I have always been fascinated by Iago and motiveless malignity. Hence this story – I will keep adding to it. Do give me feedback
NORTH INDIA: SUMMER 2006 DAY 1
It was about 3 am in the night when Mohan Nagpal woke up as he stumbled against the swing in a strange villa. This was crazy. A 22 years old youth, sane and healthy, leading a fairly boring middle class existence is not supposed to sleep-walk. Confused, he looked down at his bare feet. All sleep vanished. He had blood stains all over his pajamas, and his feet, as though he had walked through a pool of blood. He turned and saw that he was standing in the dimly lit marbled porch of a strange house, his bloody footprints coming towards him from somewhere inside. There was no sound apart from the creaking of the swing and the thudding of his panicking heart. With trembling hands he picked up the polybag that had fallen from his hands, opened the gate and fled into the darkness, with a backward glance towards the gate whose lit letter-box proclaimed
735 SECTOR 48
He had never been to Sector 48 Noida in his life and never met Vikram Arora. May be he was going mad.