Storymaking Creative Writing

Tuk. Tuk. Tuk. The sound of the watchman beating his stick on the pavement fell upon Neal’s ears. The sound stirred his sleep. He thought as if his own heart was pounding. Was he getting a heart attack? The sound became louder and he was scared stiff. He was perspiring. He pushed off the blanket. The sound became louder. It was followed by a shrill whistle. It was faint at first, but slowly became louder and louder. When he heard the whistle, he realized that the sound was made by the watchman, beating his stick as he made his rounds. Neal quickly sat up on the bed. Gosh! It was already dark! He had slept through late afternoon and evening. He had been feeling restless since morning and pleading a headache, he had come home early in the afternoon. It had been a busy week with a hectic schedule. Neal had gone straight to bed and slept soundly until he was awakened by the sound of the watchman tapping his stick and blowing his whistle. He stretched himself and put on the light. Nine o’clock. The watchman’s first hourly round that night. Neal felt like lying down again. After all, it was bed time. Then on second thoughts, he changed his mind. He had not shut and fastened all the windows for the night. He had not switched on the passage light which he usually kept burning at night. And if at all he was going to get up, he decided to eat something. He did not like the idea of waking up at some unearthly hour on account of hunger! He slowly dragged himself to the kitchen. While the eggs boiled on the stove, he grated some cheese for the sandwiches. He turned round to get some tomatoes from the refrigerator, when he thought that someone was watching him. He turned to look out of the kitchen window. It was dark outside. A single street lamp burned high upon the pole at the corner and cast a misty yellow light across the compound. The watchman’s whistle was no longer heard. He must have finished his usual round. Neal thought he must have imagined it. There was no possibility of anyone being around at that hour. He proceeded to make the sandwiches. He carried his plate to the sofa and watched the news on TV as he ate. He was putting his plate into the sink when he thought someone passed the kitchen window. He trembled slightly. He looked out again, but there was no one outside. He wondered what was wrong with him. Neal was tired out that week. He had never felt as uneasy as he had felt that morning. Moreover, he had met his ex-girl friend for the first time that day, long after they were separated. He was disturbed since he had discovered that she was happily married and settled. He was in a strange set of mind. He wondered whether there really was someone outside or whether he was imagining things. Yet, he always considered himself to be an organized man.
It couldn’t be the watchman. He would be on his second round exactly at ten. Neal pushed back his fear and decided to remain cool. What he needed was a good rest. He fastened the doors and windows and climbed upstairs determinedly. He prepared for bed, surprised that he should long to go to bed after sleeping for so many hours! What had made him so tired? He remembered that he had been extremely busy that week. He had neither slept well nor eaten regularly. He was thankful for getting a half day off that day and decided to make the best of it. He really needed rest.
Without wasting time, he snuggled into the soft bed, pulled up a blanket and shut his eyes. He did not realize when he drifted into sleep.
Tuk. Tuk. Tuk. Neal was disturbed in his sleep once again by the same sound. He comforted himself with the thought that it must be the sound of the watchman’s stick again. He turned to one side and tried to ignore it. But it sounded louder and louder. Neal expected that the shrill sound of the whistle would follow. But it did not. Only the tuk, tuk sounded louder and louder. Perhaps, the watchman had forgotten the whistle in his cabin? Neal thought this strange. The stick and the whistle always sounded together. Now, the tuk tuk sounded from very near. The watchman must be passing near his window. He would soon walk away. Tuk, tuk, still louder. Why didn’t he move on? Neal covered his head with the blanket to shut off the sound. It became louder and louder. TUK. TUK!! So loud? Neal thought it sounded INSIDE the house and not OUTSIDE!! TUK. TUK. Louder and louder. Neal felt the vibrations in his eardrums. He must tell the watchman to he uncovered his head. The sound came nearer and nearer. TUK. TUK. Now it was inside his bedroom. Only the stick no whistle it couldn’t be the watchman. “What is wrong with me? My life is broken down. Now, my mind is breaking down” TUK, TUK, as if right there, near his bed. Neal sat up on the bed. He froze with fear. Neal was too scared, either to shout or move. He sat still, paralyzed watching with his mouth wide open.