Mr. Oliver, an Anglo-Indian teacher, was returning to his school late one night, on the outskirts of the hill-station of Simla. From before Kiplıng's time, the school had been run on English public school lines; and the boys, most of them from wealthy Indian families, wore blazers, caps and ties. Life magazıne, in a feature on India, had once called it the 'Eton of the East'. Mr Oliver had been teaching in the school for several years.
The Simla Bazaar, with its cinemas and restaurants, was about three miles from the school; and Mr Oliver, a bachelor, usually strolled into the town in the evening, returning after dark, when he would take a short cut through the pine forest.
When there was a strong wind, the pine trees made sad, eerie sounds that kept most people to the main road. But Mr Oliver was not a nervous or imaginative man. He carried a torch, and its gleam-the batteries were running down- moved fitfully down the narrow forest path. When its flickering light fell in the figure of a boy, who was sitting alone on a rock, Mr Oliver stopped. Boys were not supposed to be out after dark.
"What are you doing out here, boy?' asked Mr Oliver sharply, moving closer so that he could recognize the miscreant. But even as he approached the boy, Mr Oliver sensed that something was wrong. The boy appeared to be crying. His head hung down, he held his face in his hands, and his body shook convulsively. It was a strange, soundless weeping and Mr Oliver felt distinctly uneasy.
OK, what's the matter?' she asked, her anger giving way to worry. 'What are you crying for?' The boy won't answer or look up. His body kept sobbing and sobbing continuously. Come on, boy, you shouldn't be out of here this time. Tell me the problem See !' The boy looked up. He removed his hand from his face and looked at his teacher. Mr. Oliver's torchlight fell on the boy's face - if you can call it a face.
He had no eyes, ears, nose or mouth. It was just a round sleek head with a school cap on top! And this is where the story should end. But it didn't end there for Mr Oliver.
The torch fell from his trembling hand. He turned and dashed down the path, running blindly through the trees and calling for help. He was still running towards the school buildings when he saw a lantern swinging in the middle of the road. Mr Oliver approached the guard, gasping for breath. What is this sir?' asked the watchman. 'Has there been an accident? why are you running
"I saw something - something terrible - a boy was crying in the woods - and he had no face!
'No face, sir?'
Eyes, nose, mouth - nothing!
'Do you mean it's like that Was it, sir?' asked the guard, and lifted the lamp to his mouth. The watchman had neither eyes, nor ears, nor any specialties - not even an eyebrow! And then the wind extinguished the lamp.
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