A friend suggested us the Arizona hotel at the end of the lane. The moment, I and Rajat checked into a room, it suddenly dawned on me that I’ve spent few days five years back in the same hotel, and interestingly in the same room. Rajat suspiciously looked at me and with a sarcastic grin asked who was the one I spent, “my few days with”.
“My parents u jerk”!
“Acha.?! Now c’mon tell me honestly, who was it…? Which boyfriend?”
Rajat is a painter/writer and I, as you all know, a sloppy journalist. It’s been 15 months of our happy marriage.
“Arrey, don’t talk nonsense yaar. It was daddy and mummy I had come with, for a weekend”. I shrugged off any further questions and went to take out my bathrobe from the suitcase.
Suddenly a washroom flush roared in the next room, across ours. “Hmm... so at least we are not alone in this dreary quiet hotel”.
As I came out tying the knot of my bathrobe, I told Rajat that I’ve decided that we shift into another room. I do not want to think of my parents while I enjoy my time with you. He thought it did not make sense, and that we would only be wasting our time. I, as always, did not budge. The knock on our door coincided with the voice of the receptionist. Dressed in black formals, she came in to ask if we were doing fine. I told her we would like to shift into another room.
“I am sorry Ma’m but there’s no empty room at this moment”.
“Not even one”? I questioned, taking it as my failure to convince her.
Rajat seemed to be alright with it and continued with painting the sunset that looked exceptional from our window. Just to strike a conversation I asked her whether it is a family staying across our room.
“Across your room Ma’m? Aah...there’s no-one in that room.”
“No-one? But I just heard the sound of a washroom flush!”
“That’s not possible Ma’m. That room always stays empty. I do not want to scare you but will tell you a lil secret. We call it the haunted room… after an accident few months back”
My insides shook as I heard that, but remained silent and gave Rajat a frightened smirk. His fingers continued to colour the dying orange sun. The receptionist waved goodbye and reminded us of the facilities available.
I closed the door and sat by Rajat wondering why he did not reply to the haunted room story. He knows how scared I am of the ghosts!!! Though he wasn’t very glad that I disturbed him but still he looked up at me, and laughed.
“O c’mon, do you really believe her? She was just trying to keep you away from picking up your luggage and moving out to a different room. And am sure there are loads of empty rooms in this hotel and the one across ours might be empty too”.
He then pulled me to his side and kissed me on the cheek. His point seemed convincing. I decided to lie down on our bed and relax. And suddenly, the flush roared again. I shuddered thinking there is in fact a ghost staying in that room, and oh we are doomed now. Rajat heard it too and looked at me expecting the reaction of a scary cow.
I ignored him.
But after a few minutes my alarmed senses embraced a pragmatic thought.
“Hey hang on… why would the ghost be relieving himself and with so much decency to ‘flush’ his waste down the sewer? Hmm that’s really interesting…”
The journalistic streak overpowered my inborn ghost fear. I unzipped my bag and took out my video camera to check its battery.
“There is something extremely suspicious going on here. Be that as it may, ghost or no ghost, I am going to find out”.
We digested a sumptuous dinner in our room, enjoyed a few vodka shots, and then charted out our plan for tomorrow. At 5.30 the car would be ready with an escort to take us on our planned journey. All this while, my brain simultaneously created a graphic representation on how to catch hold of our neighbour convinced that no ghost stood behind that door.
The lights had dimmed in our room and I switched on my camera and set the mode on night-shooting, prepared to toil in darkness. The vodka shots had helped. Perhaps, today was meant to be the day when I would capture all my fears. Scary ghosts and their safe haven- darkness.
Meanwhile Rajat grumbled in his sleep that even on a vacation weekend his stupid wife was geared up with her camera trying to grab a story… so much torture to marry a journalist.
The door creaked open and I heard muffled footsteps head towards the corridor.
I picked up my camera and followed; prepared to unravel the concealed secret……
