DELIVER US FROM EVIL - THE MOST CHILLING THRILLER OF THIS YEAR

CHAPTER ONE

Tanya Mistry woke up to find her palms nailed against the trunk of a peepal tree.

The pain was excruciating, as rivulets of crimson thread trickled down her arms. Her legs were hammered to the parched, dusty ground with spikes. Even if she tried to fidget, a searing pain would radiate down her spine. She was helpless. Salty moisture trembled and burnt in her eyes, as she held up her head and watched the overhanging canopy of the peepal tree, concealing the darkness of the cloud cover. Narrow, long slits were made close to her wrists and her ankles, where she was profusely bleeding from.

Her memories were hazy. The last thing she recalled was the auto-rickshaw ride she had taken. No. There was another memory; a faint one. It was of a cabin she had been in. It was all blurry; with images of a man working over a wooden table. The cabin had been situated in the midst of lush greenery, for she had swiveled her head to see her surrounding and found dried twigs and branches reaching inside the hinges of the doors and window, besides the tree cover outside nearly obliterating her view. The man had come to her then, grabbed her chin and looked straight at her. It had all faded into the darkness after that. Images were jumbling haphazardly in front of her. He must have given her some pill to make her feel all dizzy and desiccated in her mouth.

But she was fine now; wide awake and with a clear view of where she was. Other than the pain, it was the forest that gave her chills down her spine. She was in a place where shadows danced and lingered across the bushes and the trees. Her wounds were turning septic surely. She could smell her own blood inside her nostrils. But there was another smell of the rainy season that she found soothing, the petrichor somewhat distracting her thoughts from her present predicament.

Tanya closed her eyes. She had to do something. She had to pull it out slowly, by her fingers, for the stake was right in the middle of her palm. And as she began to move, to reach the tip of the stake, a stinging pain went down her nerves, forcing her to give up.

"There is no chance for your survival, little bunny," a rasping voice came from the shadows. "You have been here for quite some time. I had to cut your veins."

Instantly, she cocked her head up. Her heartbeat jumped, the walls of her chest aching with the exertion. There were faint footsteps; and slowly, out of the bushes, a man entered with a sickly and accommodating smile. A smile so sinister, that it efficaciously managed to rattle her already jarred nerves. He was still under the covers of the night. His hair though, was visible. They were papery and wet, slicked back to his uneven skull. She now recalled some features of his face from her memory.

"You are going to him," he said. There was a razor-like sharpness in his voice, belying his overt meek appearance. "You are going to the Lord. He wants you to return."

"You are c-crazy," she struggled with her words, as anger and fear both took control of her tongue and vocal chords. "You will be hunted for this. You will be killed."

"Aren't you a ferocious bunny?" he giggled, like some of the other girls from her batch in St. Stephen's College.

She wanted to rip apart these stakes and grapple him to the ground, hurting him, until every pore in his body would bleed. That was the plan anyway. An impossible plan, though! She could call out for people, but that was unlikely for she was in the middle of nowhere, a befuddling jungle, perhaps the domain of this maniac. Pain surged as her senses drowned, for she was facing unstemmed blood loss. She realized she didn't have a lot of time.

"Why are you doing this?" she had to ask, for a closure which she might remember in her after-life. She was never a religious person, but being here, against a tree, nailed to her death, she was praying fervently inside, hoping someone might come and save her.

"I am just the deliverer, little bunny. I deliver to him. I work for him. He has been seeking you for so long. He loves you."

"Who..." words escaped freely, her sight was losing focus, "who l-loves me?"

"You are so innocent. You have forgotten your true nature for you lived among these mortals. You have plunged yourself in their sins. You were made to stray. You are Raga. I had to send you back to him. He is our Lord. He misses you. I am the good man here. I am reuniting a father and a daughter."

"Who is he?" she cried, contorting her face in frustrated helplessness, letting all hopes die.

He came forward, from the shadows, revealing his beautiful face. He wasn't an ugly man. He was like any urbane next-door neighbor, with a pin striped shirt and high waist pants. He looked like a teacher, with rimless spectacles; which he now cleaned off with the end of his blood stained handkerchief.

"Mara."