Thread by @TheDilliMirror

HAUNTED STORIES OF DELHI : THE GRIEF
Growing up , there was one very peculiar thing in my family that I could never understand. Whenever they were very sad or grieving or with an extremely heavy heart they would go in this room , close the door and sat there ; sometimes for

minutes , sometimes for hours and sometimes for days . They would not eat or sleep when inside the room but when they came out they were calmer and visibly at peace .
Whenever I asked my parents about it they told me that they will let me know the family secret when I turned 21

Finally when I turned 21 , my parents and grandparents took me inside that room. Opened a door and handed me a pen . It was blue in color , with a silver medium nib and no markings or manufacturer name . It was made out of single piece of metal which meant there was no place to

fill the ink . I was confused .
My grandfather kept his hand over my shoulder and said - " Whenever you are full of extreme grief , take this pen and start writing . The pen will write your grief on its own till the time the sadness is out of your system . Your grief will be

written on paper in black ink . There is no ink that needs to be filled in the pen . But two very important things - 1) Only pick up this pen when your thresh hold of absorbing grief is maxed out . This is the last resort . You need to learn to deal with emotions and pain

For every small thing , don't turn to the pen . That is why we wait till you are 21 so that your are matured to understand what that grief threshold is . 2) Use the pen to vent out only grief or sadness - not anger , not hatred . Anytime while writing you feel your grief is

turning into hatred for somebody , break the nib and drop the pen. Else bad things will happen."

"Who gave you this pen, grandfather?". I asked .
" During partition when I was fleeing Rawalpindi after seeing my family butchered , Asif , my neighbor gave me this pen

" Use this pen for overcoming your grief" he said. " But never for hatred for us "

"I wish I had not wrongly hated them in my anger". My grandfather said partly will guilt and partly with horror in his eyes. He never explained that further

I started using the pen first when I

lost my grandfather to Parkinson. I picked up the pen and it kept writing for 2 days - my hands never stopping but never tired either . I went on for two days and finally was at peace.

Then I used it when my parents got divorced . It was then I realized that

with that pen I don't need to suffer any sadness or pain . I stop following my grandfather instruction & used it for smallest of issues.

After losing every person I loved , one day I lost my strength .The only person who was their with me through out .The love of my life.Nithya

She was murdered in cold blood . Police said it was robbery .

That day I went home , closed the door and started writing . "Nithya , my love , you were my everything...". For three days the pen kept writing my grief in black ink.
And then ink turned red ."Why Nithya , why did

you refuse to marry me . Was I not good enough for you , bitch ?. Did you see how my knife stuck right in the middle of your heart .... "
As the pen is moving on paper , deep gashes are appearing on my body , bleeding me . The more I bleed, darker the red ink gets

I fell down - in the pool of my blood - blood seeping out of my gashes , my veins bursting open one by one.

The pen is still writing , crimson red is the color of ink now.