That Night....

It had been a long and tiring day. I had taken only seven calls but that was the standard number. The account required us to spend copious amount of time on each call. To get an appointment for the "Business Coach" in the UK, we had to understand the business model of the companies that we were calling. That took a lot of time but was very interesting. At least, to me it was. And, I had to change my name from Ram to Jason when I made calls. It is common in call centers to assume Christian names for obvious reasons. But, for some weird reason, the name Jason excited me. I liked that excitement more than anything else. Jason felt real. It always felt like I knew him. I could not explain it. However, that day had been particularly dull and tiring because I had not gotten a single appointment. After a small pep-talk session with my manager (well, he called it that; I would call it a chat), I left for the day.

For a call center executive like me, dinner at 8 PM was impossible. It was the peak time for calling as CEOs of small businesses in UK are free after about 4 PM their time which is 8 for us. Even if it wasn't, we can’t get off at 8. Anyway, it was 1 AM and I took off on my Yamaha RX135 and went in the direction of T. Nagar from Alwarpet. On the way, I was thinking about whether my manager had heard my stomach growling during the session. And then, I really couldn't make up my mind as to whether that was funny or embarrassing. After deciding that it was definitely funny, I started thinking about food. I had the munchies for the Egg Dosa and coffee that they served at the 24 hr "coffee shop" near Venkatnarayana Road. They call themselves the coffee shop but they serve food too. My friend Sid had introduced this place to me around six months before. He had discovered that this place was open 24/7 as he lived very close to it. Those days we used to play Counterstrike all night at ZAP in Adyar and we generally came to this coffee shop for breakfast. This was the first I am going to the coffee shop alone and that too for dinner.

I was zooming on my bike. I was touching 100, something that I don't do normally. And, this was not out of choice. It is just that my Yam never went beyond 85. This was the first indication that something was wrong. But, it felt good; I like high speeds, only when I am riding the bike though. I started to enjoy it. Everything around me was a blur. However, I could sense that everything was actually still. The air seemed a little damp too. But damp was good, a refreshing change from hot. I liked the sound of my Yam echoing off the wall of the empty streets. I had almost forgotten the foreboding feeling that I gotten a few minutes ago. That was when I realized that streets were too empty for 1 AM. The big roads always had some traffic, at least trucks. There was none. Not a single moving vehicle. Not a single soul. It was just me. Now, that scared me. I slowed down. Or I think I slowed down. I got reminded of a horror movie that I had seen recently and started remembering some of the graphic scenes. I was opposite to Cenotaph Road then. The next thing I remember is the sight of the building. The ground floor was the coffee shop.

The building looked different. I could exactly make out what made it look different. One glaring abnormality was that the lights outside the coffee shop had been switched off. They always had bright lights outside to announce to the world that they were open. But now, there was a dim orange light coming out of the glass windows which gave the whole scene a very eerie look. My instincts told me to get the hell out of there. My stomach, on the other, advised me not to listen to my instincts. I decided to obey my stomach. Realizing that I had been staring at the building on bike with the engine on, I revved it up, hit the gear with my left leg, and went up the ramp into the small parking space.

The moment I entered the gates, I felt a chill go down my spine. The air around the building seemed to be abnormally cold. I parked the bike and made a mental note not watch horror movies. I reasoned that the cold could be because of the air-conditioning inside the coffee shop. I parked my bike and turned around. That instant, the orange light at the reception went off. It was dark. But soon, I could make out some light coming from inside the coffee shop. They generally switched off most of the lights inside if there were no customers. So, I assumed that one phase of the electricity was off and hence the darkness outside. I opened the door and went inside. The air-conditioning hit me at full blast. The reception area was empty. I figured that someone had just switched off the light and gone inside. So, I went inside fast and open the door to the seating area. There was no one there.

I could make out that the restaurant had not changed one bit. It was basically a huge hall which was divided into different big sections by rich wood work. Each section had four tables. There was a long pathway along the door that had to be used to go to any section. The pathway ended with a door to the kitchen and the last section had the kitchen counter. They had not even changed the table cloth. I could remember the huge obnoxious flowers on them from the last time I had been here. “Strange” I said to myself. My voice seemed so distant. It sounded like the voice that you hear on the phone when the person on the other end is on the speaker mode and is far away from the mouth piece. I was almost afraid to speak another word. I didn’t know what had scared me – my voice or the circumstances.

I could see the middle section lit up. I could sense some movement in that section. “Hello, is anyone there?” I called out. Again the strange voice; it sent a chill down my spine. I shook it off. I could also see that the kitchen counter was brightly lit. I walked ahead in the direction of the counter fully wary of any nasty shocks. Nothing happened. Everything seemed normal in all the dark sections. I finally reached the middle which was lit up with a tube. I saw John, the waiter cleaning the table. He was the regular waiter taking care of the graveyard shift. He looked up. He looked at me. Everything seemed all right with him but I knew that something was wrong. He went back to wiping the table. His uniform was immaculately ironed. The creases were razor-sharp. His black shoes had its shine even at that hour. He was cleaning with a brilliant white cloth. But there was something disturbing about the scene. I could observe two things that were glaringly out of the ordinary. First of all, the table he was wiping was clean already but he was at it still. Secondly, his eyes had abnormally huge black circles. I didn’t remember any the last time I saw him.

“Hey John”, I said, “Can I take that table?

No Answer.

“John, it is me Ram. Don’t you remember me?”

He looked up. I was taken aback by the anger on his face. But, in a second, the anger vanished and was replaced by deep sorrow. He put down the wiping cloth on the table. He walked out of that section and went towards the kitchen counter. I could see him leaning over the counter to check something. He turned slowly and started walking back. When he came near me, I could see face clearly. The first thing that came to my mind was that he had look of a lost soul wandering aimlessly. That saddened me deeply. I tried communicating with him but couldn’t. He walked on. I turned towards the counter as I could not look at him anymore. I heard the front door open and close. Or, I think I heard the front door open and close.

I slowly approached the kitchen counter. This time around, it was not hunger that was driving me. I could sense that something had gone terribly wrong in here. I felt my pocket to see if I had the cell phone. I could not feel it. I looked down. I suddenly realized that I had reached the counter. I looked up. I felt dizzy by what I saw. John was lying down in a spread eagle position. His neck was severed. The chef, Rao, whom I knew from before, was standing against the metal shelves with a butcher knife in his eyes. I felt a strong lurch in my stomach. I wanted to throw up. I frantically searched my pockets for my cell phone. That was when I saw the third body. It was a male and he was lying face down in a pool of his own blood. The origin of the blood seemed from his upper body, possibly from his neck. There was a knife in his hand. He looked oddly familiar. I knew him. His clothes were familiar too. That’s when I heard them.

I heard sounds of tires screeching. In no time, they were inside. I could see three silhouettes near the entrance. They were moving cautiously towards the counter. When they reach the lit up section, my instincts told me to hide somewhere. But my body was not obeying my instincts. I could not move. When they reach the middle, I could see them. They were the police with revolvers in their hands. Between two officers was a man in civilian clothes. I recognized him as the receptionist, Qadar. He was shaking from head to toe. He had his mobile in hand. He seemed to be recording a video. They finally reached the kitchen counter. I stood there staring at them. None of them seemed to notice me. They were walked past me as if I didn’t exist.

The receptionist pointed down to the third body and said something to the officers. One of them turned over the body. He did it with his bare hands. I was repulsed and shocked. I wondered if they even cared about finger prints. But that was not my concern anymore. For, I got see the face. I was stunned. My knees gave away. I was losing consciousness when the weirdest thing happened. I felt as if some entity was tearing itself away from me. The pain was excruciating. I could not bear it. But I was still standing. I closed my eyes hoping that the pain will stop. It did in a moment's time. When I opened my eyes, I saw myself standing. He was staring at me. He looked wicked. His neck was cut. He had a butcher knife in his hand. His watch was broken and had stopped at 1 AM. I fell down. I suddenly remembered something. It was out of context. However, I remembered my manager had telling me off for absence during the middle of the day and asked me to leave at 12:30 AM, half an hour before my shift ends. I remembered the anger rising in me. Or was that me? I was brought back to reality by a blood curdling scream. That was when I passed out.

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Sid could not believe what he had seen on the TV. First shock to him was that his child hood friend Ram was dead. And, before killing himself, Ram had murdered two people. If it was possible, there was something else that scared the breath out of him. He was shaking. He was sweating profusely. How could that be possible? A knife killing two police officers on its own?

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Newsreader: “This is the story of the millennium. It has shocked the entire world. It has made people doubt their beliefs. A call center executive called Ram Prasad murdered two people at the “24 hour Coffee Shop” in T. Nagar. One person has been identified as John Edwards, a waiter. He lived in Madavapuram. The other has been identified as Nageswara Rao, a chef. He hailed from Karnataka. He lived in Kodambakkam. The witness to these murders was Abdul Qadar, a receptionist at the coffee shop. He managed to record events, a video that has been rated as the scariest ever. “

The clip followed. The looks on the officers’ faces said the story. The knife slit their throats in two quick movements. It looks like the mobile phone used to take the video has been dropped. And that’s where the video goes black. What followed sent a chill through every single bone of the newsreader’s body. High pitched inhuman laughter.

Newsreader: “The psychiatrist Ram Prasad was consulting is online with us. Hello, Mr. Rao, can you hear me?”

Shivaji Rao: “Yes”

Newsreader: “Can you please explain to the viewers about the disease that Ram Prasad had?”

Shivaji Rao: “Yes. He had Dissociative Identity Disorder. In other words, he had more than one personality. His other personality called himself Jason. He did not know Tamil. He spoke with an English accent…….”

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Disclaimer: The "Coffee Shop" is a work of imagination. It does not refer to any existing organization.

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