The Cassette That Refused to Stay Silent
Karthik’s heart did a small, unnecessary sprint.
The neighbour—Mr. Narayan Rao—stood there with a polite smile, the kind that never quite reached his eyes. He was the sort of man who always greeted everyone, always asked about marks and salaries, and somehow knew things before they happened.
“Just… evening walk,” Karthik said quickly.
Narayan Rao nodded.
“Good habit. Fresh air helps clear the mind.”
His eyes flicked—just for a second—toward House No. 24.
Too long a glance.
Karthik walked away, every step measured, the cassette tape burning like a secret in his pocket.
Emergency Meeting at House No. 17
That night, the gang met again. No TV. No snacks. Just tension.
Karthik placed the cassette on the table.
“I found this near Krishnamurthy uncle’s window.”
Munna gasped.
“Is it a horror story?”
“It’s labelled,” Meera read aloud, squinting,
“‘Monday – 7:30 PM’”
“In the 90s,” Anjali said slowly, “people recorded things only if they were important.”
Munna brightened.
“My cousin records songs from radio. Very important.”
“Not that kind of important,” Ravi said.
They stared at the cassette player.
Then at each other.
“No,” Munna said immediately. “I’m not pressing play.”
Pressing Play Changes Everything
The tape whirred.
First came static.
Then the familiar click of a recorder being adjusted.
A voice filled the room.
It was Mr. Krishnamurthy.
“If anyone is listening to this… something is wrong.”
Silence.
The gang leaned forward.
“I have noticed someone watching my house every night after 9.
I don’t know why.
I don’t feel safe anymore.”
Anjali covered her mouth.
“If anything happens to me, please check… the society records.”
The tape ended abruptly with a loud click.
No dramatic music. No explanation.
Just silence.
Munna whispered,
“He should have continued the recording.”
Society Records?
“What society records?” Meera asked.
Ravi’s face changed.
“The maintenance register,” he said.
“Visitor entries. Complaint notes.”
“And guess who manages that?” Anjali asked quietly.
Everyone knew the answer.
Mr. Narayan Rao.
Munna suddenly stood up.
“I knew it,” he said.
“I never trusted people who wear slippers with socks.”
Suspicion Grows
The next day, the gang observed.
Narayan Rao spoke kindly to the police.
Brought tea.
Smiled politely.
Too politely.
Karthik noticed something else.
Narayan Rao’s radio was always on—loud—especially after 9 PM.
“Maybe,” Karthik whispered, “he uses the radio to cover sounds.”
Munna nodded seriously.
“Yes. Like my mother uses pressure cooker whistle to shout at my father.”
Despite the fear, laughter escaped again.
But danger was close.
The Cassette Goes Missing
That evening, Ravi went to hide the cassette inside his cupboard.
It was gone.
The cupboard door was open.
The cassette player had been moved.
Someone had been inside the house.
Meera’s voice shook.
“Only one person knows about the tape.”
Outside, a radio began playing an old song.
Too loud.
Too close.
Munna whispered,
“Why do I feel like the murderer knows our timetable?”
The song on the radio changed.
To Monday’s program.
No comments:
Post a Comment