Strangely Familiar

“Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.” - Philip K. Dick

“This is getting ridiculous.”

Ayaan got up from his seat and started pacing around the room.

“Please have patience,” Tia said in a soothing voice.

He raised an eyebrow suggestively. “You are asking me to have patience. Really? Not only the pair of you started believing in this bewitching nonsense, and drag me with you into this stupid attic, but also have me wait for someone who conveniently decided not to show up.”

Mr. Kazmi and Tia exchanged looks because neither of them knew how to answer him.

“I understand how you must feel,” Mr. Kazmi started in a deep voice, his tone understanding, “but this isn’t some bewitching nonsense. I felt it. Tia felt it too.”

He pointed at the young nineteen-year-old who was occupying a seat next to him. She nodded vigorously in affirmation. The fringes on her forehead shifted on their own accord, her hair tied in a messy ponytail.

“But I haven’t.” Ayaan protested in a strong voice.

He was not willing to buy it, unable to accept the fact that the Mansion’s underlying magic affected everyone but him. He continued his pace, striding across the room from one end to the other.

“Where is your mother, anyway?” he questioned, anger slipping into his voice once again.

Samraat was standing quietly, inclining his body leaning against the wall, carefully watching the person’s movements. For some reason, he disliked his presence, but the reason that the guy was important to Tia, and she considered him as her true friend, kept him from lashing out at him. His continuous glowering and baseless accusations about him and his family were already testing his patience.

“Nans is looking for her.” He answered, pausing when he saw the receiver’s expression twist in confusion, he corrected himself. “Naina. She will be here soon. I am sure.”

“You know what I am sure about. That your sister is a liar. She is making a fool out of us by playing a sob story.” Ayaan demeaned her, a sneer claiming his face.

Samraat did not know how it all started but one moment he caught his expression, and the other, his fist clenched, without warning, made its way with such force that it swiftly landed on the side of his cheek, causing the victim to stumble and lose balance.

Wincing, Ayaan rubbed his jaws, his face twitching in pain as he proceeded to glare back at his opponent. Taking position, he was about to launch himself at him when a pair of hands grabbed his shoulder, pulling him backward. He let out a strangled cry trying to struggle out of the person’s grasp.

His eyes grew livid as he was being held back by not one but now two people.

Samraat, on the other hand, backed out on his own without external intervention. He was breathing out heavily, anger pulsating through his veins.

“That’s enough.” Mr. Kazmi commanded.

Ayaan pulled away, slapping his hand down, and rubbing his jaws in the process.

“Can you guys please stop?” Tia pleaded, her gaze wandering from one to another. “I’m growing tired of it.”

Samraat snapped at her, his expression melting quickly. Clenching and unclenching his jaws as he fixed his gaze on his potential opponent once again, his voice hardened with his next words. “You dare not speak about my sister in this way ever again.”

Mr. Kazmi interrupted before Ayaan could speak. “He won’t, will you, Ayaan?”

“You are honestly taking his side?” He cried, staring at him incredulously. Discordance still running in his tone. ”His?”

“You don’t know what’s going on,” Tia said in a shaky voice. It was hard to tell if she was scared by their sudden outburst, or tired by his persistent nagging. “Your conclusions are futile. You need to learn to swallow your pride and - ”

“What did you just say?” Ayaan gritted his teeth. He stepped in her direction almost without knowledge, only to get blocked by another retreating figure.

“I suggest you stop unless you want a mirror image of your swollen jaw,” Samraat snapped. He stood with his back in front of her, towering over her protectively.

“You two, back off now.” Mr. Kazmi said, squeezing their shoulders.

The glaring competition they have was not affected at the least.

“I expected better of you,” Ayaan muttered, his eyes traveling meaningfully over where his friend stood, who looked back in defeat, as she shook her head.

Tia was tired of explaining to him. Not only had she spent the entire week telling him about her dream, and the strange feeling surrounding her now and then, but also the experience of people who once suffered a horrible fate because of this place. He just refused to believe her or anyone else for that matter. She did not understand. Her friend was usually very compliant.

“We have known each other since senior school, and now you are siding up with him.” He said, his voice hurtful and largely betrayed. “Do I even want to know why?”

Tia shook her head, blinking hard to stop the tears from blurring her vision.

He moved past them and to the door, his head down in disappointment.

A few hours earlier.

Shaurya Lomhani was striding across the corridor, hands behind his back, his dark robes barely touching the ground as he walked briskly. His feet carried him through an extremely familiar passageway so quietly and sneakily as if he was talking to his own shadow. He reached forward to greet his latest guests.

“Long time no see.” His voice rings out loud and clear. “Isn’t that what mortals say nowadays?”

His chauvinistic mien overtook his present state as he did not bother to hide the sheer animosity in his tone directed towards her kind and his latest victims - a man and a woman.

It’s the voice she was taught to fear the most. Stubbornly refusing to give in to the sudden horror, the woman straightens her shoulders and spine straight, perpendicular, as if secretly defying him, masking her panic, her face straight screaming of her diluting courage.

The man, on the other hand, was lying passed out on the floor.

Mrs. Shreeparna Patil desperately wanted to make sure her husband was fine if only the man in front of her with a superior facade in an award-winning fake smile wasn’t throwing her calculative looks. She found that she couldn’t move an inch. He was exactly like she imagined, like the portrait portrayed, having heard the accounts her ancestors wrote and recorded in far too many forms. The posture and confidence he radiates are enough to cause one to tremble. Shivers of fear run down her spine, she nonetheless, collected herself, her defiance pronounced.

“I hoped to never see you.”

“And yet you dragged your family here. One would think you missed my presence.” Shaurya Lomhani sneered, circling her timid form, she was still bending on her knees beside her passed-out husband.

Shreeparna Patil was a complete mess at that moment. The sudden teleportation caused several damage to her body. Her skin was scraped and bruised, neck cramped like it was forcibly twisted under pressure adding to her injury. Her clothes were spilled from several places, hair was messy and fluffy though still tied in a bun. To anyone, she looked extremely pained and exhausted. Yet, the determined witch inside her was trying her hardest to reveal no emotion. She continued to stare at the floor forbidding herself to show any weakness.

“You very well know why I brought them here.”

“Do I?” He went to sit back in his peculiar chair, utterly relaxed, shifting leg from one knee to another, like he has all the time in the world.

“Don’t,” her voice was a bare whisper at first but words gushed out of her, “even pretend like you don’t know what’s happening.”

He feigned concern and mockingly placed his hand where his heart was supposed to be. “I only wanted some company. It gets a tad boring here.” Suddenly leaning forward, his eyes acquired a mischievous gleam, and he spoke in a predatory voice, “I can always summon Naina. I’m sure she’ll learn to appreciate my company.”

His tone was far more insinuating.

“Don’t you dare speak about my daughter with that vile tongue of yours!” Mrs. Patil yelled in a voice mixed with anger and desperation.

“She is not your daughter.” He narrowed his eyes down at her scornfully, curving his lips in a wicked smile. “You haven’t told her about her true heritage, have you?”

Her face paled.

Her husband stirred at that moment, groggily rubbing his eyes, carefully assessing his surroundings while lifting himself. Shreeparna Patil held his arms tightly in reassurance.

“Right on schedule.”

Shaurya instantly disappeared before transporting himself to appear in their peripheral vision even more strongly than before. It startled them both, though they knew better than to move since they held no powers against him in any way or form.

He leaned over her husband’s bewildered form gracefully. “How much do you trust your wife, Mr. Patil?”

The man under question appeared tensed, his shoulders locked, barely moving an inch. He stared back gracing him with an incredible look. “You are him, really him.”

His voice seemed as if it was floating in bare whispers, effectively finding its shelter across his lips as if secretly scared to go anywhere near the Immortal himself.

Shaurya’s face twisted in a grin.

“Surprise.”

He whisked around, turning his back at the current company, his voice trailing behind. “Answer my question.”

The couple exchanged looks. He did not seem angry, but it would be foolish to believe him to be complacent. Instead of furthering the bitterness bound to be directed their way sooner or later, the pair stayed rooted, ceasing any movement in wary anticipation at the unpreparedness of the cruelty they might witness.

“I trust her with my life,” Mr. Rajan Patil said confidently, though that did not stop his futile attempt to keep his hands from shaking.

“With your mortal life?” They weren’t sure if he was mocking them for their obvious disdainful standard or merely stating facts.

“Did you hear that?” He asked, his eyes trailing over, twinkling in amusement at the man’s wife.

Call it ignorance or sheer defiance, but Shreeparna Patil did not spend an average moment giving him the satisfaction he demanded. She stared back at him coldly.

“Let’s make a deal,” Shaurya said softly, clapping his hands and rubbing them, an excited gleam in his eyes. “If your trust remains intact by the time it all ends. I’ll let you go. I might feel generous and let your entire family go. How’s that, Mr. Patil?”

He leaned forward to his level, his eyes gleaming with a shade of bright gold in his natural facade.

It was a trick. It must be. Rajan Patil was sure there was no way the Immortal in front of them would let them go without a price. But to what extent? He wondered.

Without waiting for his reply, Shaurya spun around like a gust of wind, his presence so negligible it was impossible to make out the slightest movements, sending chills down the spine of the recipients. Mr. Patil flinched slightly as they were gestured into an unknown room.

“After you.”

When they did not move, and sensing their hesitation, he said disinterestedly without looking at them, carefully analyzing the room in from of him. “If it makes you feel any better, I won’t kill you just yet. It will be far too easy.”

As the seconds passed in discomfort, the two of them got up, their eyes twitching and muscles straining with the trouble of his words and the intensity of the power radiating around him. Walking past the doorway and over to the end of the room, they took their seats in one corner. The room shifted itself on its own, almost like the knowledge of its visitors was already known to it.

Before either of them could struggle with the words to speak, the magic around them suddenly swirled and came into life pirouetting, like little fireflies, effectively trapping them within.

“You know what this is, don’t you, Mrs. Patil?” Shaurya asked curiously, standing at the doorway.

“You are a monster.” She whispered, getting up to cry out in vain. Not a second later, she was on her knees against her will, clutching her stomach with a look of pure agony crossing her face.

His hand raised in her direction on its own, the woman trying to stand shakily on her feet, paling in his presence as his expression narrowed dangerously. “I would be extremely polite to me right now.”

Sudden wisdom on the part of her husband as he took her in his arms to pull her back to the seat, having no intention of undergoing his wrath again. The atmosphere was an unfamiliar one, and challenging to the person, if he could be treated as one, who had been residing here for years would be extremely foolish.

“This is the circle of truth,” Shaurya answered the unasked question, extending his arms casually to signal the vibrant traces of magic trailing around them. “There is only one way to break the spell.”

“What way?” Mr. Patil asked, unsure whether or not to trust the Immortal who was leisurely standing in front of him.

Shaurya paused, tilting his neck to the side, briefly scanning the couple, who undoubtedly looked more troubled than curious at his words. “Why don’t you ask your lovely wife here, who you seem to trust more than your life?”

The aura was transposing to something indestructible, lurking around them like a predator ready to pounce on its latest victims. The bind of magic turns darker into tiny threads floating over their heads.

“One hour,” said he, and the door closed behind him.

“What will happen after one hour?” Rajan Patil asked his wife, his voice rough and eyes wide at the atmosphere surrounding him. He jerked her slightly to shake her off from whatever trance she had knitted herself in. “What does it mean?”

His voice was terrifyingly urgent.

Shreeparna Patil hummed absent-mindedly, acknowledging his gesture more than his words, her inner state refusing to believe what she got herself in. Taking her head in her hands, she finds herself unable to speak. Soon a horrified expression was etched all over her face.

“It means that if the spell senses as much as one lie.” She hesitated. “We die.”