Varsha Kewalramani
Bio
“Horror is like a serpent; always shedding its skin, always changing. And it will always come back."
Stories (55/0)
Terror for The Green
As I entered the house, I noticed that something was wrong. There were no cries of ‘Manda! Manda!’ coming from my twin 2 year old siblings as they rushed to greet me and hug my legs. No kiss from Mom to bat away as she took my backpack, saying, ‘Amanda, what happened today in school?’ No random advice or tidbit from my 15-year old sister Amelie ran out of our room and grabbed my hand to pull me in and show me something. She was a year older than me but we felt like twins. No whir of the overhead fan. The foyer was completely empty. This never happened. The last time was 2 years ago, when father got diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and was going to die. They had all rushed to the hospital, forgetting to tell me. It had been for no use though, he had died anyway. Oh No! I thought who is it now? Not Mom, right? Oh, not Mel, please. OH GOD, please let it not be one of the twins! If something happens to Gianna or Greggy, I don’t know what I’ll do!
By Varsha Kewalramaniabout a year ago in Horror
Paloma
On the eve of my fifteenth birthday my parents' struggling marriage reached a boiling point. Their constant threats to divorce began to actualize when my father threw a pair of freshly pressed button downs into his weathered black suitcase and grabbed his keys. My mother's insults rattled against picture frames that displayed photos of a family I no longer recognized and my dad's compulsory need to reply to each and every one of them prolonged his departure.
By Varsha Kewalramaniabout a year ago in Horror
The Artist
I take my glasses off to wipe them, unable to read the words before me. After placing them back onto my face, I realize that it changed nothing. What did these words say? My mind doesn't keep up, yet my hand continues to move. Were these words my thoughts? Is my brain trying to protect me? I would've thought that at least focusing on a word would allow me to understand, but it doesn't.
By Varsha Kewalramaniabout a year ago in Horror
The City of Shadows
Something sinister infused the air. It oozed out of cracks on the pavement, dispersed from the generic, flickering-tube-light lit shops – Raju Xerox, Prabheem Dry Fruits – and gathered momentum with the rapidly fading light, which cast a gloom over the whole city of Chhayapur, India (noteworthy attractions: non-existent), marking the end of another disillusioning day, indistinguishable from yesterday.
By Varsha Kewalramaniabout a year ago in Horror
A Christmas Feast
It’s the week before Christmas, and people rush to do their last-minute shopping. The plaza’s décor is bright with festive colors. The parking lot lamps are decorated to look like giant jingle bells and candy canes. Christmas carols blare from the speakers mingling with the constant chatter of the shoppers. Eight-year-old Cody misses Massachusetts at Christmas. There it would be snowing, and you would have to wear a heavy winter coat and snow boots. The temperature would be slightly above freezing, causing your nose to run and your eyes to water. He can’t get used to the seventy-degree weather of Tucson and people Christmas shopping wearing shorts. Tucson certainly isn’t Massachusetts by any means. His father moved here for work. He is in the construction business, building houses, and in nineteen sixty-six, it is booming. His father told Cody he’d get used to it, to give it some time. Cody supposes he’s right, but he still misses snow. Tucson sometimes gets snow, but it’s way up on the mountains. It can look pretty. One other nice thing about Tucson is the night sky. You can see so many stars! Why just the other night, Cody saw at least twenty or thirty shooting stars falling toward earth over the desert. It was amazing.
By Varsha Kewalramaniabout a year ago in Horror
Santa Claus is Coming to the Party
Alex and I were messing up my makeup and hair in the guest bedroom where all the coats and purses were being stashed. We’d locked the door, but no one had tried to get in within the last fifteen minutes. This was a good thing because my bra had just come off.
By Varsha Kewalramaniabout a year ago in Horror
You
You’ve never looked better than you do on this Sunday afternoon. It’s Christmas Eve, and you are beautiful. Your hair is tucked under your red toque, but a few loose tendrils have escaped, framing your face . Your jacket is open and you have a matching red scarf at your neck. When we left the car forty five minutes ago, the scarf was knotted under your chin, but the hike has made you warm so you’ve untied it.
By Varsha Kewalramaniabout a year ago in Horror
Roadside Promises
Somehow, I had found myself driving the A109: a thick, heavy asphalt scar that traced its way across the oldest of all continents. Music thumped lazily out of the bass, and the wind had been fresh in my face. A rooster comb of dust plumed behind me, while high above, the sun bleached the land a bone white and found me driving and listening, driving and trying to forget.
By Varsha Kewalramaniabout a year ago in Horror
The Land of Blue Trees
It's a new year, but nothing has really changed. At least not for me. I'm still just rambling through life with no real aim. No "guiding star" as the motivational speakers love to tote. I don't even remember how it got this way, I'm not stupid, it's not ambition I lack, it wasn't a bad childhood either. But I'm sitting on this train all the same, empty.
By Varsha Kewalramaniabout a year ago in Horror
