IRC News
IRC Fantasy Week Short Story Competition
During the recent Fantasy Week celebrations, the Information Resource Centre had organised a number of competitions, one of which was the short story competition. It was quite encouraging to see the interest it created among the students who submitted some very interesting short stories. In such situations sometimes it becomes difficult to select the winner.
However after careful consideration, Stephanie Chhua’s short story titled “ The Woods of Ghostly Whispers” was announced the winner. Kuhu Sharma’s short story titled “Lost” and Jashandeep Suran’s short story titled “The Midnight Train’s Cry” were highly commended.
The Woods of Ghostly Whispers
By Stephanie Chhua
Congratulations!
Each footstep produced a resonating crunch that carried eerily in the resounding silence of the woods. Her pace was steady. Constant. Relentless. She marched through the forest, hyper-aware of the overbearing absence of life. There was no chirping of birds, nor buzzing of insects, nor chittering of squirrels. There was a distinct lack of green. There was a distinct lack of any colour. Like it was all sucked out, leaving only grey to decay the environment. The leaves crumpling under her feet felt like crinkly dust. There was nothing to smell but coldness, emptiness, and insidious dread. She was very well aware of how desolate her surroundings were, yet she continued further and further into the abyss of the towering pale trees. Because the Woods of Ghostly Whispers has someone she wants back. She would not leave until she got her back.
The trees seemed to lean towards her. Their branches reached out to her like grasping fingers. Invisible eyes bored into her sides. The cold wind that drifted over her felt like the breath of death. But she was not scared. She was angry. She would not leave until she got her back.
Suddenly, the silent wind shifted into whispers.
Jinalia. Jinalia. Jinalia.
The trees were chanting her name. That meant she was getting close to the centre.
Jinalia. Jinalia. Jinalia.
Their voices were soft. Childish. Melodious. Laced with a vague underlying sense of foreboding.
Jinalia. Jinalia. Jinalia.
The wind caressed her face. It beckoned for her to listen to them. To become lost in the sound of their voice. To be mesmerised by their chilling call. To realise how cumbersome the body is. To realise how pleasant the cold is. To realise how much better it would be to not be at all. To be lulled into eternal rest, forever released of the burden of life. But she ignored it. She was angry. She would not leave until she got her back.
As she travelled deeper and deeper into the woods, the voices gradually became louder and louder. Their laughter and shouts and screams and cries penetrated the air. Then, among the voices, she started to hear her father. Then Charlie. Then Master Pilkins. Then Siveril. Everyone she had ever known was now saying her name. The once quiet forest was filled with a cacophony of voices. She clamped her ears with her palms and began to sprint.
Jina!
Jinalia.
Jinnie~
Kinatal!
Jin!
Jina!
JINA!
JINA!
Drowsiness clung to the edges of her consciousness. When she unconsciously identified Alice’s voice among the discord, she stumbled, tears pricking at her eyes. The drowsiness lunged, threatening to devour her mind. But when she reminded herself of her sister, the drowsiness was violently shoved away by cold anger and resolve. She grit her teeth, digging her nails into her scalp.
My sister.
I will find my sister.
Wherever you are, I will pry my sister out of your cold dead hands.
I will not leave until I get my sister back.
I will not leave until I get Mikula back.
Her anger was as cold and biting as her surroundings. It bubbled under her skin like icy magma. It felt similar to her flames. She allowed the familiar coldness to distract her from the voices of the woods.
She spotted a clearing in the distance. She slowed down. As soon as she reached it, the voices abruptly ceased. She stopped and narrowed her eyes dangerously at the man before her.
He was languidly perched on a stump, a ragged black cloak over his figure and an unbearably smug look on his face. He carried himself like he had the entire world in the palm of his hands (he didn't). On the ground beside him was her sister, bound up by rope with an unfamiliar pendant around her neck and her eyes cast down despondently. They both reacted to the new arrival with contrasting expression. The man looked delighted. Her sister looked terrified.
The man sprung up and started babbled on about a vengeance story she frankly couldn't care less about. She drew her sword, but as she was about to slice his neck in half, wispy voices rang violently in her head. She dropped her weapon and gave a quiet gasp.
"Ah, it seems that the heart of the forest's curse is kicking in now! Splendid, splendid!" The man gave a cackle. She absent-mindedly noticed that he had the same pendant around his neck as her sister did. "Soon, you will experience an agony ten times worse than mine!"
Her senses suddenly became overloaded. The taste of every food she had eaten crowded on her tongue; the texture of every surface she had touched assaulted her skin; the odour particles of every scent she had smelt rushed through her nose; the vibrations and pitch of every sound she had heard exploded in her ears; the sight of everything she had ever seen overlayed each other before her eyes. Underlying it all were wispy voices that wheezed her name over and over again, reaffirming the fact that these were indeed her memories. Jinalia screamed.
I want it to stop. I want it all to stop. I want to die.
You can't. Mikula needs you.
Jinalia screamed again, but this time with resolve. She shoved out all thoughts of the voices and snapped open her eyes, hyper-focusing on the man, who yelped and stepped back in horrified shock. She was angry— No, she was furious. She was furious at the person before her who had the audacity to take her precious sister away. To cause such a look of terror to appear on her face. To act like he had the upper hand. To cause such discomfort for her. He did not know what an enraged warrior of her calibre could do to him. Her icy flames will ensure a cold trip down to hell.
The frigid magma under her skin writhed eagerly. It wished to be released. It wished to feast. And feast it will.
A brilliant wall of pale blue flames manifested in the air and cascaded down upon him. They crackled and sparked, yet all they emitted was cold. He tried to run. But none can run from the wrath of Jinalia, the Warrior of the Fiery Blizzard. He was engulfed in an inferno of flaming ice. He collapsed onto the ground, blue and frostbitten and very much dead.
She walked towards him and snatched the pendant from his corpse. She hung it around her neck. Tension left her shoulders as the voices completely disappeared from her mind. She cut the ropes bounding her sister. Mikula leaped into her arms, sobbing in relief. Jinalia hugged her tightly.
"I'm glad you're okay," Jinalia whispered. Mikula nodded vigorously.
"I'm glad you're okay too, Jinnie."
Jinalia carried Mikula all the way out of the forest. All the way back home.
Kamla Reddy
Director of Information Resource Centre