Rain lashed against the corrugated iron roof in a relentless assault, each

drop hammering a frantic rhythm against the tin. Sixteen-year-old Parakya

pressed his palms together, his bony elbows digging into his knees. A
sliver of lightning split the murky sky, momentarily illuminating the meager
furnishings of the dwelling – a pale threadbare rug, a kerosene lamp
casting an ethereal glow, and a cot with a pile of threadbare blankets upon
which lay some tattered magazines.

Parakya squeezed his eyes shut, the storm‟s percussive roar a

counterpoint to the silent plea in his heart. Every monsoon season, the
village elders spoke of celestial serpents mating in the sky, their thrashing
bodies causing the downpour. But tonight, he wasn‟t praying for the storm
to cease. Devoid of any fear in his heart, he was praying for it to rage on,
to drown out the murmurs that had been swirling around his family for
years now.

The sunlit morning led to a nonchalant semblance of the little commune,

beneath which laid a ubiquitous stupefaction among the people, who had
never witnessed such gigantic thunders before. An unsettling stillness had
overtaken the farms that usually pulsed with the symphony of crickets and
hoppers.

Parakya went for a morning stretch around his village observing the folks
of various personas. Upon reaching the village square he could now inhale
a faint breeze which held within a sense of freshness emerging from a tea
stall where an old iron kettle portraying proudly all the scars it had bared
battling against the blazing stove to put together the perfect blend of the
emerald green leaves – fragrant and tightly curled to serve everyone, in
small paper cups, the perfect shot to start their morning. he could also hear
almost all the gossips round the village being discussed over the freshly
served tea, whether it may be about the previous night when even the self-
proclaimed bravest person chose to safety of his home or about the
dairyman who strained his calf while rushing to leash all his cattle, even
about his father‟s curse which was being related to the downpour.
Retreating from his jaunt, he then packed his bag and gazed one last time,
his father‟s house or instead as his father said – tumba llena de curiosidades
(Grave full of Curiosities).

he then walked up to get himself a bus home after he had enjoyed his
vacations in his native town. The bus stand bustled with activity. A faded
paint advertisement adorned the lone concrete shelter. Sun-bleached
shops lined on the street, their windows displayed jumble of local goods. A
haze of dust hung in the air, often stirred by the arriving busses. From a
nearby food stall, he bought some freshly fried vadas, whose tempting
aroma mingled with engine roars. With cities shooting from all directions,
he carefully put his ear for Delhi and boarded a bus.

The ancient bus rattled down the dusty highway. Its rusty iron frame
groaned in protest. Inside, the faded fabric seats caked in grime and the air
hung thick with the smell of diesel and neglect. Though far from
comfortable, it rumbled steadily towards Delhi, the only thing that intrigued
about the ride was an ecstatic calm morning breeze at the seat next to the
window which he had scuffled into using his concessive age against a
yeoman. he slept almost his entire trip, regaining his energy lost during his
expedition.

Upon reaching Delhi, he took an auto-rickshaw. It zipped through the

bustling streets of the national capital, Parakya clinging to his seat as the
wind whipped through his hair. He could glimpse the honking cars, the
shops and the people blurring away. The auto driver, a friendly man with a
mischievous glint in his eyes, shouted questions over the engine‟s roar.
The boy, too excited to be nervous yelled back the answers about where
was he travelling alone. As they neared the neighborhood, a wave of
relieve washed him over. Home was round the corner.
When home, he rushed towards his room. The room reflects a deep
immersion in his extraterrestrial interests. Packed bookshelves house a
variety of science and astronomy texts, alongside magazines and
newspaper articles meticulously arranged on the walls. A partially built
spacecraft model sits on the desk, hinting at a burgeoning interest in
putting scientific theories into practice. It can surely be called headquarters
of a curious mind.

He relentlessly started recording down all the experiences he had at his

father's house. Investing his entire night into it he ended up composing a
report of what he saw, what he felt and what he believed in…………..
June 17th, 2016:
The day I heard from Mr. Patel about my father I decided to
investigate – “The place of Alien abductions”, and here I am
to find out the truth……about my father and about his friend.
The old house loomed at the end of the lane, with a peeling
sign that declared – “tumba llena de curiosidades”. Inside,
cobwebs draped forgotten furniture, and the air hung thick
with a sense of disuse. Stacks of vintage space magazines
spilled from a toppled chair, their colorful fronts depicting
rockets and alien landscapes and a massive telescope stood
sentinel at the corner. My first impression about this place
would be more like an old storehouse of a stargazer than a
laboratory of alien experiments. Prying open a creaky desk
drawer revealed a leather–bound journal filled with cryptic
scribbles and astronomical charts.

Although my canvas is a bit faint till now but the whispers

around the town paint a way different picture. The locals told
of the owners to be reclusive astronomers, in hushed tones.
They believe that stargazing is a cover for something more
sinister – attempts to contact, or even capture, extraterrestrial
beings. However, I would still need a lot to conclude.

I have great plans for tomorrow, until then I get myself some
food and a plentiful of rest.
June 18th, 2016:
With a hefty morning to an even heftier day, I got myself ready
to work. Starting my day off by organizing all the readable into
slots margined by the theme they consisted of. Separating
facts from opinions was a lot tiring than I had imagined it to
be. Some authored by Mr. Rishabh some others by my
father….but neither of them had any mentions about any
space being. A major of them were just penned down
descriptions of astronomical events like eclipses and solar
storms and the rest were just biographies of distant stars.
After gazing through all of them I now felt somewhat of an
astrologer in myself as well.

A little casual hunt got me an egg fryer of German make

which succeeded in his intent of distracting me from my
intellects to start on a forge for intriguing stuff for my
collectables‟ cupboard. Two whole hours is what it took me to
realize The Fryer Trap and get myself out of it to start working
on my expedition again. I continued to digest almost every
piece of text I found from under the desk, inside the drawers,
on the chairs and in the shelves. Even the bed was caked of
grime and clippings of various articles on a spacecraft launch.
After a long forge among all the stuff I found of my father, I felt
empty and went out to grab some eatables.

The overall ambience of village twilight was something I had

never experienced before. The air, fresh and clean, carried a
sweet scent of wood smoke and Lavender.
In a distance clanging temple bells had replaced the city‟s
honking, a gentle melody that mingled with the chirping
crickets all under a blanket of twinkling stars. A place this
soothing had always been on paper for a city boy like me. But,
little did I know that this would have been one of the most
hectic decisions of mine.

On my way back, juggling the food I bought for myself, I had

to explain or rather convince the natives who I was.
Surrounded all around by investigative villagers, convincing
whom was a big task for a newly turned sixteen of me.
Questions clattered from every mouth and yelling back the
answers was the only choice I was left with. They used almost
all the interrogative frames I knew, right from who and what to
how and when. Who are you?............Never seen you
before............What brings you here?............We don‟t get too
many strangers around here. All were like a general test to
little brain. But, the most onerous among them was – “What
are you doing at Maulik‟s house?” I was not prepared to
answer that but tried my best and came up with a disguise – “I
is one of my father‟s friends and now after his death, my
father has asked me to get some paperwork I had of him. I am
here to pick them up.” And walked of all the strength I had to
end up the conversation.

I had come to the house and was about to enjoy the sizzling
curry but got carried over to a loud metal clank of the egg
fryer falling, which broke open to what I think is an ancient text
in a modern script. It read –
Capítulo VII: De los Errantes Celestiales

I. Así dicen los grabados en piedra erosionada, de seres que no

son de este mundo. Vienen de la oscuridad más allá del velo de
las estrellas, en vasijas de fuego que surcan los cielos.
II. Sus rostros son como los nuestros, pero diferentes. Se dice que
algunos tienen piel como metal pulido y ojos que brillan con
una luz de otro mundo. Otros están envueltos en túnicas de
sombras vivientes, con sus verdaderas formas ocultas.
III. Estos vagabundos celestiales poseen poderes más allá de la
comprensión mortal. Pueden rasgar el tejido de la realidad con
un pensamiento y provocar tormentas desde un cielo
despejado.
IV. Pero ten cuidado, porque sus motivos están envueltos en un
misterio. Algunos cuentos hablan de benevolencia, de
compartir conocimientos y secretos olvidados. Otros advierten
sobre engaños y engaños, sobre secuestros y recuerdos
olvidados.

Capítulo VIII: Buscando al Starborn

I. Si anhelas vislumbrar a estos viajeros celestiales, presta mucha

atención a estas advertencias. Van y vienen a su antojo, sin
dejar rastro en el viento.
II. Los textos antiguos hablan de signos. Esté atento a luces
extrañas que bailan en el cielo nocturno o patrones
antinaturales escritos en los cielos. Estos pueden ser presagios
de su llegada.
I. Busca lugares solitarios, lejos del ruido del hombre. Se sienten
atraídos por el silencio de las piedras antiguas y los susurros
del viento.
II. Pero no os apresuréis en vuestra persecución. La visión de un
vagabundo celestial puede provocar la locura en quienes no
están preparados. Acércate con reverencia y temor, porque son
seres de inmenso poder.

Capítulo IX: El Ritual Prohibido

I. Estén advertidos, porque existen quienes tienen hambre del

poder de las estrellas. Hablan de rituales, inscritos en tablillas
desmoronadas, que pueden doblegar la voluntad de los
vagabundos celestiales hacia la suya.
II. Estos rituales están impregnados de oscuridad y su precio es
terrible. Exigen sacrificios de carne y sangre, y la ofrenda de la
propia cordura.
III. Si uno tuviera éxito en un acto tan profano, tendría dominio
sobre un ser de poder inimaginable. ¿Pero a qué precio? Los
vagabundos celestiales no son esclavos y su ira es terrible de
contemplar.
IV. Que aquellos que buscan el dominio sobre las estrellas vuelvan
la mirada hacia adentro. El verdadero poder no reside en
controlar a los demás, sino en dominarse a uno mismo.
Chapter VII: Of the Celestial Wanderers

I. Thus sayeth the etchings on weathered stone, of beings not of

this world. They come from the blackness beyond the veil of
stars, in vessels of fire that carve through the heavens.
II. Their visages are like unto us, yet different. Some are said to
have skin like polished metal, and eyes that glow with an
otherworldly light. Others are shrouded in robes of living
shadow, their true forms hidden.
III. These celestial wanderers possess powers beyond mortal
comprehension. They can rend the fabric of reality with a
thought, and call down storms from a clear sky.
IV. But be warned, for their motives are shrouded in mystery.
Some tales speak of benevolence, of sharing knowledge and
forgotten secrets. Yet others warn of trickery and deceit, of
abduction and forgotten memories.

Chapter VIII: Seeking the Starborn

I. Should you yearn to glimpse these celestial travelers, heed

these warnings well. They come and go as they please, leaving
no trace upon the wind.
II. Ancient texts speak of signs. Watch for strange lights dancing
in the night sky, or unnatural patterns writ across the heavens.
These may be harbingers of their arrival.
I. Seek out lonely places, far from the din of man. They are
drawn to the silence of ancient stones and the whispers of the
wind.
II. But be not hasty in your pursuit. The sight of a celestial
wanderer can bring madness upon the unprepared. Approach
with reverence and trepidation, for they are beings of immense
power.

Chapter IX: The Forbidden Ritual

I. Be warned, for there exist those who hunger for the power of
the stars. They speak of rituals, inscribed upon crumbling
tablets, that can bend the will of the celestial wanderers to
their own.
II. These rituals are steeped in darkness, and their price is terrible.
They demand sacrifices of flesh and blood, and the offering of
one’s own sanity.
III. Should one succeed in such a profane act, they would hold
dominion over a being of unimaginable power. But at what
cost? The celestial wanderers are not slaves, and their wrath is
terrible to behold.
IV. Let those who seek dominance over the stars turn their eyes
inward. True power lies not in controlling others, but in
mastering oneself.)
I spent the rest of my day dining and translating the scripture
to the best I could. My work being much efficient using some
online links and an English to Spanish dictionary I had found
for myself while cleaning the desk.

I was rather expecting some information of this sort I believe

but still was appalled by the ninth chapter that talked about a
forbidden ritual, one very close to what the villagers had been
talking about. I now feel like crashing down on the very place I
stood upon and will continue to startle myself by my findings
from the following day.

Jun 21st, 2016: The house has a basement! I had never

been told about it by my father…………I casually started to
put the room together by rearranging the furniture to give it a
more practical space management and a lot more appealing
to live in. Moving the old creaky bed and cleaning the grime
caked under it, begging me to leave it alone, was a great
challenge. Now it was the desk‟s turn to incarnate to
something that I would feel good writing on. With shuffling
almost everything in sight I felt accomplished until the closet
caught my perceptive eye. The old house, silent for years,
held its breath as I tugged on the dusty closet door. It creaked
open reluctantly, revealing a narrow, shadowed space behind.
A sliver of curiosity, sharp and insistent, pricked at me. With a
determined hand, I felt along the rough stone wall and
stumbled upon a cold, metallic handle. It yielded with a groan
of rusty hinges, and a dank, earthy smell filled the air.
A rickety wooden staircase, its steps warped and uneven,
spiraled down into the darkness. I grabbed a dusty lantern
from a shelf and flickered it to life. The weak flame cast long,
wavering shadows that danced on the damp stone walls. Each
creak of the stairs under my weight echoed in the confined
space, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

I reached the bottom, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The

basement was a chaotic jumble of forgotten things. Cobwebs,
undisturbed for decades, draped from the low ceiling like some
curtains.

Along one wall, a row of glass-fronted cabinets gleamed with

an unnatural, otherworldly light. A closer look revealed what
appeared to be incubated glass tubes with a greenish liquid
inside. Wires snaked from the cabinets, disappearing into a
mess of tangled circuits that snaked along the floor. Rusted
metal armatures, stood sentinel in the center of the room.
Scattered amongst the equipment were pulp sci-fi magazines
with lurid covers depicting strange alien beings and fantastical
ray guns. Dust motes danced in the weak lantern light, swirling
around the decaying edges of the forgotten paper. A chill, both
physical and metaphorical, crept up my spine. This wasn't
some dusty old storage room; it was a secret laboratory!

A scurrying sound from the corner sent a jolt of nervous energy

through him. I spotted a pair of beady eyes gleaming in the
darkness. A small brown rat, its fur dusty and matted, darted.
behind an overturned metal bucket. I wasn't afraid of rats, but
their presence in this unsettling place added another layer to
the scene's strangeness.

The more I looked, the more the strangeness intensified. A

strange machine blinked with a faint, dying light in the corner.
The air itself crackled with a faint electrical hum, a constant
reminder of the forgotten power that once coursed through
this hidden space.

I stood there, the lantern feeling heavy in my hand, a million

questions swirling in my mind. What secrets did this
basement hold? Why had they built this strange laboratory,
and what were they trying to achieve? And most importantly,
what happened to them? The basement was a Pandora's
Box, overflowing with unanswered questions and a sense of
wonder that left me strangely exhilarated. To my left I found
another dark tunnel–like gateway which gave me a way to
room choked with dust. Cobwebs draped the corners like
curtains and chipped plaster hung from the damp walls. A
sense of hushed silence was omnipresent and broke only to
the occasional drips of water from the ceiling. I decided to
carry on my search of hidden secrets from under the dusty
layers of this very room. I went up and got myself some LED
torches for the lantern could not sustain enough for me.
Determined to clean and study everything, I went downstairs.
But, little did I know that the disappointment of the room
housing nothing resourceful was waiting for me. I spent
almost the entire afternoon dusting the room and found only
emptiness, shouting at that it once may have been used for
some rituals and so were the cryptic designs on the walls
trying to convince me with. Throughout the whole cleaning
juncture my mind was occupied only with one single question
– “Why?”………… “Why would he do so?” All my findings up
until now made me even more curious to know what had been
going on here and it was way far from what I was told by my
father and what I believed in.

June 25th, 2016: With my hands determined to uncover

every eerie secret of the basement laboratory I hurried down
the stairs, only to choke myself and come out coughing at the
very peak that my lungs would allow me to. After some time I
went down again, this time with my masks, flashlight and
dusting brushes providing the least exposure possible to
avoid any particle infection and trying to keep my lungs at the
most peace I could. Dust motes danced in the narrow beam of
my flashlight, swirling like lost souls in a forgotten corner. The
air hung heavy with the scent of a forgotten cocktail from
years of neglect. Cobwebs, like ghostly curtains, draped the
cornersand chipped plaster dangled from the damp walls like
a lizard‟s underbelly.
In the center of the room, an incubator hummed softly, its
glass belly empty but for a faint, blue glow. Alien magazines
with lurid colors and indecipherable symbols lay scattered on
a metal table, their pages whispering secrets in a language I
couldn't understand.
My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I
walked through the debris. An ornately bound book, its leather
cover worn smooth with age, felt strangely warm in my hands.
Its pages, filled with a script that resembled flowing vines,
seemed to pulse with a faint inner light.

A shiver danced down my spine as I spotted a metal

contraption crackling with static. It looked something like a
radar dish, its spindly antenna pointed towards the ceiling.
Wires snaked across the floor like metallic veins, their purpose
a mystery.

The most unsettling finds, though, were the handwritten notes.

They spoke of rituals, of practices to beckon beings from
beyond the stars. The language was cryptic, filled with
symbols and diagrams that sent chills down my spine. There
were mentions of sacrifices, of offerings made under the light
of a specific constellation.

And then, tucked away in a metal cabinet, I found

them......specimens. Small, vial-contained samples of
something…...not human. The label scrawled on the vials was
simple: „J.D. Sample #‟ followed by a number.
My breath caught in my throat. Were these…...alien remains?
Had he been dissecting beings from another world down here?
The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.
As I stood there, surrounded by these fragments of another
reality, a thousand questions swarmed my mind. The weight of
these questions pressed down on me, suffocating. I knew I
couldn't stay down here any longer. But a part of me, a curious
and perhaps reckless part, longed to dig deeper. What secrets
did this place hold? What dangers?
For now, I decided to pack it in. I carefully placed everything
back where I found it, except for the alien scripture book. That,
I tucked safely into my bag, a fragile piece of the mystery I had
stumbled upon.
As I climbed back out of the tunnel, the basement door
slamming shut behind me felt like a heavy sigh of relief. But
the echo of that alien scripture book pulsed against my chest,
a constant reminder of the secrets that lay hidden beneath my
feet.

I had planned to leave the house the very next moment but
the plans were different, of the nature. Sixteen years of
showers, I had experienced till now, couldn‟t prepare me for
that. Each boom of thunder shook the windows, a primal roar
seemed to have split the sky in half. All I heard was the nature
demanding me to leave all things as they were and put back
everything I packed in my back. I could do nothing but put
back everything in the very place I found them of my first day
and left as early as the environment came to peace the
following morning.
He ended up binding his report papers and seemed to be in a
satisfaction, which one could clearly read on his face. Another paper
was put in the end of his document which he pulled out of a file from
one of his cupboards. He took out another sheet and burnt it with a
smile of relief on his face.
The last page read –

“My father was right every time............whether it may be when no one

believed him or it may be when he told me he did nothing but a stupid
astronomical research on stars at his village house. Everyone was
wrong, every............single............one! He never contacted to any alien
nor did take control of their minds. He was just an enthusiastic star
gazer. The only fault he did make was that he trusted a wrong friend.
One who never deserved to his partner. He not only performed
cryptic rituals but made out a canopy of my dad’s death under which
he continued to perform his evil rituals and was eventually killed by
an alien. My dad died in an accident. He was not killed!
But,
people still continue to believe that he was an alien hunter and died
fighting one of them. And that’s not all..........he also did curse the
village not to disturb anything in his house except they wished to get
perished by the nature. He would have never lied to me. HE WAS
INNOSCENT.........he told me!”