More spooky stories, p.1
More Spooky Stories, page 1
‘For my favourite aunt, Reba Mukherjee, who was a brilliant raconteur with a marvellous sense of humour.
She taught me to look at the brighter side of life.’
CONTENTS
Prelude
1. The Creepy Doll
2. Too Late for Regrets
3. The Airport
4. The Ghost with a Sweet Tooth
5. The Haunted Aircraft Carrier
6. One Night at Abbot Mount
7. The Spooky Gallows
8. The Birthday Girl
9. The New Year Party
10. The Scholarly Spectre
11. The Strange Story of Rishabh Mishra
12. The Revelation
About the Book
About the Authors
About the Illustrator
Copyright
PRELUDE
The bumpy road made Uday Sengupta cling tightly to the door as the taxi raced through the wilderness in the darkness. The mud track, pitted with gaping holes and craters, made the journey much more uncomfortable, but the driver paid no attention to Uday’s requests to slow down or drive carefully.
It had been almost two hours since they had started on their way and now that the destination was just a few minutes away, the driver, keen to get back to the city at the earliest, sped as though chased by demons.
I’m going to be so glad to get there – especially in one piece, thought the young passenger, clutching the headrest of the passenger seat in front of him. ‘Can’t you go a little slower?’ he snapped, gnashing his teeth.
‘No, Babu, I don’t want to be stuck in this godforsaken place at night – it’s not safe,’ replied the driver.
‘You don’t have to go back to the city! My uncle has a huge house, and there’s lots of accommodation for the staff. I can arrange for you to spend the night there.’
‘Thank you, Babu, but I prefer to sleep in my own bed,’ the driver grinned insolently. They were about a kilometre from the house when the driver made a sharp U-turn.
‘What are you doing?’ yelled Uday. Ruffled and exhausted, he was not in a mood for tricks.
‘You’ll have to get off here because I’m going back. It’s already dark, and the streetlights aren’t working. Also, there seems to be no electricity – I don’t want to be stuck here!’
‘But you agreed to drop me at the house. I paid you in full before we set out!’
‘That’s right, but all I am saying is that the path gets narrower from this point, and it’s difficult to manoeuvre the vehicle over that potholed path in the dark.’ Ignoring Uday’s protests, the driver got out and stretched. ‘Hurry up, Babu. I don’t want to be delayed any further. It’s not too far from here – a young man like you should be able to cover the distance in ten minutes.’
There was clearly no point in arguing. Uday paid off the rude fellow and heaving the rucksack on his shoulders, he began to trudge towards the house. Things hadn’t been going well since he landed at the Indira Gandhi International Airport in New Delhi. First, he had missed the domestic flight to Raipur. Then, the cab drivers at the airport were not willing to go all the way to Bastar. It had taken the promise of double fare and much cajoling for this cab driver to agree to the trip.
His vehicle wasn’t in good shape and halfway through the journey, they’d had to stop to change a tyre. To add to Uday’s woes, the driver was addicted to tea, and they’d made frequent tea breaks too. It had been an exhausting day, and all he wanted was a hot meal and a comfortable bed to rest his tired limbs. Weighed under the heavy backpack, Uday trudged towards the house.
The moonless night made things murky. He could barely see his way in the darkness. Navigating by the light of his mobile phone, he walked along the deserted path – just as he had done many years ago. The area was familiar, and yet things had changed so much. Both the trees and the undergrowth were denser and more unkempt than he remembered and had crept closer to the path, making the place look eerie and well, a bit creepy. That had not been the case when he last visited the place.
Keshav Roy, whom he called Keshavmama, was Uday’s one and only maternal uncle. A bachelor, the good-natured uncle had been a senior officer in the Indian Forest Service, when he had constructed a large house in the Bastar area. He had named it Shantikunj, which meant the haven of peace. Surrounded by sprawling grounds, it had been a wholesome and peaceful place. Greenery had abounded, and the people who lived nearby had been honest and hard-working.
After retirement, he had settled down in the house with a retinue of servants drawn from the local villages. Keshavmama loved nothing better than hosting guests. As a result, Shantikunj was always full of friends, and relatives. It had been Uday’s favourite childhood retreat. Every year, the entire clan descended during the summer vacation. The chatter and laughter of innumerable aunts, uncles, and cousins had resounded and filled the house. Those had been happy times, a world without a care. While the adults had spent time chatting and playing card games, children had romped around the vast grounds.
All that had changed once Uday had gone abroad for further studies, and he’d continued to live there once he’d gotten a job. He’d got busier as time went by, and the occasional trips to India had become rarer after his parents, who had settled in Kolkata, passed away. Soon, he’d lost touch with all his relatives including his uncle.
Things had continued to be hectic at work, and the long-planned trip to India had been indefinitely delayed, till he received a letter from Keshavmama.
Dear Uday,
It’s been a long time since you visited your mama. A lot of things have changed around this place. I am an old man now. You have always been my favourite nephew and I wanted to discuss an important matter with you. Can you take some time off from your work to visit me? Please consider this an urgent request and come as soon as possible.
Yours lovingly,
Keshav mama
Perhaps the old man wants to make a will, Uday had thought at first. Not that he was interested in inheriting the vast property – it would be difficult to maintain while living in the US. Yet, mama’s request was impossible to ignore and so, Uday had begun to make travel plans. It’ll be nice to relax in the quiet of Shantikunj, he thought. Life had been too frenzied, and he needed a break. Besides, it would give him the opportunity to catch up with Keshavmama and enjoy some family gossip. Perhaps Keshavmama may even be able to arrange a family reunion so I can meet all our relatives too.
But despite many attempts, the demands of his job kept him from undertaking the journey. It was several weeks before he took off to India. Since there were no direct flights to the place, the journey to Bastar proved long drawn out and exhausting. There were fresh challenges at every stage. I am not coming here again, any time soon, he decided. Instead, I will invite Keshavmama to visit Silicon Valley. He’s sure to enjoy the trip.
As Uday walked along the meandering dirt track, it began to pour. Cursing the weather, lack of electricity, and the cab driver, he continued along the now slushy path, the light of his phone getting weaker as he neared his destination. The wicket-fenced house, surrounded by giant peepul, mango, and banyan trees, was in complete darkness. The smells of the forest tickled his nostrils, bringing hundreds of childhood memories flooding into his mind.
He sighed. The scraped shins, stolen fruits, and pranks – they’d spent so many carefree days in Shantikunj. Uday recalled the long treks with his cousins through the jungle, climbing trees and going on countless adventures, as he walked along the path. He remembered the happy times spent with his umpteen relatives, some loving and some cranky. From meeting dozens of uncles, aunts, and cousins to the feasts and celebrations, he had enjoyed it all.
Keshavmama had always been an excellent host. A jovial and generous man, he’d always helped all those who’d turned to him in times of need. According to Uday’s mother, many unscrupulous relatives and friends had unfortunately exploited the poor man. As he trudged along, he got to thinking about his various uncles and aunts. Since Uday had lost touch with everyone, there had been no opportunity to attend any of the family functions or listen to the gossip thereafter.
Soaked to the skin, the young man hastened towards the house. He could barely make out the outline of the once impressive double-storied house with its interesting nooks and crannies that provided excellent hiding places during his childhood. He had so much fun playing hide and seek with the cousins. As he neared the house, he was surprised to see the dilapidated condition of the once-imposing metal gate. It swayed drunkenly on broken hinges as he pushed it open and walked into the grounds. Uday strained his eyes to locate the entrance to the house. He remembered it as an impressively carved mahogany door with its ornate brass knocker with the lion-head. Smiling as he imagined the expression on his uncle’s face, he rapped on the knocker.
After what seemed like at least ten minutes of knocking, Bhurakaka, the elderly factotum, stood gaping at him. Holding the candle aloft, the old retainer stared at the young visitor. Uday had wanted to surprise Keshavmama, so he had arrived unannounced.
‘Kaka, it’s me – Uday! Don’t you recognize me?’ Uday wanted to hug the old man who had been around the place ever since the house was constructed.
The old man was taken aback at this sudden arrival. Bhurakaka seemed to find his tongue at last. ‘Uday baba! You have grown into a fine gentleman. But why haven’t you visited Shantikunj for so long?’
‘Well, I am here now,’ Uday said cheerfully. It was nice to be back in Shantikunj. He sud
‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ he grumbled. ‘No one tells me anything, these days.’ The years had not been kind to the gaunt man. In the dim light of the candle, Uday could see there were deep lines on the man’s face, and he looked hollow-eyed. It was evident from the sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, and frighteningly bony shoulders that Bhura was not in good health. Uday made a mental note to take Bhurakaka to a doctor while he was at Shantikunj.
‘Mama is well, I hope,’ said Uday as he walked into the hallway.
The hall stood in the centre, with corridors running on either side. Leading Uday towards a room on the left side of the corridor, Bhurakaka said, ‘Come this way. I will show you to your room. We didn’t know you were coming, and I have not prepared a room for you, but that can wait. In the meantime, you can freshen up before joining the others in the dining hall.’
Uday could hear loud laughter coming from a distance. ‘Others? Are there guests in the house?’
‘Yes, your mama’s friends are here – eleven of them.’
So, it was going to be a full house. The house was big enough to accommodate a large number of people, and the formal dining hall had hosted innumerable gatherings. Uday smiled at the memory of the many parties he had witnessed during his summer vacations here. Keshavmama had had a group of friends who always landed up at Shantikunj to celebrate special occasions and birthdays. The men, mostly bachelors or widowers, were long-time friends of his uncle’s.
‘Is the power cut likely to last a while?’ Uday asked as he followed the old man down the corridor.
‘One never knows,’ replied Bhurakaka. He ushered Uday into a guest room that had seen better days. ‘There is no surety.’
Leaving the candle with him, the old man left the room. Uday washed up as well as he could in the semi-darkness before walking to the dining hall. He heard the guests before he saw them. Walking in, he saw they were all sitting around the enormous dining table laden with food.
The room was dimly lit with two candelabras, each holding a couple of candles, at either end. The candles threw more shadows than light, and Uday could barely discern the features of the people seated in the room. Once his eyes adjusted, he was surprised to see that they were not the usual group of his uncle’s friends. This was a motley group of men and women, none of them familiar.
Keshavmama was sitting at the head of the table. ‘Uday, you’ve finally arrived,’ he shouted. To the young man’s surprise, his uncle made no effort to get up and greet him. The others ignored that he was in the room and continued talking.
‘I am sorry I could not come sooner,’ Uday apologized. ‘Good evening!’ He greeted the guests.
‘You are too late, but it doesn’t matter anymore,’ replied Keshavmama. ‘Anyway, sit down and join the discussion since you are here.’
Feeling disappointed at the cold greeting, Uday took his seat at the foot of the table. Have I made a mistake coming all the way?’ he wondered. But he was ravenous after the long day he’d had – all he wanted was to finish dinner and hit the sack. The others, however, didn’t seem to be in a hurry, and an animated discussion was in progress.
‘We are talking about paranormal things,’ said the bespectacled man seated to his right. His face dimly illuminated by the candles, the gaunt man leaned conspiratorially and asked, ‘Have you ever encountered a ghost?’
Uday had been party to many similar discussions in his childhood. Drunk on happiness, aided by alcohol, Keshavmama, and his guests had loved nothing more than an animated discussion. Politics, films, literature, art – nothing was off the table.
‘I don’t believe in ghosts,’ Uday said, unwilling to be drawn into the discussion. He was too tired to debate the fanciful subject. ‘They only exist in the imagination. I am a data scientist, and I don’t indulge in fantasies.’
‘Ah, a man with a scientific temperament?’ snorted the gentleman. His eyes shining through the spectacles, he said, ‘They think they are infallible. Let me warn you, you will change your mind about the supernatural.’
‘How can you be sure there are ghosts? Have you seen one?’ Uday snapped. He was too tired to play guessing games or take part in pointless discussions.
‘Of course, I have seen ghosts. Young man, let me tell you a story. It’s something I have experienced – it’s not fiction, I assure you.’
‘Yes, yes,’ clamoured a couple of men. ‘A true story is always interesting.’
‘I have a story too,’ exclaimed a portly fellow seated near the storyteller, keen to grab the spotlight.
It’s going to be a long night, Uday thought, sighing as the first story began.
1
THE CREEPY DOLL
‘It had been another sleepless night, a sixth consecutive night of madness, in the Bhatnagar home. The nocturnal upheaval left us bleary-eyed and exhausted every morning. We snapped at each other, unable to concentrate on work, dreading the nightmare promised to us each night.
I distinctly remembered the day it began. The three of us—my wife, daughter, and I—had been on a holiday in Mexico. The Aztec civilization and culture have fascinated me for a long time, and I was keen to absorb the sights and flavours of Mexico. My training as an anthropologist has a lot to do with my interest in Aztecs and Mayans. Given that I was a professor and taught anthropology in a prestigious college, I considered traveling educative. There’s nothing like experiencing things in person.
Amrita, my wife, shared my obsession with the reconstructing, interpreting, and understanding of past human societies. She was an archaeologist and taught at the same college as I did. We had travelled quite extensively during the early days of our marriage, but things changed about seven years ago, after the birth of our daughter – Aria’s arrival put most of our plans on hold. We had waited many years to take the Mexico trip, and when it finally happened, we wanted to accomplish as much as possible in the fortnight we were there.
We took in the sights, enjoyed Mexican food and music, taking hundreds of pictures and video clips of our experiences. Our interest must have infected Aria too because she enjoyed the trip in her own way.
The Aztec civilization is as interesting as the Egyptian one. When it was finally explored, Teotihuacan turned out to be a treasure trove of ancient structures. Built in around 400 BCE, it is one of the country’s oldest archaeological sites. Templo Mayor, the Great Temple, a remnant of the ancient capital, is as majestic now as it must have been in ancient times. The highlight of our trip was our visits to various museums. We spent an entire day inside the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City, which is filled with a carefully curated collection of archaeological and Aztec artifacts. Amrita was fascinated by the turquoise and obsidian Aztec masks, the exquisite Shield of Yanhuitlán crafted from gold and turquoise, while I stood rooted before the replica of Codex Borbonicus written by the Aztec priests.
We were a few days from returning home when we met Carmina Martinez, a fellow anthropologist, and friend who taught at the New University of Mexico, for dinner. I’d met her during a global seminar on the Aztec civilization, and we’d hit it off.
‘You should spend your last day cruising the canals of Xochimilco, which is a UNESCO World Heritage site. The canals and chinampas—man-made islands—are a tourist favourite,’ she laughed. Glancing doubtfully at Aria, she said, ‘I don’t know whether you should take your daughter, but the Island of Dolls is a very interesting place.’
I’d read about the island and the horrific collection of dolls on it, and I was keen to visit the place. Since we had no place to leave Aria, we decided to take her along.
The next morning, we set out for the chinampas. Our backpacks filled with food and water, we sailed along the Xochimilco canals in the city in a colourful boat called a trajinera, which reminded me of the shikaras of Srinagar. There were three other people in our boat, one of them an enthusiastic young Australian journalist in search of an interesting story and a polite Japanese couple. With us was also our talkative local guide named Alvaro. The gloomy semi-darkness of the overcast day seemed to cast a spell over the group as he spoke.
‘We must walk around the Island of Dolls,’ Alvaro said. ‘It would be a tragedy to miss the place.’
