Tales from the Neverbeens

3 am once again. This same voice has been nagging me for the last couple of weeks. That is why I have refrained from writing on this blog all this time. I was a bit creeped out. But it's happening again tonight, and I guess it is time I speak about it. It's a voice. It comes every night a short while after 3 am. And before it does, it wipes out all other sounds. The clock doesn't strike 3. It doesn't event tick. The mischievous mouse underneath the bed stops its frantic searches. The insects too seem to be silenced. And then I hear the voice, amidst the reverbrating silence. I always wake up a few minutes before the time. Sometimes, like today, I lie sleepless with a myriad thoughts. But the voice takes me by surprise everytime, even when I know that it is going to come. It's a little girl's voice. "Is anyone here?" it says, "I've lost my body somewhere. Can you help me find it?" I wonder if it's the mute girl who always looks lo...

I tried to shoo the fly off. But it was persistent. In fact for the last few hours these flies have been growing in multiples around the town. These bees, they are everywhere. And they look angry! It is unnatural, the way the bees are behaving. Such big numbers, and all over the place. They don't seem too eager to bite, but they are nagging everyone around. Even the sky's filled with them all the time making it seem cloudy and dark. Things are getting out of hand. I decided to take a look at where they were coming from. Following the growing density of the buzzing, I walked upto an old grey wooden house - the house of the bee keeper. People had already gathered there, but there were too many bees to enter the house. But there was this foul smell that hit me. "It's the bee keeper, he's dead," a man said from behind me, "He must have been dead for days." "But I had seen him a couple of days ago. He was walking and healthy then..." another...

It must be an asthma attack, I guessed. The air felt heavy, and it was growing more difficult to breathe. My lungs were going to burst if the doctor did not arrive on time, but there was no sign of him. Even swallowing was difficult now. My vision was getting blurry and the room was getting darker. Mother arrived with a man with a suitcase. The doctor, finally, I thought! The man came nearer, observed my eyes and put his hand on my chest. It felt as if the lungs were reaching out to him for help; they were pushing and crawling. Then the man reached into his coat and took out a cross. He held the cross in front of me. I felt burning inside me, and then I passed out. The next time I opened my eyes, I found the man looking at me. Now that I could see him properly, he was no doctor. He was a priest. Mother was all in tears on the other side of the bed. "What's going on?" I asked. "You're sick son, very sick," said the man. "What...