Beyond Imagination

As mysterious as life is, it can be likened to the story of a school teacher who never imagined that life could take a turn beyond his expectations. He never thought he would go through the same traumatic experiences others had faced, largely because of his firm disbelief in such unimaginable occurrences, until he witnessed it himself.

Late one night, Mr. Oliver was returning to his school on the outskirts of the hill station of Simla. He had been teaching in the school for many years. A bachelor, he usually strolled into town in the evening, returning after dark, often taking a shortcut through a pine forest. Whenever there was a strong wind, the pine trees made moaning, eerie sounds that kept most people on the main road. But Mr. Oliver was not a nervous or imaginative man.

He carried a torch on this particular night, and its pale gleam, the batteries were running down, moved fitfully over the narrow forest path. When its flickering light fell on the figure of a boy sitting alone on a rock, Mr. Oliver stopped. Boys were not supposed to be out of school after 7 p.m., and it was now past nine. “What are you doing out here, boy?” asked Mr. Oliver sharply, moving closer so that he could recognize the miscreant. But as he approached the boy, he sensed that something was wrong.

The boy appeared to be crying. His head hung down, he held his face in his hands, and his body shook convulsively. It was a strange, soundless weeping, and Mr. Oliver felt quite uneasy.

“Well, what’s the matter?” he asked, his anger giving way to concern. “What are you crying for?” The boy would not answer or look up. His body continued to rock with silent sobs. “Come on, boy, you shouldn’t be out here at this hour. Tell me the trouble. Look up.” The boy looked up. He took his hands away from his face and raised his head. The light from Mr. Oliver’s torch fell on the boy’s face, if it could be called a face. He had no eyes, no ears, no nose, and no mouth. It was just a round, smooth head with a school cap on top of it.

That is where the story should have ended, as it had for several people who had similar experiences and died of unexplained heart attacks. But for Mr. Oliver, it did not end there.

The torch fell from his trembling hand. He turned and scrambled down the path, running blindly through the trees and calling for help. He was still running toward the school building when he saw a lantern swinging in the middle of the path.

Mr. Oliver had never been so relieved to see the night watchman. He stumbled up to him, gasping for breath and speaking incoherently. “What is it, Sahib?” asked the watchman. “Has there been an accident? Why are you running?” “I saw something, something horrible, a boy weeping in the forest, and he had no face!” “No face, Sahib?” “No eyes, no nose, no mouth, nothing!” “Do you mean it was like this, Sahib?” asked the watchman, raising the lamp to his own face. The watchman had no eyes, no ears, no features at all, not even an eyebrow. The wind blew the light out. And Mr. Oliver had a heart attack.