/x/ - Paranormal

ok so listen up you fucking retards this is anon from the it cell again the same code monkey who grinds jira tickets and pretends the sprint velocity means anything while the managers smoke their own farts in meetings. im a software engineer yeah the classic pajeet stereotype the board loves to meme about the ones who say "kindly do the needful" and spam stackoverflow with the same bug for the 500th time. name is whatever call me whatever the fuck you want. this shit is typed with one hand while the other one is on the energy drink because sleep is for people who dont have production outages. punctuation is garbage on purpose because coherent sentences are for instagram thots and their pastel ghost stories. this is the real deal the kind of shit that gets posted at 3am when the meds wear off. so picture this. old office building in some tier 2 city the kind where the lift smells like wet dog and the ac drips on your keyboard. the peons and the security uncles keep muttering about the abo and the pajeet spirits that never left after the builders paved over whatever the fuck was there before. you know the drill. indian jan culture or whatever the fuck they call it the mix of jain guilt trips about ahimsa and the regular village pret bullshit all stirred together with the usual desi corruption. the seniors would say dont stay past midnight on the third floor or the jeetaa comes for you. jeeta the unfinished soul the one that got stuck because some contractor paid the workers in promises instead of cash. and the abo the restless one the one that walks the corridors looking for the next soft target. the board would call it cope but those old uncles were dead serious. one night the pipeline is red again the client is screaming in the group chat and everyone else bailed. classic. i stay back because the it cell never sleeps and the deadline is god. headphones on code scrolling when the lights start flickering like a cheap horror movie. then the monitor glitches and for a second the java looks like some fucked up mixture of sanskrit and error logs. i laugh it off because pajeet brain is trained to ignore red flags until the server actually melts. go to the water cooler and the corridor is dead quiet except for this low chanting. not the peaceful monk shit. more like someone counting debts under their breath. jiva ajiva the living and the non living. the old philosophy the roommate used to spam about when he was high on those books. the sound comes from the empty conference room. i open the door and the whiteboard has fresh writing in what looks like permanent marker but smells like copper. "the hours you stole belong to the unfinished the abo waits the pajeet debt is due". i wipe it and the red stains my shirt and stays there like a fucking brand. back at the desk the keyboard starts moving on its own. keys clicking without fingers. a new function appears out of nowhere. summonAbo() with an infinite loop printing "return what you took pajeet". i pull the plug and the screen stays lit for a few extra seconds just to fuck with me. outside the window under the dying street light theres a figure. white cloth dirty edges long hair wet even though the sky is clear. classic chudail pose but the face when it turns is all wrong. no eyes just black pits and the mouth is open like its still trying to finish a sentence from years ago. it points straight up at the third floor. at me. i lock the glass door like that would do anything and sit under the desk like a bitch. phone has zero bars of course. the old stories start looping in my head. how this land used to have some small jain meditation hall before the builders paid off everyone and poured concrete over the bones. how the workers who fell from the scaffolding never got proper rites because the inauguration date was fixed and the politicians needed the photo op. how the abo and the jeeta from those half finished lives still walk looking for the ones who sit late and take time that was never theirs. the lift starts moving by itself. ding ground. ding first. ding second. stops on third. doors open. empty. but the air that comes out is pure rot mixed with the sandalwood they burn in those temples. footsteps. bare feet on tile. slow. deliberate. stop right outside the glass. a voice that sounds like static and wet dirt says "you took the hours the unfinished needed. the debt is not paid. the abo claims its due. the pajeet always thinks he can code his way out." i start muttering the only half remembered lines from school about the five vows or whatever the fuck. ahimsa satya the rest of the list. voice cracks. the shadow on the floor stretches longer than it should. something presses against the glass. not hard. just enough to leave a smear. morning comes. security uncle unlocks everything. finds me under the desk looking like i fought a war and lost. my shirt still has the red mark. whiteboard is clean. code is normal. nobody believes a word. they say overtime brain or the leftover chicken biryani that sat in the fridge too long. classic dismissal. but the peon uncle just looks at me and nods once. says "abo jeeta never forgets. better leave something near the generator next time. rice. coin. whatever. the old ways still collect even if the building has wifi now." so yeah. still grinding the same tickets. still watching the pipeline at weird hours. but i never stay alone on that floor after the clocks hit midnight. every full moon or whatever the calendar says i leave a small offering by the back stairs. the board would call it pure cope. the normies would call it mental illness. but they never sat through a night in that building when the lights die one by one and the lift keeps stopping on the empty floor for no reason. the deploy went green the next day. client happy. manager happy. me still checking the shadows every time the ac clicks. life continues. the jeeta waits. the abo waits. the deadlines wait longer. kek.

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I've been in between jobs ever since I left college, doing different things here and there - odd jobs sometimes. It wasn't until I started as an 112 operator that I realised it's what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. The feeling that it gave me was indescribable; this warmth would wash over me like a cup of smooth, hot chocolate sliding down your throat and for a while, I was as happy as a clam. I'd only been on the job about four months when I received one of the most chilling, unexplainable and spine tingling phone calls of my life. Now, I know what you're thinking. Most, if not all 112 calls are chilling or disturbing to a degree - of course they are. It's an emergency line. However, nearly all the calls can be explained, they can be rationalised and categorised. Nothing is left unclear or ambivalent. Rationality is what the human brain needs to be able to understand and comprehend a situation. When that's not possible, that's when you start to question everything you've ever known; everything you've ever accepted as reality. The night it happened was a particularly gruelling shift and I'd spent the last 10 hours just dispatching police for various domestics. I was about two hours from finishing when I received a call from a little girl called Arunthati. The following is a transcript of that call. Operator: One-one-two operator, what is your emergency? Caller: Hello? Mummy's fallen over. Operator: What's your name, honey? Caller: Arunthati. Operator: Okay, Arunthati. Can you tell me where you live? Caller: I don't know the address. Can you find me? Operator: Yes, I can trace the call, Arunthati. Can you tell me what's happened? Caller: Mummy's been acting all weird the past few days. Not sleeping at nights, going around scratching at things, scratching at walls. I'm always too scared to come out of my room. Tonight, I was in bed and I started hearing this weird moaning sound. Mummy sounded like a zombie! (giggle). Operator: What's mummy doing right now, Arunthati? Caller: Mummy's on the floor right now. Won't get up. Operator: Is mummy breathing, Arunthati? Caller: I don't know. I can't see her chest moving. I'm scared. Operator: It's ok honey, help is on the way. I'll need you to stay on the line with me until they arrive. Can you do that? Caller: Y-yes. Something's happening. Operator: What's happening? Caller: Mummy's twitching now. Her eyes are fluttering. Like a butterfly. (In the background distinct moaning sounds are heard and sounds of someone dragging themselves. Arunthati is heard whimpering.) Caller: Is someone coming? I'm scared. Operator: Yes, Arunthati. Help is not far away. What are those noises? Caller: It's mummy. Operator: What's mummy doing? Caller: I'm hiding in my wardrobe. She is crawling on the floor, like a tarantula and her eyes have gone all weird. She is hissing and this weird red foamy stuff is coming out of her mouth around the sides. Operator: Can she see you? Caller: I don't think she can see me yet. Is someone coming? Are they close? Operator: Yes, very close. Caller: (whimpering) Operator: Arunthati? Are you ok? Caller: (inaudible) - mummy's walking backwards now. I think she knows where I am. Her black eyes are looking right at me. Please, I'm scared. Mummy wants to hurt me. Operator: Arunthati. What do you mean your mummy is walking backwards? Caller: It's all upside down. Her legs are twisted the wrong way, her body is normal but her head is all backwards too. You know when you twist your barbie's head? It's like that. She's shaking as she walks, kinda like a robot. She's coming. Operator: Arunthati, the police are right around the corner. Caller: Mummy's smiling at me now. I think it's ok for me to come out. Operator: Arunthati, stay where you are. Caller: Mummy? (whimpering) Operator: Arunthati? The police are right outside. Caller: (inaudible) Mummy, please stop. You're scaring me. Operator: Arunthati? Caller: I don't want to eat that Mummy. What do you mean it'll make me like you? Where are we going, Mummy? A piercing scream is heard and the line goes dead. When the police arrived at the scene, they couldn't find Arunthati nor her mother. In fact, the house didn't even look lived in. They reported that the lights didn't work, there was no furniture and in the middle of the living room, they found the decaying corpse of a dog. Looked to have been dead for weeks. Insects, maggots; all kinds of detestable things were found slithering around the house. No trace of any living human being was found. I quit my job the very next morning. That call has haunted me to no end since; I just couldn't comprehend my experience. My boss and the police were all adamant that they were sent to the wrong address - it was all deemed to be the fault of the dispatcher. Me. But I know I wasn't wrong, I know the address was right and there was no error in the system, nor was it my fault. I think about Arunthati every day and pray that nothing bad happened to her but deep in my heart, I know that creature that was pretending to be her mother did something unspeakable to her. Something unthinkable.

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Do you think God has a gender? If yes, which? Male or Female?

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Sare chamaro ko nivedan. Jokes aside i dont think Zen will do anything to keep it intact. Since we dont have RTA, and any convo on politics is infiltrated by bhosda pillas (except one military anon, you are cool). Hoping we could talk about RTA stuff. Something like archaic practices or temple building etc. I wanted to know if someone here is well versed in sangam stuff, so we could compare the nagara, vaisaka and dravida shailys.

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