Venue: The Albemarle Auditorium, 50 Stone Street
Time: midnight
Rohan ran his eyes over the computer screen.
"It's not a game," he thought. "There's a reward of Rs 50,000...it must be from some loony. Well, it will pay the advance of my new flat."
He arrived fifteen minutes before the scheduled time. As he entered, he realized that there was no one at the reception. But there, under the single dreary lamp, on the long corridor, was a dark solitary figure. He walked towards it.
Its face was turned away from him. Rohan noticed the figure pointed to the reception desk. Hypnotized, Rohan turned back to the desk. He was taken aback to see an entry pass on the desk. Rohan turned around to look at the mysterious figure but to his horror, he realized that it had vanished.
Rohan paused for a moment and then nervously walked towards the entry. The hall was empty. He took his seat and looked at his wristwatch. Its hands met at 12 o'- clock.
He heard a low and dull but distinct sound. The sound a watch makes when enveloped in cotton.
And then... He realizes that the noise has increased.
The screen flickers. The picture of a crowded football ground...several booted feet chase the ball to the goalpost. A goalkeeper wearing a black jersey stands attentively as the ball heads towards his direction.
Rohan's eyes narrow as he looks at the jersey. It has the 'number eleven' etched on it. His nerves tingle. He breaks into a blind run through the deserted auditorium onto the moonlit road.
The whole city is deserted.
Rohan runs and runs as he remembers.
Sanjay Dhanraj. The best goalkeeper in town from Rohan's rival team
"I was the best striker before he came. But soon, he took the attention away from me. Did he really think that I was going to teach him some moves after dark?" he thinks.
Rohan remembers that evening well... Sanjay bleeding profusely after being hit with his hockey stick... his own hands burying the body... feeling so happy... so relieved.
Busy in his thoughts, Rohan has not realized that he's standing in a football ground. In the distance he can make out a goalpost. A tall figure stands in front of the goalpost. Rohan senses that it is tense. And it's listening to him.
Sweating like a terrified beast, he runs towards it. And then he sees the number 11 on the jersey. He gasps.
"Sanjay!" he whispers. An extraordinary laugh echoes around him. And then, he collapses.
By Ishani Hore, Times of India, Kolkata