Ashish lay in bed sweating profusely. Whatever had happened in his shop had horrified him beyond words. He knew he could never be able to explain the incident to anyone. After endless tossing and turning he fell asleep only to be overpowered by his nightmare.
It was dark already. A small fire burning
“Give me back my money!”
“Are you done? We will miss the bus?”
“ We will see how you put up your stall here again?”
A hand from behind the bushes
“I am too old now. You carry on.”
Weary feet running in the jungle
“I am the clock maker.”
“I am not going anywhere!”
“I have been waiting for you!”
“Just wait and watch!”
“ Here take this! Mend it for me.”
“We are not going anywhere!”
Ashish woke up with a jolt in the wee hours of the morning. He found he had accidentally wetted his bed. But he didn’t care anymore. He lay in his wet bed wide eyed thinking and shaking nervously. He had no urge to even get up and change his wet clothes. His body was as cold as an ice.
It was not the first time the nightmares haunted him. He remembered it very clearly. It had started after his father’s demise. At first he had thought it was due to the personal loss in the family as he had been very young then. But over the years it had gripped his consciousness in such a manner that sometimes it became difficult for him to differentiate when he was dreaming and when it was for real. However, the previous night’s nightmare had left him shaking. It was the first time his nightmare was interrupted by the incidents of the day.
He lay on his back on the bed looking at the spinning ceiling fan above, without flicking his eyes.