Chapter 2: The Descent into Darkness
At last, they set off—slightly later than anticipated, but unbothered, their spirits undimmed. They stopped for a lingering dinner at Domino’s, the aroma of cheese and oregano mingling with their eager conversation about Coorg, before merging onto the open road, their journey westward just beginning, the city lights dissolving behind them.
The city lights dwindled in their rearview mirror, replaced by the hush of monsoon rain that danced against the windshield. With each passing mile, Bangalore faded into memory, and the world shrank to the golden glow of the dashboard, the rhythm of the wipers, and the intimate silence between Vyom and Priya. As soft melodies drifted from the speakers and the rain whispered secrets upon the roof, anticipation mingled with the scent of damp earth.
Priya, lulled by the hypnotic lull of the road and the gentle percussion of raindrops, pulled her eye mask from her bag. “Wake me when we see the hills,” she murmured, her voice barely louder than a sigh. She nestled into her seat, surrendering to sleep, while Vyom tightened his grip on the steering wheel, feeling the promise of adventure pulse through the quiet night.
Vyom found himself alone with his thoughts, the gentle hum of the engine and the patter of rain keeping him company as he navigated the empty highway. He hummed softly under his breath, glancing at the sleeping form of Priya beside him, her features softened by the faint glow from the dashboard. Outside, the landscape began to shift—the straight urban roads giving way to winding paths cresting the foothills of the Western Ghats. The trees seemed to lean in, close and secretive, shadows flickering in the headlights.
Eager for company, Vyom called out to Priya, his voice playful, but she remained lost in dreams, her eye mask firmly in place. Smiling at her peacefulness, Vyom turned his attention back to the road, unaware that the night ahead would soon unravel in unexpected ways. The GPS showed they were entering the Western Ghats, and the terrain, hitherto straight and forgiving, began to slither with serpentine curves.
And then it struck.
An absence. A void where resistance should have been.
The brakes. They were unresponsive.
A sickening dread engulfed him as he pressed the pedal repeatedly—each attempt more futile than the last. The vehicle was no longer a vessel of control, but a rogue missile careening through shadowed bends.
An icy wave of panic swept over him, but somewhere beneath the fear, his mind raced for solutions. He remembered a video he’d watched not long ago: “How to Survive a Brake Failure.”
His hands shook, but he gripped the lever and began to pump the handbrake, cautious not to yank it too hard. Each tug slowed the car a little, but gravity pulled them relentlessly down the winding hill. The speedometer needle danced. Vyom’s knuckles blanched white against the steering wheel, eyes darting between the sharp turns ahead and the dark chasm below.
Somewhere in the backseat, Priya slept soundly, oblivious to the silent battle between man and machine. Vyom’s breath caught in his throat as the car picked up speed again, every shadow outside seeming to lurch closer, every bend a new threat. He muttered a prayer, never letting go of hope that they would make it to safety before the mountain claimed their journey.
The jungle loomed on either side of the winding road, its silhouette broken only by the headlights slicing through the night. Vyom gripped the wheel with tense, white-knuckled hands, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his fear at bay. The car, shuddering with each curve, became his entire world—a fragile shell hurtling through darkness and rain.
He dared not slow, nor stop, with the thought gnawing at him that something waited just beyond the reach of the lights. Every shadow seemed alive, every bend a new threat. He pressed onwards, willing the battered vehicle to obey, his mind replaying fragments of that safety video he’d seen weeks before, the instructions echoing louder than the music still playing softly from the dashboard.
Through a haze of drifting sleep, Priya stirred. She blinked, confused, pulling the eye mask from her face as she glanced over at her husband. “Vyom, is everything alright? You look so tense,” she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness.
Ink of Dread 
Leave a comment