Boondocks: An Asian Evil Apocalyptic Thriller

Chapter Two-1

CHAPTER TWO

Five years earlier

Four people in black cloaks stood on the asphalt road near the board that read, KENDRAA VILLAGE. One of them, a short, robust guy, was flanked by three tall men, two on the right and one on the left, and had a wooden stick held tightly in his hand. He wasn’t using it for support to stand, but as if he were holding a weapon in fury.

“This is it,” he said, his voice filled with exhilaration. “We’ve reached our destination!”

“My superior!” said one of the tall guys, keeping his head down, not daring to look directly into the short man’s eyes. “I trust your abilities and knowledge. But are you sure this is the place where Dali died five thousand years ago?”

The guy smiled, looking straight at the triangles in the distance, which were clearly the villagers’ huts. He walked forward and knelt at the edge of the desert. He took some sand in his fist and brought it near his mouth. He closed his eyes and chanted a spell, trying to sense something. Then he widened his eyes. “This is the place. Through my exceptional skills in dark magic, I can see her dying with a rishi’s curse.”

The other enchanters nodded in agreement.

The guy stood up and continued toward the village, the other enchanters marching after him.

When they reached the village, they encountered a tall, skinny man, the mukhiya, Banjeet. “How can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m Dansh,” the short man said. He pointed at the tall, muscular man on his right. “This is Teryo.” He pointed at the man standing beside Teryo. “He’s Unan.” And then he ended with the man to his left. “This guy’s name is Krito.”

Nearby, the villagers had stopped working. Their eyes were fixed on the enchanters, filled with an eagerness to find out their identity.

“I’m Banjeet. I welcome all of you to our beautiful village. And sure, I’ll be happy to help you in any way I can. It’ll be my pleasure.” Banjeet offered his hand to Dansh, whom he took to be their leader, and Dansh shook it.

“Thank you,” said Dansh with a fake smile. “We’re here to find a cave where a churel died thousands of years ago.”

Banjeet stood silent, staring at them in shock. “Churel’s cave?”

Some villagers walked up to Banjeet and stood behind him. Their facial expressions clarified that they knew about the cave and its history—their ancestors had passed the story down. No one had ever come here asking for the cave. Dansh asking about this place was suspicious. Perhaps these villagers believed in the superstition that Dali would return if a master of dark magic woke her, just as Dansh had heard when he had started learning about this place.

As the villagers scanned him and his other companions, Dansh saw the dread in their eyes. “We’re creating a short film based on the true events, a horror story,” he said, quickly inventing a story. “We’ve come from afar.”

He waited for Banjeet’s response. When he remained silent, Dansh’s anger began to boil into an uncontrolled fury. He did not come here to have his time wasted.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you,” said Banjeet. The villagers nodded their heads behind him, staring at Dansh and his friends, trying to understand who they really were. From their baffled look, it was clear that they’d never seen anyone like these men in their black cloaks before. And because of that, the villagers’ eyes narrowed, and doubting wrinkles appeared on their foreheads as they wondered whether these men had come here with ill intentions.

Before Banjeet could ask them more about themselves, Dansh and his men glared at each other intently. Dansh gave them a signal with his eyes.

They moved with a vampire’s speed. Dansh grabbed Banjeet’s neck while his cronies did the same with three other villagers. The rest stepped back in alarm.

“Where. Is. The. Cave?” Dansh asked, tightening his hold on Banjeet’s neck, his eyes filled with fury.

“Eh-It’s ... at ... e-end ... of ... vill-age.” Banjeet struggled to force out the words from his throat, gesturing in the direction with his hand; he was choking.

When Dansh ceased his grip, his men freed the villagers.

Banjeet held his neck, trying to relieve himself from the feeling of nearly choking, and the other three men did the same. Their mouths felt as if they were dying from a lack of oxygen. One grabbed his neck with both hands and inhaled and exhaled deeply, scared that he was running out of breath.

After a brief stare at Banjeet, Dansh gave him a warning in a low voice. “Don’t tell anyone we’re here to wake up the churel. The moment you do, or anyone else does, everyone will die. I’ll kill every one of you with black magic, no matter where you are in the world.”

His nostrils flared. He pushed Banjeet aside and rushed in the direction of the cave. The other enchanters went after him.

The villagers stood like statues, gaping and gazing; every face was filled with horror, and Dansh’s words echoed in their ears: we’re here to wake up the churel.

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