An attempt at story-writing

What prompted me to write this piece of fiction was a story writing competition at my previous office. Though I did not win (quite obviously), I am happy that I at least tried my hand at being an author, for sometime! So here it is.
NOTE: Open to criticism!!

THE TEMPLE OF DEATH

When the doorbell rings at three in the morning, its never good news. I got out of bed, without anticipating what was waiting for me in the dark. As I was moving down the stairs of my duplex apartment, memories came flashing back, haunting me, of the terror I had seen in those eyes, of the pain I had gone through, of-…..and the doorbell rang again.

Could it be them? But that was impossible. I had moved from the city I had started dreading, got a new house, and changed my name; not a soul knew me in this city, then who could it be? I looked through the key hole, but in vain, it was too dark to see anything.

Reluctantly I opened the door. There was no one at the door. Was someone playing a prank on me? At this hour? I gathered courage and went out, to check if someone was hiding behind the wall, but there was no movement. It was dead still. I had this strange feeling that someone was watching me. Then I thought I better get back to bed before my fear takes over me.

 I had to wake up early in the morning, to look for a job to sustain myself in this new city, make new friends, to talk my heart out…..but would they believe me if I tell them what had happened to me. No, it was my past, and I have to leave it behind and start a new life.

This city will now know me as Faith Kingsley. And I lay there thinking….

Two years ago…

That winter morning, when I had decided to stroll around town, least had I thought that it will change my life forever.

The glitter and the architecture of the temple which I could faintly see every morning on my way to work, had been so alluring and inviting, that I could not stop myself from exploring it. I had to go there to satiate my hunger for knowledge about historical monuments. But this was nothing like I had ever seen before.

It was a pleasant day to walk, and the sun was shining with all its power. At a distance I could see the forest, hiding the secrets, mysteries unsolved, stories I had heard about in my childhood, that those who wander in this forest, never come back. But I was too proud to be afraid.

As I entered the woods, I could feel that I was in a different world. Dark and damp, sunshine could not break the wall of the thick forest cover. It took a while for me to adapt to the ‘darkness during the day’. I kept walking aimlessly, having no clue of the direction in which I would reach the temple.

If not for a loud painful scream that pierced through my ears, I would have thought the forest to be uninhabited by any life form, being taken care of by nature.

I felt fear for the first time. Not sure of what to do, I decided to go deeper inside to see what might have happened. What if someone might have just wandered in like me and got hurt? I should help, I thought. My slow steps became faster and before I could realize, I was running towards where the sound had come from, when I heard another scream. This was a different voice, but I was sure it was human.

I was running out of breath, I had to stop. I could see the temple gate now. There were two bicycles waiting at the door. Catching up on my breath I reached for the door. It felt strange when I touched the door knob. It was warm even in the chill of the winter.

As I entered the temple, a weird cacophony filled my ears. I tried to concentrate. It was a mixture of chants, coming from beneath where I was standing, in different languages, some of which even I could not understand. Being a multi-linguist did not help me here. I decided to go forward and see who these people were.

And when I saw what I was witnessing, I could hardly believe my eyes. It was an open hall; it was as if I was watching from the balcony. There were two young girls lying unconscious on beautifully decorated platforms. They were surrounded by five huge men who were dressed like temple priests. They were saying the chants and swaying from left to right. Moving in circles, around them were hundreds of men. They were holding shining silver swords and moving as if they had no minds of their own, and were being controlled.

Before I could react to the already bizarre scene that I was a spectator to, two of the priests took the swords kept beside the girls and killed them. A scream escaped my mouth, and the very next moment all the eyes were on me. I could only stare into the bright red eyes of one of the priests, when he waved to the slave men to get me.

I ran for my life. If I had stayed even a little longer, they would have killed me too, no doubt. But little did I know that my life was endangered. I had to do something to stop this, I had to tell the police about it, and I had to save the innocent people who might get caught in their trap.

It was not going to be easy.

I ran as fast as I could. The way out of the woods seemed to be never ending.

I managed to make my way to the nearest police station; I did not know where else to go to. I reported what I saw, but they would not believe me. I became the subject of mockery. I had a tough time convincing them to at least go and check once. I did.

They asked me to get back home and take rest as I looked distraught. I agreed and went home.

A few days later there was an article in the newspapers, about what I had seen, about similar murders and disappearances. The people involved, were arrested and sentenced to life imprisonment. At the corner of the article was a small hazy picture of the leader of this cult. Anyone would have passed it without noticing anything, but I had seen those eyes and the terror in them, I could not forget. Those eyes were cold and evil. I got a strong shooting pain in my head when I looked in those eyes, as if they were saying, “It is not over yet”.

From that day on, whenever I went out, it was as if strange eyes were watching me. It was getting impossible to go anywhere without going through the watchful eyes of strange people. I had a feeling I was loosing my mind. And then…..strange things started happening to me. I was a witness to accidents that could happen to me, but I always escaped by a fraction of a second. I was partly lucky may be.

My doorbell rang at odd hours every day, mostly three o’ clock in the morning. When I open the door, I would find no one but always a letter, giving me the news of death.

I thought, if I would stay here, I would lose my sanity. So I decided I should move to some faraway place, leaving behind everything.

Two years from then…

It has been two years now, but still when I lay here thinking about the past, I say with fear and confidence, that when the doorbell rings at three in the morning, it is never good news.