A Midnight Feast to Remember


This is a short story I wrote about school girls in a boarding school, who broke the rules to have a midnight feast, and got more than they bargained for. I hope you enjoy reading it.


“Do you remember the story about the ghost in the toilets?” Pushpa asked as she bit into a spicy samosa, a deep-fried Indian snack.


I muffled a nervous laugh and glanced around the cramped quarters of the laundry closet where our midnight feast was in progress. Shadows danced around the three of us. “Are you scared? I don’t believe in that crap.”


Pushpa’s eyes glowed bright over the flashlight. “I do. Jasmin told me that her older sister saw a white figure disappear into one of these toilets many years ago before we became boarders here. She waited for the person to come out, but no one ever did.”


“Stop it, you two. You’re scaring me.” Anjali huddled closer to Pushpa and me as she scooped a handful of munchies.


“So why has no one seen any ghosts while we’ve been here?” I asked. We had been students at St. Mary’s School for the past seven years since we were in Kindergarten. 


Pushpa tapped her chin. “You know places like this are always haunted. Our school has been around since the British built it in the early 1900’s. Think about how many people have lived and died here.”


“So do you think the ghosts are English or Indian?” I chuckled.


“Could be Chinese too. You’re not the first Chinese to study in this school.” Pushpa punched my arm playfully.


A cool draught blew into the laundry closet through the mesh door, beyond which a window opened into the starlit sky where the full harvest moon hung low. I shivered.


“Shhh, I think I hear a rustling sound,” Anjali’s finger crossed over her lips.


We held our breaths and listened. Someone coughed. A moan followed. Normal sounds for a dorm full of sleeping schoolgirls.


“Must be your active imagination,” I whispered as I spooned a milk curd ball, rasgulla, into my mouth.


Anjali nudged me. I shoved her hand aside. “Stop that. You’re too squeamish for these midnight feasts.”


“Uh, Jackie…” Pushpa applied pressure on my arm causing me to look up.


“Stop…oh, Sister Yvette!” I hid my hands behind my back and clamped my mouth.


Sister Yvette’s white silhouette, framed against the moonlight, sent a tingle along my spine. Caught red-handed with our illicit grub bought with a day-student’s assistance—school policy prohibited outside food—we cowered and inched closer to one another.


“Pack up your stuff and go back to bed. Tomorrow morning you will report to Mother Superior at 8 o’clock.” Sister Yvette’s voice sounded hollow. I almost expected to hear an echo.


Without a word, we picked up the remnants of our feast—at least most of the food was already in our stomachs. As we walked by Sister Yvette, she held out her hands. One by one we gave up our precious goodies to her.


******************************
At eight o’clock sharp, I picked up the dreaded brass bell outside Mother Superior’s office. The wooden handle felt uncomfortable and hard in one hand. The other held the ringer inside the surrounding metal. I did not want the ringer and metal to collide before we were ready. Mother Superior could only be summoned with one chime. Any more would bring the wrong nun to the door. We didn’t need any more trouble than we had already.

“Here, do you want to do the honours?” I offered the bell to Pushpa. My palms felt sweaty.


“No way, you do it. You’re the brave one. If I make a mistake, I’ll get into trouble.” Pushpa knew when to dodge a sticky situation.


“You’re such a scaredy cat,” Anjali said.


“Then why don’t you do it?” Pushpa’s thick eyebrows arched.


“I would, but the last time I rang for Mother Superior, I accidentally made two dings and Sister Rosalind came out instead. She gave me two demerit points for my mistake.” 


“Alright, I’ll do it.” I sighed, shrugged and then inhaled deeply while I steadied my grasp. With a flick of my wrist, the ringer struck metal. The high pitched chime resonated from Mother Superior’s opaque glass door to the other end of the corridor, where two ponytailed heads peeked out of a classroom door. Although I could not see their expressions, I was certain they wondered about our plight.


While we waited for Mother Superior, I shifted my weight from one foot to another. I sighed at the memory of the remaining goodies that we gave up to Sister Yvette. Too bad she had lived up to her nickname, Sister Killjoy. If there was one thing she could be counted on, it was her uncanny knack for catching her charges during our most compromising moments.


The door knob turned followed by a creak. We straightened our backs and lifted our heads. Mother Superior—dark blue habit, austere and stark—stood framed in the doorway. “What is it, girls?” The corners of her mouth drooped.


I was taken aback that not only was her veil lopsided, but strands of black hair had escaped over her brow. Dark circles rimmed her red eyes—a far cry from the headmistress persona we were used to. 


“Sister Yvette told us to see you at 8 o’clock,” I said.


“When did she talk to you?”


“Last night,”


“Hmm…are you sure it was Sister Yvette?”


“Yes, we’re sure,” Pushpa said.


A vein throbbed in Mother Superior’s temple close to the scarf. “Whatever she asked you to do, I’m sure it can wait. I don’t have time to deal with this right now, so run along, my dears.” Her voice quivered.


I couldn’t believe my ears. No immediate repercussion for breaking the rules. We beat a hasty retreat before she changed her mind. Our classroom never looked so welcoming.


******************************
Mrs. Lobo, our English teacher, perched on her stool and looked grave while she spoke in hushed tones. A tear hung precariously from the corner of an eye. Daisy, the class clown sniffed and wiped her cheeks. Meena cried unabashedly. No one smiled.

“You’re late for class,” Mrs. Lobo said.


“Sorry, Miss. Sister Yvette sent us to see Mother Superior,” I said.


“Don’t be smart, young lady. Sister Yvette died last night.”


The End

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My Writing Side: A Midnight Feast to Remember

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

A Midnight Feast to Remember


This is a short story I wrote about school girls in a boarding school, who broke the rules to have a midnight feast, and got more than they bargained for. I hope you enjoy reading it.


“Do you remember the story about the ghost in the toilets?” Pushpa asked as she bit into a spicy samosa, a deep-fried Indian snack.


I muffled a nervous laugh and glanced around the cramped quarters of the laundry closet where our midnight feast was in progress. Shadows danced around the three of us. “Are you scared? I don’t believe in that crap.”


Pushpa’s eyes glowed bright over the flashlight. “I do. Jasmin told me that her older sister saw a white figure disappear into one of these toilets many years ago before we became boarders here. She waited for the person to come out, but no one ever did.”


“Stop it, you two. You’re scaring me.” Anjali huddled closer to Pushpa and me as she scooped a handful of munchies.


“So why has no one seen any ghosts while we’ve been here?” I asked. We had been students at St. Mary’s School for the past seven years since we were in Kindergarten. 


Pushpa tapped her chin. “You know places like this are always haunted. Our school has been around since the British built it in the early 1900’s. Think about how many people have lived and died here.”


“So do you think the ghosts are English or Indian?” I chuckled.


“Could be Chinese too. You’re not the first Chinese to study in this school.” Pushpa punched my arm playfully.


A cool draught blew into the laundry closet through the mesh door, beyond which a window opened into the starlit sky where the full harvest moon hung low. I shivered.


“Shhh, I think I hear a rustling sound,” Anjali’s finger crossed over her lips.


We held our breaths and listened. Someone coughed. A moan followed. Normal sounds for a dorm full of sleeping schoolgirls.


“Must be your active imagination,” I whispered as I spooned a milk curd ball, rasgulla, into my mouth.


Anjali nudged me. I shoved her hand aside. “Stop that. You’re too squeamish for these midnight feasts.”


“Uh, Jackie…” Pushpa applied pressure on my arm causing me to look up.


“Stop…oh, Sister Yvette!” I hid my hands behind my back and clamped my mouth.


Sister Yvette’s white silhouette, framed against the moonlight, sent a tingle along my spine. Caught red-handed with our illicit grub bought with a day-student’s assistance—school policy prohibited outside food—we cowered and inched closer to one another.


“Pack up your stuff and go back to bed. Tomorrow morning you will report to Mother Superior at 8 o’clock.” Sister Yvette’s voice sounded hollow. I almost expected to hear an echo.


Without a word, we picked up the remnants of our feast—at least most of the food was already in our stomachs. As we walked by Sister Yvette, she held out her hands. One by one we gave up our precious goodies to her.


******************************
At eight o’clock sharp, I picked up the dreaded brass bell outside Mother Superior’s office. The wooden handle felt uncomfortable and hard in one hand. The other held the ringer inside the surrounding metal. I did not want the ringer and metal to collide before we were ready. Mother Superior could only be summoned with one chime. Any more would bring the wrong nun to the door. We didn’t need any more trouble than we had already.

“Here, do you want to do the honours?” I offered the bell to Pushpa. My palms felt sweaty.


“No way, you do it. You’re the brave one. If I make a mistake, I’ll get into trouble.” Pushpa knew when to dodge a sticky situation.


“You’re such a scaredy cat,” Anjali said.


“Then why don’t you do it?” Pushpa’s thick eyebrows arched.


“I would, but the last time I rang for Mother Superior, I accidentally made two dings and Sister Rosalind came out instead. She gave me two demerit points for my mistake.” 


“Alright, I’ll do it.” I sighed, shrugged and then inhaled deeply while I steadied my grasp. With a flick of my wrist, the ringer struck metal. The high pitched chime resonated from Mother Superior’s opaque glass door to the other end of the corridor, where two ponytailed heads peeked out of a classroom door. Although I could not see their expressions, I was certain they wondered about our plight.


While we waited for Mother Superior, I shifted my weight from one foot to another. I sighed at the memory of the remaining goodies that we gave up to Sister Yvette. Too bad she had lived up to her nickname, Sister Killjoy. If there was one thing she could be counted on, it was her uncanny knack for catching her charges during our most compromising moments.


The door knob turned followed by a creak. We straightened our backs and lifted our heads. Mother Superior—dark blue habit, austere and stark—stood framed in the doorway. “What is it, girls?” The corners of her mouth drooped.


I was taken aback that not only was her veil lopsided, but strands of black hair had escaped over her brow. Dark circles rimmed her red eyes—a far cry from the headmistress persona we were used to. 


“Sister Yvette told us to see you at 8 o’clock,” I said.


“When did she talk to you?”


“Last night,”


“Hmm…are you sure it was Sister Yvette?”


“Yes, we’re sure,” Pushpa said.


A vein throbbed in Mother Superior’s temple close to the scarf. “Whatever she asked you to do, I’m sure it can wait. I don’t have time to deal with this right now, so run along, my dears.” Her voice quivered.


I couldn’t believe my ears. No immediate repercussion for breaking the rules. We beat a hasty retreat before she changed her mind. Our classroom never looked so welcoming.


******************************
Mrs. Lobo, our English teacher, perched on her stool and looked grave while she spoke in hushed tones. A tear hung precariously from the corner of an eye. Daisy, the class clown sniffed and wiped her cheeks. Meena cried unabashedly. No one smiled.

“You’re late for class,” Mrs. Lobo said.


“Sorry, Miss. Sister Yvette sent us to see Mother Superior,” I said.


“Don’t be smart, young lady. Sister Yvette died last night.”


The End

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