The Man Who 'Preyed'

I wrote this story about a year ago - it is loosely based on a true story related to me by a close friend. I am now publishing it  today with her permission.

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The grownups at the table were in deep conversation about things that *Toral didn’t understand. They had been sitting in the garden restaurant for hours and Toral was bored. She watched enviously as the other children chased each other and played in the grass. If only she wasn’t so shy, she would have been having as much fun as they seemed to be.

After what felt like an eternity, Toral’s mother turned to her and said they were leaving. Relieved and eager to get home and finish the Enid Blyton book she had been reading, Toral followed her parents to the car. As they pulled out onto the street, she looked out the window and began to daydream as her parents chatted away.

Toral’s attention snapped back to the conversation in the car as she realized her father had raised his voice and her mother had grown quiet. He was saying to her mother that she wasn’t supportive and that he was just doing what he needed to do for his family. Toral’s heart pounded as she watched the side of her mother’s face from the backseat, praying that she wouldn’t start to cry. Her father so often would speak to her mother so harshly that she would end up in tears, making Toral feel awful for her. She turned to look out of the window as Toral’s father continued to rant. Toral felt a lump in her throat and the tears welled up in her own eyes.

A few minutes later, Toral’s father steered the car into the parking lot of an unfamiliar compound and parked the car in front of an old building. They were evidently not going home just yet. Her mother turned around to look at her and said, ‘Daddy needs to see someone here. Then we’ll go home’. Toral reluctantly got out of the car and followed her parents into the stuffy building. As they walked up two flights of dimly lit stairs, she tugged on her mother’s skirt and asked, ‘Why are we here? I want to go home’. Toral’s mother looked down at her and sighed, but said nothing. Her father led them down a hallway and into a room that looked like a scantily furnished office. The paint on the walls was peeling and the room smelt musty. A greasy haired, dark skinned Indian man sat behind a desk at the far end of the room. He had a round red spot on his forehead. As he stood up to greet Toral’s father, she noticed that he was wearing what looked like an oversized dull brown shirt over a white sarong and sandals on his feet. He spoke rapidly to her father in an Indian dialect that Toral did not understand. He turned to Toral’s mother and said something to her to which she responded by nodding politely, although she did not smile. Then he turned to Toral and smiled, displaying a set of very yellow teeth with dark stains on them. Toral cowered behind her mother. She did not like the way this man looked at her with his dark, beady eyes. Toral’s father put his arm reassuringly around her shoulders and said, ‘He is going to pray for our family.’ Toral didn’t understand why they needed this strange man to pray for them when they were surely capable of praying for themselves, but she did not dare question her father.

The man pulled up two chairs beside his desk for Toral’s parents to sit down, facing each other. She stood beside her mother as the man and her father spoke to each other. She watched as the man walked over to where her father sat, closed his eyes and began to chant in this language that Toral didn’t comprehend. He then placed his hand on her father’s head as he continued to chant, and then on each of her father’s shoulders. The man had his eyes shut the entire time, almost seeming as though he was in a trance. Toral’s father kept his head respectfully lowered as this ritual continued. A few minutes later, the man opened his eyes, turned and walked over to Toral’s mother. Before he began his chanting he looked piercingly at Toral and she immediately moved away from her mother’s chair to the middle of the room. The man proceeded with the same ritual, placing his hand on Toral’s mother’s head and then on each shoulder, all the while chanting with his eyes shut and his head tilted back slightly.

Toral knew she was next and she was dreading it, but she didn’t see that she had any choice. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the man turned around and walked towards her. He stood in front of her, quite a bit taller than her – as most adults were. She could smell the nauseating mixture of betel leaf, tobacco and sweat as he breathed heavily. From the corner of her eye, she could see her mother sitting in front of her, to her left. She couldn’t see her father as the man was obstructing her view, but it felt somewhat comforting that she could see her mother.

The man began to chant. Toral kept her head lowered as the last thing she wanted was for her eyes to meet his again. Before long, she felt his hand on her head. A couple of minutes later, his hand had moved to her right shoulder. ‘Only a few more minutes,’ she said to herself, trying not to cringe as his hand brushed past her hair and settled on her left shoulder. But his hand seemed to be slipping. In complete horror, Toral felt the man’s hand slide down her shoulder, towards the middle of her chest. Before she knew what was happening, he had slipped his hand into the neck of her dress.

Toral’s feet were glued to the ground. She felt paralyzed. She wanted to push the man away, to punch him with her little fists, but she had been raised to respect all adults – especially those whom her parents, especially her scary father, expected her to respect. Gripped with intense panic, she looked at her mother, her eyes imploring for help. She was certain that her mother hadn’t been watching as she would have already jumped to Toral’s rescue. But she was wrong. Toral’s mother’s eyes were already on her - a look that couldn’t be explained. The second Toral’s gaze met hers, her mother hastily looked down at the floor in front of her. 

Complete disbelief. Shock. Helplessness. Fear. Betrayal. All kinds of emotions ran through Toral as this terrible man continued to molest her within a few feet from the two people who brought her into this world, whose job it was to protect her as a child when she was unable to protect herself. The tears streamed down the twelve year old girl’s face as she looked at her mother, silently begging her to look at her again. Toral needed her mother to see that she needed her to help her child. But she just sat there. And did nothing. Nothing.

 

*Name has been changed to protect identity

Kitty Cat

Tanya wore her hair in two pig-tails tied with pretty red ribbons. Her once shiny Mary Jane black shoes were now covered in dirt and her white, knee-length socks had streaks of brown on them too. The bottom of her red and white plaid pinafore touched the wet earth beneath her as she couched on the grass, intently watching a pretty red ladybird as it crawled up a blade of grass. She was a charming little child with a mind as curious as that of most children her age. She was fascinated by nature and all living creatures, often wandering off into the garden outside her home to observe the little insects that roamed freely around the plants.

Without warning, the ladybird suddenly spread its wings and flew off. A little startled, Tanya stood up and looked around to see if she could spot the insect again. This time, however, she spotted a beautiful butterfly fluttering its wings lightly as it flew over the lawn. With a look of glee on her face, Tanya skipped merrily alongside it, her little pig-tails swinging from side to side as she did. Her mother watched from inside the house, through the kitchen window, smiling fondly at her daughter.

The garden stretched from the driveway leading up to the house, all the way to the stone brick walls at the periphery of the compound. Unlike most homes in the area, these walls did not have electric wiring running over them to deter burglars. Instead, there were short iron rods with sharp arrow-like tips placed vertically at regular intervals on top of the walls all around the boundary. Close to one edge of the garden, the walls gave way to a sturdy wrought iron gate which was always manned by a surly-looking guard who watched with disdain as Tanya played in the garden.

Along one edge of the garden, close to a mango tree that stood by the wall, lay a small, crudely-constructed shallow pond with oddly shaped rocks that formed its border. In the centre of the pond, a birdbath had been erected that attracted different bird species from time to time. Tanya moved slowly towards the pond, careful not to scare away the beautiful little birds that had gathered at the moss-covered birdbath. She stopped a few feet from the pond and relished in the sight of the birds dipping their beaks into the water, ruffling their feathers and twittering away gaily.

A rapid movement in the rose bush close to the pond drew Tanya’s attention away from the birds. She watched the bush as the leaves rustled and a couple of loose pink petals fell off the flowers and onto the grass. Then, from in-between the branches, a most adorable little tawny kitten poked its face out. Tanya squealed in delight, clapping her tiny hands together. The playful kitten frolicked about the rose bush before its eyes settled on all the activity going on in the birdbath, a few feet from the rose bush. It then pranced forward and clambered up the mango tree whose branches extended over the pond, brushing against the boundary wall.

Tanya, enthralled by this display of playfulness, watched in glee as the kitten settled on top of the wall, wiggled its little behind and hunkered down, its wide eyes fixated on the birds. The birds splashed away in the birdbath, unawares.  

Suddenly a gruff voice sounded behind Tanya. She looked over just in time to see the surly guard raise his arm and hurl a small rock towards the kitten who sat perched atop the wall between the iron spikes. Tanya watched in alarm as the kitten jumped up in fright to avoid the hurtling stone.

Tanya let out a blood curdling scream and began to wail as her mother rushed outside to her and enveloped her in an embrace. She lifted Tanya into her arms and stroked her hair, trying to comfort her daughter as she walked briskly back to the house. Tanya, still howling, watched blurrily over her mother’s shoulder in utter horror as the guard picked up a stick, smirking as he tried to lift the kitten’s bloody carcass off the iron spike that had speared its body as it had landed…

His Eyes

Katie ran across the grass and up to her mother, her ponytail flapping about like the tail of a horse swatting flies. “Mummy, did you see? Did you see how high I can swing now?” Her mother smiled tiredly down at her. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and the playground area of the family restaurant was teeming with screaming little children. “Can I go on the merry-go-round now?” the little girl asked her mother expectantly. “Not now honey. We have to get home soon.” Katie reluctantly waited as her father took out his wallet and pulled out some money to pay the bill for the lunch they had just had. She looked forlornly at the other children gleefully whooshing around on the merry-go-round and wished that she could stay on.

Katie’s mother took her hand and followed her father across the garden towards the parking lot of the restaurant. They reached the car and Katie clambered into the back seat, pouting slightly. As the car pulled out of the parking spot, she suddenly felt the urge to use the bathroom. One glance at the stern look on her father’s face as he drove out onto the main road told Katie that she was better off holding it until they were home.

As they drove down the road, Katie tried to distract herself by reciting the poem they had learnt a few weeks ago in school over and over again:

Solomon Grundy
Born on a Monday
Christened on Tuesday
Married on Wednesday
Took ill on Thursday
Worse on Friday
Died on Saturday
Buried on Sunday
And that was the end of Solomon Grundy

After she had recited the poem for the fourth time, she leaned forward and tugged on her mother’s sleeve, “Mummy”, she said in a soft voice. “Are we almost home? I need to pee!” Katie’s father looked at her through the car’s rear-view mirror exasperatedly and asked, “Why didn’t you go at the restaurant?” Katie slumped back in her seat and didn’t answer. She was all too familiar with her father’s temper and was too scared to say anything else to aggravate him.

They must’ve still been a while from home, because Katie’s father pulled into a gas station that had a small restaurant. Katie’s mother got out of the car and opened Katie’s door. “Hurry up, now!” she said, as Katie scrambled to get out of the car. They walked towards the restaurant which had dark windows and the smell of roasted meat coming from it.

Katie’s mother stopped a man who was standing just inside the door of the restaurant and asked him where the bathroom was. The man looked disapprovingly at Katie and then nodded towards a corridor past a few tables. There was a man sitting at the bar with a glass of a yellow frothy liquid. A couple of tables with a few more people seated, using their hands to pick up pieces of meat and bite into them. Katie’s mother led her down the narrow corridor and then left towards the door with the silhouette of a woman on it. The door opened into a tiny single stall with a wash-basin. Katie’s mother tugged on a toilet-seat cover from behind the toilet and placed it on the seat. “I’m waiting for you outside – hurry up!” she said to Katie as she slipped out of the stall and Katie went in and shut the door.

Thankful to finally have relieved herself, Katie stood up and yanked the flush handle and then turned around to wash her hands in the wash-basin. The hand-drier was too high for her to activate so she wiped her hands on the back of her dress and opened the door of the stall.

As Katie stepped out into the corridor, about to make her way back into the restaurant, a raspy voice behind her said, “Hello, there!” Startled, Katie whirled around and found herself staring up at a man. His legs didn’t seem to be able to support him very well because he had his hand on the wall of the narrow corridor. He wore an old jacket over a t-shirt and a pair of stonewash jeans. His yellow-tinged skin was covered in stubble and his lips were dry and cracked. His curly hair looked tangled and unkempt. But his bloodshot eyes were what frightened Katie the most. His eyes were of an almost translucent quality. His pupils were like two tiny black dots in a sea of semi-transparent green with bright red veins running haphazardly towards the pupils. He stared at her hauntingly, as his lips curled eerily. Katie froze. She felt her heart thumping against her chest but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

From somewhere behind her, another man’s voice sounded, “Hey, Maurice! What’s taking you so long, man?” With his creepy eyes still boring into Katie’s, the man replied, “I’m enjoying the view from here!” He spoke with difficulty, slurring on every second word. As though it had been given permission, Katie’s body began to respond. She spun around but she felt the man grab her arm and whirl her back around as she saw those eyes fixedly staring at her again. They seemed to pierce right through her and she felt her vocal chords let out a blood-curdling scream.

Her mother must have been right at the end of the corridor because it seemed as though she had appeared in seconds. She grabbed Katie’s other arm and pulled her from the man’s grip. As she dragged Katie through the narrow passageway, she turned her head to yell obscenities at the man. Once they were outside the restaurant, Katie’s mother knelt down and stroked her daughter’s face. “I’m so sorry, honey... I’m so sorry”, she whispered, pulling Katie into an embrace. Katie shut her eyes tight but all she saw was the terrifying man’s eyes staring menacingly at her…