Crybaby - Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty of the blockbuster new novel, Crybaby by best selling, multi-award-winning author Mark Watson...
CRYBABY
©Copyright 2024 by Mark Watson
CHAPTER 20
RAMPAGE
As Ahanna, Rahul, Raj, and the rangers neared the village, an ominous sense of dread gripped them. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning wood and oil, and dark plumes of smoke spiraled above the treetops, smudging the blue sky. The festive clamor they had expected—the cheerful laughter of children, the crackle of fireworks, and the lively bustle of activity—was conspicuously absent. Instead, an eerie silence hung over the village, broken only by distant wails and muffled cries of anguish.
“Oh my God.” Ahanna whispered sharply, her heart sinking as she motioned for the group to move faster. They sprinted from the dense undergrowth, across the open field, and into the heart of the village. The sight that met them was one of devastation.
What had been a vibrant celebration was now a scene of utter ruin. Stalls that once overflowed with sweets, decorations, and handmade garments lay in splinters. Food carts lay overturned, their contents smeared and trampled into the dirt road. Strings of bright, festive lanterns hung limp and broken, swaying in the breeze like mournful remnants of a lost joy.
Near the schoolhouse, a haggard group of villagers had gathered. Their faces bore the marks of terror and exhaustion. An elderly man knelt beside a woman, carefully tying a strip of cloth torn from his dhoti around a deep gash on her arm. Children clung to their parents, their wide eyes darting around as though the very shadows might spring to life.
Ahanna strode toward the group, her presence commanding despite the chaos. “What happened here?” she demanded, her voice steady but underlined with urgency.
A lone police constable, Arjun, stepped forward. His face, streaked with dirt and sweat, was pale, his expression haunted. “It was Crybaby,” he said, his voice hoarse and trembling. “He came out of the forest like a storm. We thought we were safe with you tracking him, but… but he was furious, completely out of control. He destroyed everything.” His voice cracked as he gestured toward the village square.
Ahanna followed his gaze to where the massive banyan tree—the village’s ancient sentinel—lay uprooted, its gnarled roots clawing skyward like skeletal fingers. Around it, the remains of shattered stalls and scattered goods painted a grim picture of Crybaby’s rampage.
Arjun continued, his words tumbling out. “He came from the north, straight through the jungle. The first thing he hit was the square. He crushed the stalls, the carts… anyone who got in his way. We tried to fight back, but nothing worked.”
Another villager, a wiry young man clutching the broken handle of a broomstick as if it were a weapon, chimed in. “We thought firecrackers might scare him off—they work on normal elephants, don’t they? But not him. It only made him angrier. He’s no ordinary animal. He’s a demon.”
Ahanna’s jaw tightened as she surveyed the destruction. Festival decorations, meant to celebrate light and victory over darkness, lay in tatters, smeared into the ground by Crybaby’s rampage. Every vibrant color was dulled, every symbol of joy turned into a grim reminder of their vulnerability.
“Where is he now?” she asked.
Arjun shook his head wearily. “We managed to drive him back into the jungle, but not before he…” He paused, his voice faltering. He pointed toward the ruins of a shop at the edge of the square. Its roof had caved in, the walls reduced to jagged splinters. “That was Ram Singh’s shop.”
Ahanna inhaled deeply, her resolve hardening. She turned to Anil, a wiry ranger whose sharp eyes had already begun scanning the surroundings. “Secure the area,” she ordered. “Check for anyone who might still need help and count the injured. We need to make sure everyone is accounted for.”
Anil nodded and immediately radioed his team. The device crackled to life, a voice on the other end responding, “The elephant team is unloading at The Onion House now.”
Ahanna relayed the news to Arjun. “The specialists are here. They’re experienced in tracking and handling rogue elephants. We have the resources and the personnel we need to deal with Crybaby this time.”
Arjun’s shoulders sagged slightly, relief and exhaustion mixing on his face. “We’ve waited so long for this. He’s tormented us for too long.”
Ahanna placed a steady hand on his arm. “I know you’re tired, and I know how much you’ve endured. But trust us. This ends now. We’ll capture him and take him far away from here. He won’t be able to hurt anyone again.”
Her words carried a weight of determination, and though the villagers remained shaken, a flicker of hope began to replace the fear in their eyes.
The rampage began under the harsh glare of the afternoon sun, as the village bustled with life and celebration. The main square was a kaleidoscope of colors and movement, transformed into the heart of the Diwali festivities. Stalls lined the streets, their vibrant canopies billowing in the breeze, showcasing an array of handmade sweets, brightly painted toys, and intricate trinkets. Strings of marigolds crisscrossed overhead, casting dappled patterns of yellow and orange onto the lively scene below. Children weaved through the crowd, their mischievous laughter ringing out as they dodged scolding vendors after attempting to pilfer ladoos. Groups of women, clad in radiant saris that shimmered in the sunlight, knelt on the ground, skillfully crafting elaborate rangoli patterns. Their bangles chimed melodically as they worked, exchanging gossip and lighthearted banter.
It was a scene of joy and tradition, a celebration of light triumphing over darkness. But the first sign of trouble came suddenly.
The earth quivered faintly beneath the villagers’ feet—a sensation so subtle at first that it might have been mistaken for the vibration of distant drums. It quickly grew more pronounced, and clay pots hanging from the stalls clinked together, their rhythmic tapping catching uneasy glances. Then, a low, guttural trumpet shattered the festive hum of the marketplace, freezing every movement and turning all eyes toward the dark edge of the forest.
From the shadowy depths of the jungle emerged Crybaby, an enormous, wrathful presence that dominated the scene. His body, marked with deep scars and blackened patches of skin, seemed to shimmer with a menacing light as the sunlight danced off the sweat and grime that coated him. His tusks, long and bloodied, gleamed like deadly spears, while his small, red-rimmed eyes burned with a hatred that seemed almost human. With his ears flapping violently against his sides, he let out another earth-shaking bellow and stormed into the square, scattering a flock of pigeons into the smoke-laden sky.
Crybaby’s rampage began with terrifying speed. Without hesitation, he charged at the nearest row of stalls, his massive tusks ripping through the colorful canopies and sending trays of sweets flying through the air. Vendors and shoppers screamed, scrambling to escape as their livelihoods were trampled underfoot. Fragrant piles of ladoos and jalebis were smeared into the dirt, mingling with splintered wood and shredded cloth.
Next came a cart laden with delicate clay lamps. One powerful sweep of Crybaby’s trunk sent it careening into a nearby food stall, where pots of steaming curry and spiced rice toppled, filling the air with the pungent aroma of spilled oil and crushed pottery. The children’s delighted giggles, so lively moments before, gave way to shrieks of terror as the beast smashed through a small wooden merry-go-round. Its colorful, hand-painted horses splintered under his massive feet, and the remnants scattered like broken dreams. Parents dragged their children away, their faces pale with fear.
A few brave villagers attempted to drive Crybaby off, shouting and waving sticks to scare him. But their efforts were futile. His response was a deafening trumpet, so powerful it seemed to rattle the very air. Crybaby reared up, his colossal front legs poised like battering rams, before crashing them down, sending a shockwave of destruction through the square.
He turned his fury toward the festival’s sacred centerpiece—a towering statue of a deity surrounded by offerings of fruit and flowers. With an enraged bellow, Crybaby charged, his tusks splintering the wooden pedestal and toppling the idol in a cascade of shattered petals and crushed fruit. The sacred figure lay in ruins, a stark symbol of the devastation that swept through the village.
Crybaby’s rampage reached its peak when he targeted the massive banyan tree that had stood for generations as the village’s silent guardian. He battered his head against its ancient trunk, his tusks digging deep into its bark. With a final, mighty shove, he uprooted the tree, sending it crashing onto a nearby house. The roof crumbled beneath the weight, the walls shattering as the tree’s sprawling branches claimed the structure.
The chaos was overwhelming. Families fled in every direction, clutching children and aiding elders as they sought safety in their homes or narrow alleyways. Crybaby tore down the length of the main street, his monstrous form reducing the vibrant Diwali market to ruins. Stalls displaying garlands of marigolds were swept away, the bright orange and yellow flowers scattering like confetti before being trampled into the dirt. Toy stalls fared no better—delicate paper kites and carved spinning tops were sent flying, only to be crushed moments later under his enormous feet.
Crybaby’s destructive rampage ended in explosive chaos. A fireworks stall, stocked with rockets and sparklers for the evening’s celebrations, became his next target. With a single, devastating charge, he barreled into it. The collision triggered an eruption of sound and light. Rockets shot into the sky, bursting into vivid colors that momentarily lit the somber scene, while firecrackers exploded on the ground, filling the air with smoke and the acrid tang of gunpowder.
As the echoes of the fireworks faded, Crybaby lingered at the edge of the main street, his form silhouetted against the haze of smoke. The once-vibrant heart of the village was now a shattered wasteland of broken stalls, spilled goods, and scattered decorations. The cries of terrified villagers and the faint crackle of smoldering wreckage filled the air, a haunting dirge for the devastation wrought by the rogue elephant.
Among the wreckage, Arjun crouched behind an overturned cart, gripping his service pistol. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he surveyed the destruction. Crushed pottery, shredded garlands, and scattered sweets mingled with the smoldering remnants of lamps and firecrackers. His eyes flicked to Crybaby, whose bloodied tusks and battered form stood as a grim testament to his fury.
The villagers had scattered, but one group—women and children—remained trapped against a collapsed house where the banyan tree had fallen. Arjun swallowed hard, his trembling hands tightening on the pistol as he knew the time for waiting was over.
Arjun couldn’t see any of his fellow policemen and he certainly couldn’t afford to wait for backup. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like a war drum as he took a deep breath to steady himself. Sweat trickled down his temple, and his hand trembled as he tightened his grip on the pistol. Stepping into the open, he forced his fear aside and summoned every ounce of courage he could muster.
“Hey!” he shouted, his voice slicing through the cacophony of chaos. Crybaby’s massive head jerked in his direction, ears flaring like sails catching an invisible wind. The elephant’s small, bloodshot eyes locked onto him, their gaze full of primal fury. For a fleeting moment, the devastation seemed to pause, the air hanging heavy with tension.
Arjun raised his pistol and fired a single shot into the air. The sharp crack of the gunshot shattered the stillness, echoing across the ruined square. Crybaby hesitated, his colossal frame quivering with adrenaline. He pawed at the ground with one enormous foot, the motion sending a spray of dirt, rocks, and debris flying into the air. The sound of his bellow that followed was earth-shaking, a deep, guttural roar that reverberated through Arjun’s chest like a thunderclap.
“Come on, you monster!” Arjun yelled, his voice raw but resolute, rising above the chaos to demand the elephant’s attention. Crybaby responded instantly, lowering his tusks like the prongs of a battering ram and charging with terrifying force. The ground seemed to tremble beneath his advance, each of his thundering steps shaking loose dust from the fractured remains of nearby buildings.
Arjun dove behind a stack of wooden crates as Crybaby thundered past. The crates exploded in all directions, fragments of wood spinning through the air like shrapnel. The sheer power of the elephant’s charge left a trail of destruction in its wake, the ground torn and splintered where he had barreled through.
Rolling to his feet, Arjun barely had time to aim again. With practiced precision, he fired two shots—not to harm the elephant but to draw its attention away from the vulnerable villagers still trapped nearby. One bullet struck a rusted lamp post, the metallic clang slicing through the air and halting Crybaby in his tracks. The elephant twisted toward the sound, his hulking body swaying as he turned, and began to rear onto his hind legs. The motion made him appear even more massive, his shadow looming over Arjun like a dark cloud ready to consume him.
Arjun’s pulse raced as he realized the elephant was preparing to crush him. Desperation spurred him into action. Scrambling to his feet, he darted toward the remnants of a demolished stall where a cluster of firecrackers lay smoldering amidst the debris. His hands shook as he snatched up a handful of the explosives, their fuses glowing faintly. Quickly, he jammed them into a cracked clay pot. His movements were frantic but precise as he grabbed a stray lamp wick to ignite the fuses. The sparks flared to life, and with every ounce of strength, he hurled the makeshift explosive at Crybaby’s feet.
The explosion was instantaneous. A brilliant flash of light illuminated the devastation, followed by a deafening series of cracks and pops. Smoke billowed upward, thick and acrid, stinging Arjun’s eyes and throat. Crybaby bellowed in surprise, his ears flapping as he reared back on his hind legs. The firecrackers hadn’t harmed him, but the sudden noise and smoke threw him into confusion. He swayed unsteadily, his massive head shaking as though trying to dispel the disorientation clouding his senses.
“Go! Get out of here!” Arjun shouted, his voice hoarse and strained as he waved his arms, hoping to drive the beast away for good. For a heart-stopping moment, Crybaby seemed ready to charge again, his tusks gleaming like blades in the smoky haze. But then, with a final, earsplitting trumpet of frustration, the rogue elephant turned. His immense form lumbered away, his footfalls gradually fading into the distance as he retreated into the forest. The village fell silent, save for the faint rustling of leaves in the wind and the crackling of smoldering wreckage.
For what felt like an eternity, no one moved. Villagers peered cautiously from behind overturned carts, crumbled walls, and whatever other cover they had found. Slowly, they began to emerge, their faces pale and etched with disbelief. Their eyes roamed the devastation, taking in the flattened stalls, scattered goods, and splintered wood. The vibrant square that had once pulsed with life and celebration now lay in ruins, a grim battlefield marked by Crybaby’s wrath.
Arjun stood amidst the wreckage, the weight of what had just transpired settling heavily on his shoulders. The acrid smell of smoke clung to the air, mingling with the faint scent of crushed marigolds and spilled oil. Around him, the villagers stared in silence, their expressions a mixture of awe and grief as they surveyed the destruction.
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY
Please help!
Consider supporting me by making a small donation at “Buy me a coffee”, your support helps me write more books for you.
There are no differences between paid and free subscriptions on my Substack, except that warm fuzzy feeling, knowing that you are supporting an independent Author, and my gratitude 🤩
I pour my heart into writing, editing, and perfecting Crybaby each week to ensure you enjoy every chapter!
If the story is bringing you joy, show your support here…
Thank you for reading.
Your time and curiosity are truly appreciated. Stay tuned for more exciting content and stories.
Until next time!
All the best, Mark 🤩
P.S. Tell your friends…
Share 🎪 The Travelling Circus 🎪
Join us on future adventures! Subscribe for the latest projects, creative insights, and exclusive content…
Be the first to dive into upcoming releases, get behind-the-scenes access, and enjoy special treats.
Don't miss out—sign up now! Unlock a world of imagination, inspiration, and storytelling joy with every newsletter.
Thanks for being part of our journey—subscribe and let the enchantment continue!
EXCLUSIVE: Subscribe and enjoy the hilarious science fiction novel The First Mann On Mars…
