A Face In The Night Mr Green, an Anglo-Indian teacher, was returning to his school late one night, on the outskirts

of the hill station of Shimla. The school was conducted on English public lines and the boys were mostly from well-to-do Indian families, who wore blazers, caps and ties. Future magazine, in a feature of India, had once called the place The Eton of the East . Mr Green had been teaching at this school for the past 5 years. He is also the warden of the boys hostel. The Shimla bazaar with its cinema hall and restaurants was about two miles from the school and the market usually got closed by 7 in the evening. Mr Green, a bachelor, usually strolled into the town in the evening and bought the goods required for hostel; returning after dark, when he would take a short cut through a pine forest. Whenever there was a strong wind, the pine trees make sad, eerie sounds that kept most people on the main road. But Mr Green was not a nervous or imaginative man; he always carried a torch with him. But the night I write of is one where suddenly his torch battery started giving pale yellowish light as his torch battery started running down, while returning and moving through the narrow forest path. Suddenly his flickering light fell on the figure of a boy, who was sitting alone on a rock. Mr Green stopped. Boys were not supposed to be out of school after 7pm and now it was well past nine. What are you doing out here boy ?, asked Mr Green sharply , moving closer so as to recognise the boy .But even as he approached the boy he realised that something was wrong. The boy appeared to be crying. His head hung low, he held his face in his hands as his body shook convulsively. It was a strange, soundless weeping, and Mr Green felt distinctly uneasy. Well whats the matter boy?, he asked in his sharp distinct voice. What are you crying for? The boy would not answer or look up. His body continued to rock with silent sobbing. Come on, boy, you shouldnt be out here at this hour. Tell me the trouble. Look up. The boy looked up. He moved his hands away from his face and looked up at his teacher. The light from Mr Greens torch fell on the boys face if you could call it a face. He had no eyes, ears, nose or mouth. It was just a round smooth head with a school cap on top of it. And thats where the story should end as indeed it has for several people who have had similar experiences and dropped dead of sudden heart attacks. But for Mr Green it did not end there. The torch fell from his trembling hand. He dropped the packets he was caring for his hostel, turned and scrambled down the path, running blindly through the forest all the while calling for help. He was still running towards the school buildings when he saw a lantern swinging in the middle of the path. Mr Green had never before so pleased to see the night watch man. He stumbled up to the watchman, gasping for breath and speaking incoherently. What is it, Sahib? asked the watchman. Has there been an accident? Why are you running? I saw something something horrible a boy weeping in the forest and he had no face! No face, Sahib? No eyes, nose, mouth! Nothing!

Do you mean it was like this, Sahib? asked the watchman, and raised the lamp to his own face. The watchman had no eyes, no ears and no features at all. Not even an eyebrow! The wind blew the lamp out, and Mr Green had his heart attack...

BY:- GAURAV DAS, 3rd year