name of this road which
was to be later renamed…Minimum to no drivers. Less competition to overtake.
More precaution not to drive over the edge. Not the most ideal place to get a
flat tire. But as it so happens, that’s exactly what we got: a flat tire in the
middle of nowhere. My husband is a whiz in the mechanics of the four wheeled
machines. He knows his cogs, wheels and engine inside out. I wasn’t too worried
about fixing it and getting back on the road.
Until I heard that faint rustling.
It wasn’t much of a noise in the beginning. Our little girl
was fast asleep inside the car wrapped up in a bundle. We both got off the
vehicle. He was down on his knees in no time and working on replacing the front
wheel and I was keeping him company, handing him spanners. Then he heard it
too. Slow and very natural at first. As though it was coming from the wind and
the animals in the trees. But then it became
more unnatural. Like the sounds of the famed bodilimas(devil birds).
But with a more human like origin to it. A shrill screeching noise, far more intense
than any owl cry I’ve ever heard. You
have heard how the mockingbirds sometimes imitate cats in the way they screech?
This was as though humans were imitating some sort of demonic bird, unnatural
and scary. At first I thought it was only one human voice that was making the
sound. It was a very unpleasant noise gradually increasing in the number of
voices in it until I could hear about four or five. Human voices. They were
distinctively in pain and calling out for help. The chilly winds carried these
voices from below us, sending chills up my spine and my eyes began to water. My husband stood up, frozen in place trying to
fathom what this ungodly noise was. The voices sounded very weak, but wailed,
and cried, and howled in agony all at the same time. I wanted them to stop. Oh
Lord more than anything…it was terrifying. But with a mother’s instinct my sole
concern became our little girl inside the car. I unhinged my limbs from their frozen position and stumbled towards the
vehicle with my husband on tow. I huddled with the baby and closed my ears
trying to block it while he fumbled at the keys, his hands shaking so bad he
dropped them and wasted seconds which felt like infinity.
Then the flapping began, the sound of hands clutching at our
vehicle. We could see mist and shadows, human shapes, but not upright, they
were broken deformed wraith like shapes clutching at the sides of the cab, you
know that fishy sound like stubborn beggers. I think I heard some words. Please
save us! Mahattayaaaaa! Mahataayaa save us …we are wounded… please have mercy…
What happened next was, you may think despicable of us: we
didn’t wait to save them. My husband managed to get the cab started and, it
ticked and we had torque and we cartwheeled out of there like a big silver bat
out of hell. I swear I even felt as if we were going over bodies or something
and just as the pitch of the whining and screaming increased to angry snarling,
we fled.
The rest of the journey was a deaf haze. I couldn’t get that
noise out of my head. It was ringing inside my ears. We managed to get find our way, torturous
frigid hours later at our destination,
our friends bungalow in the hills where we told them what happened…
It had happened before our times, been many, many years ago
when the first vehicles were introduced to Sri Lanka. The roads weren’t what
they used to be. There had been a fatal car accident up on these mountain
roads. Blood and pain everywhere, and the few broken survivors who had been
injured critically, had been lying in pain and agony, and with gapping wounds
and shards of glass sticking out of their limbs, before dying slowly.
But now, if a lone
vehicle passes that way sometimes they seem to be crying and clawing
their way alongside your vehicle and tapping and clawing at your sides,
controlled by some demon who has given them life after death, so as to terrify
and warn the living, when they pass Stagecoach Pass.
There are rumors too, that people who do try to stop and
help them are never seen again, their abandoned vehicles are found later, with
the lights on, engines running , doors open, and blood stained hand prints
across the sides…
………………………………………………….
Authors
note: Our story today was inspired by this artwork titled ‘Road closed’ by
Udara Chinthaka. For more of his haunting digital artwork, visit https://www.facebook.com/udara.arts
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