THE NIGHTMARE OF THE FOGGY STORM DRAIN

 THE NIGHTMARE OF THE FOGGY STORM DRAIN

 

Three days earlier, Antonio had come across an old journal in his attic that spoke of doing good deeds and helping people. He had spent many hours pouring over its weathered pages, trying to imbibe some of the goodness inscribed in it. The journal, written by a sage and kept by his family for ages, spoke of living a virtuous life spent helping others. It also spoke of educating those unable to get any education independently.

 

But he had also noticed that in between the journal, someone had tucked some mysterious pages that spoke of dark rituals and scary secrets of something sinister lurking in the shadows. Antonio also noticed that in the journal, his father had marked some warnings in bold letters in his meticulous handwriting. The warnings spoke of exercising caution while dealing with shady, dark characters and staying away from them. Antonio had thought nothing about it then and dismissed it as mere legend. But never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he would encounter such horrendous nightmare and dark forces himself.

 

After three days, the memory of that encounter still lingered in Antonio’s mind. He still could feel the pain in his ankles where the dark creature had held on. He still felt as if he was watched by unseen dark forces licking their wounds in private.

 

Antonio's nights were plagued by nightmares, each one a vivid reenactment of the horrors he had faced. The suffocating fog, the nauseating stench, the storm drain, and the icy grip of them all haunted him. And the pervasive sense of evil, lurking in every corner, waiting to strike again, was a constant, terrifying reality of the cold hands.

 

As he ventured into the dusk again at the call of duty, he noticed something different about the open maintenance holes and the storm drain. The authorities had cemented the maintenance holes, and by the look of it, they were doing a thorough job. From where the fog billowed, the storm drain was deathly calm and quiet, as if nothing had transpired here three days earlier. The eerie silence sent shivers down Antonio’s spine.

 

He was half expecting to be dragged down that smelly drain once more, but this time, he was met with an empty and devoid-of-fog view of the drain. Antonio still felt in his bones that the dark forces were itching to come out of their dark abyss and make a feast out of him again.

 

Antonio passed the storm drain with great unease. Whatever dark forces lay beneath it were retreating, regrouping, strategising, and nursing their wounds. He was sure they were waiting for an opportunity to pounce on innocents again. He decided to study the journal he had found in his attic, this time paying particular attention to the dangers his father had tried to warn him about and be careful with whom he dealt in the future.