The Runner
I went to the running camp to heal my aching heart. But I came back barely saving my life.
I am a failed novelist. Thirteen novels, and not one of them found a publisher. I have spent forty years of my life trying to publish my masterpiece. None made it. The disappointments in my life are many—my wife left me for another man, my daughter became a drug addict. I found running to be the simplest and most effective way to make sense of my horrid life. I enrolled in marathons of all kinds, and then I went a step further and enrolled in this dangerous running camp in a South Indian village. A million miles from my home.
The village’s climate defied convention. Dawn ushered in gentle breezes, noon brought stifling humidity, and evenings cloaked us in winter’s embrace. All the seasons competed for attention every single day.
Our instructions were clear. Run over the mountain every day. It was an 8-mile run. The path snaked through dense forest, occasionally shared by wildlife. Afternoons were devoted to yoga, while evenings found us gathered around the bonfire, voices raised in song and conversation.
“Today’s run was quite difficult?” said Luke from California. We were the only two white men in this camp.
“Yes,” I said, sipping some local beer. “We will be okay.”
The next day started early. We had some nutritious smoothies and did our warm-ups. The trainer assembled us and informed, “The trail today will be arduous, but remember to keep running no matter what happens. Do not leave the trail under any circumstances. A bunch of green flags will be at the top of the hill. Get them and come back quickly,” he warned us.
This was not the typical talk we got every time we started the race. Luke accompanied me, and as we headed into the thick of the woods, the way narrowed. It was not like the other trails. An old French couple ran in front of us. My satellite phone was in my backpack just in case of an emergency. The fragrance from the walnut trees drifted down the hill. Luke slowed down, and he asked me to keep going. I went past the French couple. I was running more slowly than usual as the trails kept winding in. Then all of a sudden, I heard something move among the bushes. I slowed, hoping it was not a tiger. But nothing happened, so I kept moving, and then once again, I saw something move.
I froze.
“Who’s there?” I said.
A young girl emerged, her face streaked with tears.
“What’s wrong?” I approached cautiously.
The mists were moving down. She spoke in her language, but I could not understand. She kept pointing over the hill. I didn’t know what to do. I waited, hoping the French runners or Luke might come. I waited for 10 minutes, but no one came. I decided to follow her. She took me through another trail. Lots of thorns and bristles, but the girl with bare feet walked as though it was a soft pillow.
The mists by now covered the entire hill. I could hardly see the girl, but she finally stopped in front of a small hut. A hut in the middle of nowhere, I mused. Apprehension gripped me as she beckoned me inside, her wails intensifying. I cracked the door open to find a woman in apparent distress.
“You have to take her to a doctor,” I observed her inching closer.
The woman’s condition appeared dire—neck tendons straining, lips tinged blue. The girl cried, but a thudding noise was heard outside the hut. The noise grew, and all of a sudden, the woman who was laying in the bed sat up smiling. My mind couldn’t comprehend.
“Hey, is this a prank?” I stood up, and to my shock, the girl had vanished. The door revealed only emptiness beyond. Inside, the woman underwent a grotesque transformation. Her complexion brightened, pupils dilated, lips flushed crimson. As she approached, my strength ebbed. Darkness claimed me.
I woke up tied to a tree. Luke was also tied to a tree opposite me. The surroundings looked familiar; we were once again near the camp. The French couple came smiling with our instructor.
“Look, they are awake,” said the trainer with a smug face.
“Last year, we had great fun with a pregnant woman,” they laughed.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Did you see the girl?”
“Yes, but she disappeared.”
“You will meet her today,” the instructor said. “Now she likes to play hide and seek. She is going to let you run, and this is your only chance. If she gets you, she gets you.”
“What are you talking about?” Luke yelled.
“She will kill you, but she will hunt you down and then kill you,” the French couple smiled.
“What kind of sick game is that?” I spat. “I will call the police.”
“You don’t understand… we all work for her. No one will save you,” the trainer proceeded to untie both of us. They handed back our backpacks.
“Sorry, she has to be fed. She feeds on fear, so now start running,” said the trainer.
I looked at Luke.
“Is this a joke or a prank?” I asked.
The trainer laughed. He unbuttoned his shirt and revealed a rotting chest. “You think this is a prank? We are marked. We are damned.”
As dusk fell, cricket song filled the air. Luke and I sprinted, desperate to locate the main road. The familiar trail from camp seemed altered. I remembered my satellite phone and halted to retrieve it.
“Hey, why are you stopping?” Luke looked at me concerned.
“I have a phone. I can call for help…” I called the emergency number.
But nothing seemed to be working.
The clouds, perhaps, I thought. “We have to find a way out of here. A bunch of loonies.”
“Yes, no one has followed us till now,” said Luke, relieved.
We walked for some time. We found the way to the main road.
“Gosh, we found the way,” I stepped onto the road happily.
A truck was coming, and I asked the driver to stop. The truck stopped, but something was weird. There was no driver. I started to freak out, and Luke looked around.
“What is happening? Are we in a dream?” I started to scream.
Luke calmed me down. “We can drive this and escape from this place. This is our only hope.”
We waited another 20 minutes. No one else passed by, so we drove the truck. Within 15 minutes, we came to town. After four hours of travel, we reached the airport.
“It was all an elaborate hoax,” I mused as we boarded the plane. “For a moment, I believed them.”
“We escaped with our lives,” Luke replied, smiling.
Back in America, we said our goodbyes, and I went to my house. I slept peacefully. This was the closest I had come to death. Yet, so many things bothered me: the girl, the dying woman, the trainer’s chest, the driverless truck.
“Man, somebody must have gone through a lot to make such an elaborate prank,” I thought.
Anyway, now I am going to go for a run. Like I said in the beginning, I went to heal my heart but came back barely saving my life.
—
*Editor’s Note:*
This short story arrived unsolicited. Five months after notifying the author of its acceptance, we learned of his untimely demise. He collapsed during a frigid morning run, his chest bearing mysterious burn marks. Eyewitnesses reported seeing him in the company of a young Indian girl weeks before his death.
Copyrighted @ Ronald Hadrian 2024