The Laugh of the Hyena - By Bhavna K. Mehta

Written By: Bhavna K. Mehta

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the vivid tapestry of storytelling, Bhavna K. Mehta's short story "The Laugh of the Hyena" emerges as a compelling narrative. Featured in Hashtag Kalakar's Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, this story navigates the intricate dynamics of a troubled young boy and his interactions with authority figures. Mehta's work is a poignant exploration of human emotions and societal structures.

About the Work

"The Laugh of the Hyena" delves into the psychological landscape of a young boy grappling with authority. Mehta crafts a tense atmosphere, using vivid imagery and sharp dialogue to explore themes of power, perception, and underlying societal disparities. The narrative unfolds with a gripping intensity, drawing readers into the boy's world and the complex relationships around him.

The Laugh of the Hyene by Bhavna K. Mehta

Original Submission by Bhavna K. Mehta

Hashtag Kalakaar Submission 5

Short Story

Word Count: 1305

The Laugh of the Hyena by Bhavna Mehta

The boy was expected to arrive in the next ten minutes. She thought she should go through his file to refresh her mind of his progress thus far. He was twelve years old and referred to them by his school. He had a history of aggression and disobedience, and teachers were constantly reporting him to the office for serious disruptions of lessons. He had anger management issues and trouble relating to figures of authority. Confrontations with adults were frequent and parental involvement was a challenge. His father was in prison for illegal possession of a firearm, and his mother ignored all calls to attend meetings at school, claiming she was too busy taking care of her baby. The school had placed him on an internal counselling programme which was run by volunteers from the local church group. He was a reluctant participant and demonstrated mood-swings.

Since his arrival at The Helping Hands Centre for Psychotherapy, he repeatedly expressed his desire to commit to the programme but there were two occasions when he failed to turn up even though the school and his mother believed he had attended. When asked about it, he apologised but evaded giving a reason for his absence. There was a fresh grazing on his knee which he said he sustained while playing soccer. The last comment on his file read,” He enjoys the art therapy sessions but lacks the artistic skill to express himself in any significant way.”

She heard his footsteps in the corridor and looked up to receive him. He looked pleased that he was going to work with water paints. As he settled down, she asked him about his week. He said that the school concert was coming up in three week’s time. He was excited because it was the biggest event of the year and he was one of the best dancers in the school. The concert would put him in the spotlight but now his teacher was threatening to take him off because he had misbehaved in the English Class.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I laughed throughout the lesson,” he said.

“Did someone crack a joke?” she asked.

“No. I like to make her angry. She likes her class to be quiet and busy. I like to watch her when things don’t go her way.”

“What did she do when you laughed?”

She said, “Stop laughing like a hyena!”

I said, “I’m not a hyena. Stop insulting me! You’ve got no right.”

She said, “That’s a simile. It means that you and the hyena share one thing in common. Do you know what that one thing is?”

I did not answer.

“Did you understand the simile?” the therapist asked.

At first, he was silent, then, he said, “I’m not stupid.”

She made some shorthand notes in her file.

When she looked up, there was a thoughtful look on her face.

“What is she like? How does your teacher look?”

He stared at her. There was a strange look on his face – an inscrutable expression. He considered her question carefully and there appeared to be a new dawning on his face.

Then he laughed.

She heard the laugh of the hyena, shrill and mocking. He laughed so much that she actually saw tears roll down his eyes.

Her voice was quiet. “What’s so funny? Tell me. I’m very curious now.”

“She’s like You – just like you, Ms Jones.”

He ignored her widening eyes of protest. “Nice clothes, nice car – yes, I’ve seen your car in the reserved space in the basement – expensive gold jewellery, nice home, nice family. Here, he looked at the framed picture of her posing with her family in front of their home. People like you have everything while we have nothing.”

He banged the table with his fist and she jumped up, her palms feeling the vibrations on the table. She wanted to say something, but she found that she was shaking so much that she needed to sit at her table. She watched him as he threw some colour on his painting with renewed vigour. In her mind, she heard Tchaikovsky’s 1812 overture gaining tempo.

She was jolted back to the present when she heard a knock at the door. She looked up to see her supervisor at the door. “Hi, Ms Jones! I’m off now. It’s month-end and it’s time to get a head start on my bills. I think you’re the last to leave. Just pull the gate when you go out. Jackson will set the alarm when he checks in later.”

“No problem, Bill. See you tomorrow. I’ll be leaving myself in about twenty minutes.”

She stood up and slowly and began to gather her things to pack away. She paused behind him to look at his painting. There was a splash of bold colour there and a streak of black gushing up from the bottom. “That’s interesting. You want to talk about it?”

“No! No more talking. I’m nearly finished with my art.” His voice was firm and focussed.

Her throat felt dry and constricted.

“I need some water.” She moved to her side of the table, grabbed her water-bottle and sank into her chair, gulping thirstily.

She was not aware that he had come round to her side of the table. He leaned forward and murmured into her ear, “By the way, I know where you live.”

She tried to sound casual. “Really? How?”

He did not answer. “I have my ways.”

A few minutes later, he left. She gathered her belongings and made her way down the corridor. The office building was empty and her stiletto heels echoed after her. She pulled the gate behind her, and it slammed shut. She made her way down to the basement where her car was parked.

She thought she was imagining it, so she slowed down, but it sounded like there were footsteps behind her. She waited, but then there was nothing. She started walking again and there it was again, the footsteps. She strained her ears to listen, but again, there was just silence.

“Jackson is that you?” she called out to the janitor.

There was no reply. She quickened her steps. There was just one more staircase and then the small distance across the parking lot but the footsteps following were now louder and coming closer. The constriction in her throat was painful, and her breath was coming out in quick, short gasps. She broke into a run when she heard a voice call out her name.

“Ms Jones, slow down! You dropped your car keys by the gate.” She looked up to see Jackson running behind her. “I can see I frightened you. Sorry! Come, I’ll walk you to your car.”

All she could say was “Thank you” and “Goodnight”. As she drove out of the exit, she heard it again – the soft mocking laugh of the hyena. She looked sharply at the rear-view mirror, but she could not see anyone. Jackson was still standing there waving. She wiped her wet brow with a tissue, rubbed her clammy hands on her skirt and chanted a prayer all the way home. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her driveway ahead and reached out with a shaky hand for her remote. And then she heard it again, the soft laugh of the hyena. There was the sound of the screech of brakes, followed by the sound of metal as the automatic gate slammed into the left side of the car. Her hands flew up to her cheeks as she stared at the rear-view mirror with large, incredulous eyes. From somewhere she could hear her husband’s concerned voice, “Oh my God! Are you ok? Unlock the door!”

She heard knocking on her window. She unlocked the door and slumped on the steering wheel.

……………………………………………………………

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar celebrates the art of storytelling and poetry. It provides a platform for writers worldwide to showcase their creativity and talent. This esteemed competition brings together diverse voices, offering a rich tapestry of narratives that resonate on a global scale.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Bhavna K. Mehta for her captivating story, "The Laugh of the Hyena." Her participation in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 enriches the literary world with its depth and insight. We look forward to more of her evocative storytelling in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.