GHOUL's NOIR

THE FIRST NIGHT

Karachi was burning; inflamed by hostility, prejudice, and politics.

Tariq Aatik was thirty-seven-year old rickshaw driver. He knew it’s dangerous to travel in the city that late, and asking for death. It was his livelihood. He had to earn this hard and just money. He travelled in nights, when it was most perilous, because then he could ask more money from the needy passengers.

It was one of those nights. He was driving by phase five, thinking about his future life when a wealthy looking fat and tall man stopped him. Tariq could see the man was bald with big head and steady eyes.

“Yessir,”

He looked at the man who was looking over fifty and nearly hundred kgs in weight, wearing blue three piece. The Old Fat man cast a suspicious glance at Tariq.

“Son, I’ve an urgent work and my car’s betraying me again. I want to go to Korangi Four. Not far away. I’ll give you hundred rupees.”

The man enticed him by handsome money.

“Yessir, just sit!” He was quick to answer, never anticipating any harm in it.

“Son, I’ll but I’ve a suitcase. My house is just ahead. I came here for a vehicle.”

“No problem, sir! Sit!”

The man got into the rickshaw.

“On left,” he was telling about his house, “yes that green gate.”

Tariq looked at the gate and stopped near it. “Go into the house.” The Old Fat man seemed much lazy. Tariq drove into the house and found no watchman, as he was expecting in these big bungalows.

“Wait here, for a minute.” The Old Fat man walked into the hallway of his house.

Tariq looked around at the dimly lit courtyard of the bungalow. It was sown by fragrant flower plants, while the soil was carpeted with expensive grass, he could only dream about. The flowers and grass was creating an aura that engrossed all his attention until the Old Fat man loomed out with his heavy and big suitcase.

‘What this suitcase can contain? He must be a richer man!’ Tariq thought. The Old Fat man came closer with the swelled suitcase. It seemed he had stuffed it with whatever he could or provided.

“Son, help me putting the suitcase in the backseat.” He said with a gasping tone.

“Yessir, don’t worry!”

He put the suitcase under the backseat. “Thank you, son. Now, drive fast; we’ve to reach there.”

He took his driving seat and drove ahead.

“Just take the Korangi road and then I’ll tell you the short cuts.” The Old Fat man seemed impatient to reach his destination.

“I know all the short cuts of the city.”

“I know it, son. You’re a professional driver; but I’m driving and living in the city since then, when you must be a toddler. So, don’t argue with me and follow my instructions.”

The Old Fat man turned stiff now. Tariq had faced many others like him, who always paid handsome tip when they reached at their destinations.

Tariq was driving and following the fat man’s instructions, who was eager to travel by dark streets, rather than taking the main roads. Soon Korangi Four came.

“Drive straight until the farm houses arrive.”

The Old Fat man told him.

“Yessir,”

Tariq was now thinking about the handsome tip and also to buy something sweet for his son.

“Sir, where you want to go?” He stopped his rickshaw reaching near the end of city and now feeling fearful. This man could be a maniac or something like that. He started to think in a way. ‘What he has in his big swelling suitcase?’ He thought.

“Son, you seem frightened; I’ll show you what I’ve in this suitcase? Don’t worry, kid! Just drive ahead. There’s a house on the left. We’ve almost reached the place.”

“I don’t think there’s house on the left.” Tariq asked with bothered voice.

“There’s, my son. Don’t argue. I’ll give you two hundred rupees.”

Tariq pulled the handle and drove ahead in the dark. The farm houses on their right were like ghost houses since the political turmoil and violence in the city. Soon he found the old dark house on the left, appeared as ruined old bungalow: like a deserted castle.

“This house, what you want to do here?”

Tariq was looking frightened now. All he could remember when once he passed this place, years ago, the female passenger attributed about this house: “Brother, this is a ghost house, a witch-dwelling.” He evoked it all now.

“Drive into the house, son!”

Tariq felt much conscious after the Old Fat man’s ordering words. He remained quiet, looking at the half collapsed house. The area of house was bigger than the house of this fat man. It was shrouded by darkness and by sinister atmosphere, what seemed mostly the imagination of Tariq, combined with the effect of days and night in the burning city.

“I’ll not go further. Give me the fare and I’m leaving you now.”

He seemed fearful of death. This man could be one of those criminals who were at large these days. He was reluctant to listen the fat man any longer.

“Son, don’t be like a stubborn child. I cannot carry this heavy suitcase. Drive into the house.”

“You flatterer, sly fat man! I realized it now, how cunning you’re. You made it all. Give me, my fare.”

He no longer was respecting the Old Fat man. His dignity seemed vanished from Tariq’s mind. The Old Fat man got out from the rickshaw, looking angry and approached to Tariq. “Son, why you think like that? This house is not prohibited to enter. You must be old fashioned, huh? Witch, magic, tricks, you believe in these old beliefs? These are discarded material. Not this suitcase. I’ve to put it in the safe place, inside this house. And you know why? I’ll tell you when I’ll put it safely. Don’t be like a child.”

The fat man touched Tariq’s chin like he was his own child. Tariq could feel the fat man’s mincing words and meek attitude was only a façade of unknown crime or something similar like that. ‘Who could trust on any stranger like him? I was fool to do it.’

He thought and drove his rickshaw into the house. The yard of the decrepit house was littered with garbage, stone and bricks, filling the air with foul odor. Tariq stopped before the old rickety hallway. “Son, help me putting the suitcase.”

“I’ll, but you said you’ll show me what’s inside this suitcase.”

He reminded the Old Fat man his words.

“I’ll, my son, you can see there’s no light here. In the room we can see with the help of bulb. Now, carry it into the room.”

He carried the suitcase into the room walking behind the Old Fat man.

“This will blaze your eyes, my son!”

The Old Fat man opened the suitcase which blazed Tariq’s eyes.

“Money and gold!” Tariq said in a dreamy state. He could not believe in his eyes. He was expecting something like carrying a dead body or even worse than it.

“Yes man, also diamonds and under them, heroine.”

The Old Fat man turned a real rogue, a white collar felon.

“Heroine, you do this business?”

It turned for him more than his expectations.

“Son, don’t shout. I keep it all in my house safely, but an officer in the public office is now irritating us. That honest bastard is going to raid tomorrow morning on my house. Oh, why I’m telling this to you?” The Old Fat man turned furious again after his Freudian slip or perhaps his trick. He closed the suitcase. “Son, one last favor, I’ve to put this in the chamber, underneath.”

“Chamber, underneath? What do you mean? I know you must have a plan.”

Tariq felt a shuddering fear. ‘This crazy fat man can kill me and then will throw me in any secret chamber here. If he only leaves me in this room, no one can trace it.’ He thought with fear mounting on his brain. ‘I should not greed.’

Still it was a long way to his home.

“Son, don’t consider me like I’m a street hooligan. I’m a respected white collar criminal. I’m not going to kill you or harm you anyway. I hoard money and other things. Things that make quick and countless money. Do the last task and then you’re free. You don’t have any other option.”

The Old Fat man was right somehow. ‘Again mincing words!’ Tariq thought, feeling undecided and helpless.

“Fine, see the chamber first and the suitcase will be lying here, fine?” The Old Fat man tried again with his sweet words.

‘Why he accompanied me here, when he could do it his own? Spilling the beans about his inhuman work.’ Tariq was thoughtful, fearful and bothered about his family now. ‘Who would care, if something wrong happens to me?’

He shuddered, feeling the horrors of reality. The conspiracy seemed about to unearth.

“Ok, let’s see the chamber!”

Tariq walked behind the Old Fat man. He never feared a man so much like that fat man.

“Son, the chamber is under this room.”

The Old Fat man entered into another room and said. It was bigger than the first room in the same broken condition with rusty rickety door and windows. Tariq could see a trapdoor leading into an unknown vault or chamber underneath. This door was also in worse condition.

“Want to see the chamber first?” The Old Fat man was like making fun of Tariq.

“No, open the door!”

Tariq said it loud trying to overcome his fear.

The Old Fat man opened the door and descended on few stairs down. Tariq was thinking about his escape now. He slammed the door and ran away outside into the hallway. The dark made it worse. He staggered into the hallway.

“Make it Tariq!” He shouted, quickly stood and tried to reach at his rickshaw. But then his head was struck by something he could not see.

He was unconscious at once. “Son of a b***h! I was not expecting you a chicken, son!”

The Old Fat man said with a rage that ejected the saliva from his big mouth. He lifted Tariq like he was a kid and then thrown him through the stairs down the secret chamber.

Tariq, unconscious, fell on the chamber ground like a heavy stem. The Old Fat man left the place after doing his task, now driving the rickshaw to his house. When he reached half a kilometer away from his house he parked the rickshaw near a house and got out from it.

He then walked to his house like strolling on streets. Soon he reached at his bungalow and forgot all about what happened to Tariq.

***     ***

The place was once heart of the city.

The famous Cinema Royal had its reputation showing different genre of local and international movies but now no one even knew the name of it. The place was renovated recently by few zealots, claiming the big fans of cult and horror cinema, after provided huge amount of money by donors less known in the business.

The team was no doubt fans of movies in genres from horror to b-movies and exploitation cinema. A month ago a middle-aged hippie like man contacted them and offered about his odd and fanciful idea. It was the woman who was contacted first by that stout and burly man. She rejected the idea first. “We’re respected stage performers. Actors, writers, directors, and…”

She wanted to say more but interrupted by the man with an ordering tone throwing a swelled and sweat-stained envelope first and then said: “Look at it and then tell me, how artful you’re?”

His voice was sonorous and echoing.

“What’s this?” She opened the envelope and asked. “Just ten thousands!”

“I’ll give you fifty, when the project is ready, before the first film starts, fine?”

He said it again with an ordering right index finger, indicating at her half opened shirt.

“Fine sir! I’ve few partners and I’ve to convince them also.” She said, now showing her teeth.

“Money will convince them. Tell them their envelope is waiting when we meet with them. I’ve a friend, Suhail. He’ll deal it further while you’re busy renovating and rebuilding all the things needed for this idea. What I shared with you just recently, huh?” His tone was firm.

“Yessir, I can understand. When there’s money, the problems are solved themselves.”

“They should be solved like this, lady.”

He walked out quickly after his short appearance.

Her four partners in the venture for the sake of money had worked hard to accomplish the task after receiving their envelopes as well. And now it was the first night of one week horror movies marathon. Before the first film the donors, now the producers had set the debate on topic “Whether horror cinema could depict the society and its issues like the other forms of cinema did?”

The seemingly long debate was held in the hall of cinema above the gallery where no spectator was allowed to enter. The tickets for the movies were also distributed by that burly hippie man. He did it all by himself with the help of his friend Suhail. He shared to all of the five partners and the critics that he sold them to a group of one thousand men and women who shared similar thoughts about the genre and they were all sought by few respected clubs of the city. The elite and respected class and their acquaintances which were closely in touch with him; or at least what he told them. One thousand special tickets were sold on two thousand rupees each, making two million rupees as revenue of this one week marathon.

“Not bad at all, Tanveer sahib.” One of the critics said to the hippie man, who clad and trimmed his hairs and beard to the taste of that fine gentry among the elite.

Soon the vehement debate started by five selected critics. Most of them were reviewers of films in newspapers and magazines. One had a degree about such subjects and teaching experience for a long time, debating and explaining cinema and its different genres. The gallery was filling now by the enthusiastic spectators.

The first critic stood and said: “I feel all the other forms of cinema and also of fiction are not that real comparing to horror and mystery cinema. In melodramas you only find millionaires and billionaires and their spoilt daughters and, also sons. What a shame! Romance is always between young and charming men and women, men seeking immature birds. What about the rest of us?” he smiled with a paused and continued, “In whodunit and crime you just feel suspense while reading a story or watching it on big screen. I feel more boring while caged in a cinema gallery. Again with no substance, no reality, only fussing around here and there. Drama movies are little interesting but again, only few you can count to watch at length. Espionage, political thrillers, and comedies, all are same. Is there any difference between them? Yes, comedies are far much better among them.”

He paused with a smile and continued his speech. He was like making fun of major film genres what he felt was right and he experienced it watching countless movies. “So I know you would say, then how come horror and mystery movies could be the best ones? Yes, this genre is also not treated well, and now after the boom of horror movies in the 70s, this is a growing business. Unfortunately, here in our country we only do high-voltage still melodramas movies and what we’re talking about is world cinema. So for you I made a list of hundred best ever horror movies since the invention of cinema to the most recent of world cinema. I’ll give you this final list made by myself alone entirely. Let me name few masterpieces of horror movies.”

He started naming the hundred movies he thought were the best to this date. “First one ‘Nosferatu’ made in 1922. In the same year, ‘Häxan’ and then, ‘Dr. Mabuse the Gambler’.”

He continued reading the list.

“Night of the Living Dead (1968). The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971). Tales From the Crypt (1972). The Exorcist (1973). The Wicker Man (1973). Theater of Blood (1973). The Texas Chainsaw m******e (1974). Black Christmas (1974). Phantom of the Paradise (1974). Jaws (1975). Deep Red (1975). Alice, Sweet Alice (1976). The Hills Have Eyes (1977). House (1977). Martin (1978) Halloween (1978). The Medusa Touch (1978).  Phantasm (1979). Salem’s Lot (1979). The Amityville Horror (1979). The Shining (1980). Friday the Thirteen (1980). Cannibal h*******t (1980). The Evil Dead (1981). The Howling (1981). An American Werewolf in London (1981). The Beyond (1981). Scanners (1981). The Thing (1982). Tenebre (1982). Basket Case (1982). Poltergeist (1982). Psycho II (1983). Sleepaway Camp (1983). The Deadly Spawn (1983). A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984). Return of the Living Dead (1985). Re-Animator (1985). The Fly (1986). Night of The Creeps (1986). The Gate (1987). A Nightmare on Elm Street III (1987). Child’s Play (1988). Pumpkinhead (1988). The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988). Bride of Re-Animator (1990). The Witches (1990). The Exorcist III (1990).  Child’s Play II (1990). The Addam’s Family (1991). Popcorn (1991). Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992). Candyman (1992). Army of Darkness (1992). The list ends here.”

The critic finished his tirade about horror movies and his best list of hundred horror movies and took his seat with a smile on his face like he won the game. The list was distributed among the participants.

Tanveer read it with all his interest and said: “Dear ladies and gentlemen, I feel this list is great and made by one of the most senior critic of cinema in our country. He’s lover of horror movies and watched hundreds of best horror movies from which he selected these hundred ones. We made it a marathon of one week and we charged a huge money, which you know not easy to get from their pockets. So if we only show these classic horror movies, they certainly will feel bore and can walk away from my cinema and I don’t want it. So, I’ve decided that with few from these classic, and no doubt they’re the best ones, I also added few more local and international movies, for a good time killing entertainment.”

Tanveer paused with an odd smile; one of the partners stood and asked him: “Sir, can you tell me about these local movies? I was not aware about it.”

“No, sit, we’ve a short time and it’s about to start. Don’t spoil the environment by such childish queries. From now, I’m running the business.”

The last critic and the only woman among her group stood and began her speech:

“I beg to differ from senior critic. Mystery horror and bloody torture horror movies which called slasher movies are not the representation of any society. It’s true horror is always filled with blood; some are gore-filled with less care about human feelings and mental state. And what they could cause on normal human brain? So, even the list of our respected critic would help to eliminate some other all bad horror movies. And I’m thankful to our senior critic that he didn’t include the movie ‘Hellraiser’, which is at the top of rankings of horror movies. The best and scariest example of misogyny in films with horror of assumed-realities,” she paused with a killing smile on her slim and attractive face. Tanveer was not bothered by her comments.

She continued, “Let me divide this in two categories of mystery horror and bloody horror. The early movies of this list are pretty good, even few are romantic horror or comedy horror movies, then you see Christopher Lee as Dracula. What a bloody and funny Dracula it always was. Then the bloodiest of them all, Halloween, Friday the Thirteen, and Nightmare on Elm Street series. Mystery horrors and crime thrillers are movies contain few or less gore depiction of blood and ruthless murders. These movies were not liked or praised like other movies, for instance, Indiana Jones series, Back to the Future series, E.T. The Wizard of Oz, James Bond, Starwars, and many others like them.

“At last I would talk about s*x in those horror movies. Even most of them are deprived of romance or anything like that, many tried it to be movies like punishing couples for committing immoral acts. Halloween and Friday the Thirteen are just two examples. These movies are like honor killing in America. Many other slasher movies have the same storylines and gore dealing the adultery and infidelity. So, America is also a religious country. Pervert teens, women are brutally killed in these movies because they were committing s*x other than their husbands. It’s the whole storyline of most of those movies. I think those movies were made by few fanatics there who are jealous of liberty of women there, in their country.” She finished her speech and took her chair.

Tanveer looked at his watch and decided to argue with the talented and learned woman the next day, because now it was the time of the first movie. He walked out from the hall with his partner Suhail, who was informed about something by one of their subordinates and he shared it with Tanveer.

“You’re sure, he’s a reporter?” Tanveer asked in angry looking tone while they were walking to the studio room.

“Yes, I am sure and informed by authentic source.” Suhail was sure and sober.

“Wait ten minutes at the parking lot. Grab him from the place into the parking area and I am joining you soon.”

He said and walked into the studio room.

Suhail with his subordinate walked into the refreshment arena. “Sir, just come with us. We’ve an urgent talk with you.” Suhail said to a tall man, they recognized as a camouflaging reporter.

“The show is about to start.” The tall man was little reluctant to walk with them,

“Sir, we’re running it all. Just come with me.” Suhail almost grabbed him from his collar and soon he was at the parking area on their mercy.

***     ***

Shaheena was restless, also her son Najeeb. It was half past eleven and Tariq never came that late.

“Mother, where’s father?” The six years old Najeeb asked with his face covered with fear.

She looked closely at him and walked to the main door. She opened it and came out from her house. Najeeb walked behind his mother with short but quick steps. They both looked into the darkened street, first on right and then left, but no one was there. Not even the shadow of Tariq.

She closed the door and walked to the bedstead. Najeeb followed his mother, holding her by the ends of her long shirt, fearful, silent, and worried about his beloved father. She sank herself into the bedstead and looked up to the dark sky. “I told him, don’t greed for money, but he wouldn’t listen to me.” She said with low, deepening voice and dried her eyes. Najeeb shrunk into her lap.

“Mother, why don’t you eat?” He said after a while. She remained silent, “Mother, I want to look for father.” He tried to stand.

“Sit here and don’t bother me anymore.”

She was thoughtful and her worries were making deep lines on her pretty slim face, like web of spider. It was her face which stunned Tariq at first sight before their passionate traditional love affair and then they married with no hurdle chase and since now lived a happy life with limited income but with happiest moments in their simple lives.

This seemed the restless night of their lives. She looked into the wall clock. It was midnight now. She decided to talk with few of her neighbors and stepped into the street. Najeeb never wanted to separate himself from his mother. He was walking with her attached to her long shirt closely. She knocked on the first house on their left.

It was opened after they asked her, “Who’s there?” and it was much scared voice.

“I’m Shaheena!”

“Shaheena,” The neighboring woman muttered and opened the door of her house. “What you’re doing at this late in the night?” The disheveled mature woman asked with prying expressions. It was an unhappy and most unwelcome tone as well.

“I’m worried about Tariq. He didn’t come yet.”

“What we can do in this situation?” she was not looking in a mood of sympathy. “He knows the entire city and also the circumstances. He should care hisself. I hope he’ll come.”

The woman closed the door at once. Shaheena was still hopeful and asked her other neighbors. Their reactions were same. She walked into her house and closed the main door.

“Mother, he’ll come any time!” Najeeb said with his curious eyes closing with sleep. She hugged her brave son. “Mother, will you tell me a story?” He asked with a shy yawning pause.

“Najeeb, just sleep in your bed! I’ve forgotten all the bedtime stories I ever listened from my grandma.”

Her serious, somehow harsh tone made him to walk without protest into his room. It was the combine room of Tariq and Najeeb. Shaheena had a separate room smaller than this one. It was their bedroom as well as the female guest room in the day whenever guests visited their house; not every so often.

“I’ll take care of everything, when father is not here. I’m his brave son.”

Najeeb said before covering himself by the blanket. It was like repeating a lesson he heard from his father, after every bedtime story he told his son, to be brave enough like those of brave warriors and men of stories: they never felt fear facing the most adverse circumstances and trying to cope with difficulties in an epic fearless way.

Shaheena could not sleep; her brain, her emotions wanted an emotional outlet to vent over. Her worries, her fear was mounting with every hour elapsed so quickly. She remained on the bedstead thinking only about her beloved husband, her one leg arched and her left hand on her forehead, depicting a dejected wife in gloom and dismal.

***     ***