First Runner up: Senior Writing Competition 2009

‘THE NEST’

Dusk descended upon the wooden structure, enveloping it with an unspoken secrecy. The silent shades of evening began to spread around, like the powerful, outstretched wings of a vulture, waiting to pounce upon dying prey, devouring them, mercilessly, menacingly, and cutting into their deep terror… There were no means to escape, except to wait for the descent of dawn, now an eternity away.

They heard a soft ‘THUD’ and paid no attention to it. The air was chill and crisp. Outside the wooden cottage, the wind began to murmur and whisper, like a forlorn maiden longing for her misery to be heard. She wept ceaselessly, pining for her long, lost love. Her sorrows aggrieved, her sobs rose to a painful moan, escalating to a piercing note, shattering the laughter of the boys inside, nailing their astonishment stone dead.

“Did you hear that?” Meng Chai asked, his trembling voice betrayed his feelings.

An eerie silence enveloped the air, circulating above the burning wood, threatening to consume the mighty courage of the king scouts.

Sam, who was sitting nearest to the open entrance, scampered to his feet; like a frightened rabbit, terrified of the uninvited invasion. He had suddenly felt a chill down his spine. He moved to the fireplace, throwing some firewood into the crackling flame, trying to recollect his composure. A king scout had to remain calm and confident. Everyone remained stunned, as if a careless sound, a sinful utter from the lips would have angered the ‘unknown’. It had made its presence felt, though invisible, but forcefully, adamant to show its omnipresence, its fearsome power…

The group of young boys, barely out of their teens, had trudged all day in the damp, wet woods. Sam the leader, together with Meng Chai, and some childhood friends, all six of them were spending an overnight stay at one of the dilapidated cottages at Maxwell Hill, “Let’s have a fun weekend to celebrate our installation”. Sam had suggested and The Nest was chosen.

The Nest was one the cottages built during the British rule in Malaya. The Perak British Resident, George Maxwell discovered a beautiful hill right on his doorstep. Soon, development work ensued to turn it into a popular getaway for the British officers, a respite from the hot and humid tropical weather. By 1880, several British cottages were erected. Parties and social gatherings were held to foster camaraderie among the elite. Pony rides and sedan chairs were the early modes of transportation. By WWII, a road was literally carved out from the hillside by the prisoners-of-war with many having died under the cruel administration of the Japanese government.

Located at 1,035 m above sea level, The Nest is only accessible by 10 minutes’ heavy puffing and heart-throbbing trekking on a steep, narrow and winding granite stairs, and after a turbulent three-hour journey by government-owned jeeps. From the foot of Maxwell Hill, the road twists and turns through lush vegetation, and the air becomes cooler as the jeep climbs higher. It is a stomach-churning, headache-inducing journey as the jeep winding up the narrow tarmacked road with a width just enough for two small jeeps to pass, almost brushing against each other, missing only inches apart. If a collision happens, it will send the vehicle plunging into the deep ravine. Hence, the journey ascending Maxwell Hill is not for the faint-hearted, as the wheels will screech to a sudden halt when the jeep driver attempts to avoid a head-on crash with an oncoming vehicle. Thankfully, such accidents are unheard of, as the experienced drivers can visualise every nook and cranny, twist and turn like the back of their hands.

The young scouts remained seated in front of the fireplace when the mist began to thicken. The Nest, by now heavily shrouded in white mist, looked ethereal. There was a basement where the washroom was situated in one of the bedrooms across the large hall. Sam felt the urge to ease himself but he chose to ignore the impending urgency. He was terrified of the unexplainable episode. The scream was full of pain, hopelessness and…agony. Was it real or merely his imagination? Just as he threw firewood into the flame, Meng Chai’s face suddenly twisted into a distorted expression His whole body jerked, then shook violently. As the boys rushed to tend to Meng Chai’s abrupt epileptic fit, their attention was distracted by a movement at the entrance…

In a dreamy state, the boys were enchanted by a storm of sparkling dust dancing wildly against the dark, evil surrounding. For about a few seconds, which seemed like eternity, the particles settled and a ghostly apparition slowly swirled upwards to a rhythm inaudible to the boys’ ears. A shadow, half visible, half obscured, began to form. It was a figure of a man, a very thin male, naked at the upper body, pale and white. His features were shrunken, grey and weak, his lips an ashen hue, his eyeballs protruding, bloody, and motionless. Pointing his fleshless forefinger towards the scouts, he let out a high-pitched howl from a hollow at his throat.

As if in a trance, the young boys were rooted to the ground. Escape was the only message the brain commanded but the body failed to comply. A terror, so deep and powerful, making its advance, inching forward. Like a python sizing up its victims, the sunken sockets scrutinizing the boys. With his upper limbs, he was crawling towards the scouts who had all been paralyzed by fear. All the while, a shrill shriek followed every movement… these were the cries from Darkness, the message from Evil, the calling of Death!

The creature was barely half a foot away and Sam could smell the nauseous stench of rotten flesh. The skeletal finger was nearing Sam, at the ankle of his foot now, sending tremors all over his body. And then he heard… a sharp, shrill piercing through his eardrums. It sounded familiar yet unclear, remote, and he felt it coming from within. And everything came to a HALT!

There was no first crow of dawn at Maxwell Hill, nor the chorus of the morning birds. The scouts waited for the break of dawn, which took forever to descend, and made their way home. They certainly had more than what they would bargain for, an encounter they would forever remember and lived to tell.

LAM YEAN PING

Tags: LAM YEAN PING

Category: Writing Competition