The Room
The straight road, although easy to navigate, rarely succeeded in reassuring me of smooth bus driving. Sudden stops; because a man had to pull up a cart on the ascending slope of the road. Some misfit thinking he could overtake a bus from the wrong side; auto rickshaws trying to test the theory that they could drive above the speed of 40km/hr; these stops threw us forward in our seats, even with the large size of the bus, which should- logically- greatly reduce the impact. But all this didn’t bother or irritate me today. Because what came next, was far more intriguing and mysterious as I got off the bus and started walking on the way to the University.
The familiar figure of an old dilapidated house, large and sprawling, in a state of disrepair. Paint was peeling off the walls, chunks of it were falling, and the shutters on the windows blocked out all view, from both sides. Now, it was clearly an abandoned house, long forgotten for at least ten years, judging by the desolate atmosphere around it. So why were the shutters open today? Shouldn’t they have fallen off from rotting away, too?
My mouth fell open as I looked up and saw the reason why. An old woman, likely as old as the house itself, appeared to be cleaning the windows on the third floor. The astonishing and totally unexpected sight continued to hold me enraptured as I stood there, waiting for something miraculous to happen. Abruptly, the harsh honking on the road pulled me out of my daze. The old woman continued cleaning, rubbing on the windows diligently with concentration, as I resumed walking past the house to my University.
The next few days, I made it a point to check out the building every time I had to get off the bus. But I never got to see the old cleaning lady again. At least, I assumed that she was a cleaning lady.
But the wheels of my brain never stopped turning. Whose house was that? It must have been recently purchased, since the owners had hired staff to clean the house. Why didn’t they move in? Why would anybody buy such a dilapidated house, which would likely require a huge amount of capital to be refurbished from top to bottom, on top of its initial cost, which would also be expensive, considering the size of the house? Who would invest so much into a house when buying a new one would probably be much cheaper? And if it has been bought, why aren’t the repairs proceeding?
A whole month passed. It was Friday night. The house and the cleaning lady were stuck in the back of my mind, like gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe. The itch inside me didn’t dissipate even after I gorged on psychological thrillers intended to scramble your mind and leave you feeling a little insane. If possible, I got even more fixated on the real mystery in my life that had gripped me tight in its grasp. So I hastily packed an investigation-exploration bag, ready for a stimulating adventure fresh tomorrow.
So here I was, on a Saturday morning, having nothing better to do than to trespass on someone’s property to satisfy my perverse curiosity. I was prepared: I had brought a flashlight, a pocket knife, mace, a box of matchsticks, some candy and snacks, with my phone fully charged and installed with an emergency assistance app. As I neared the entrance, the sense of anticipation building up in me rose to a fever pitch: it was now or never. I walked across the path leading to the front door, conscious that I was doing something I shouldn’t. Thank God, that the neighbourhood seemed to be empty. The last thing I needed was a suspicious neighbour accosting me or reporting me to the police.
The front door creaked as I pushed it gently open. I held my breath. “Hello?”
My breath didn’t puff as I expected it to, because the air was clean. Not misty, full of dust, and it definitely didn’t smell. What the hell? The house was clean as well. The floor was free of dirt and debris, the walls were unpainted but clear, and the air as it was outside the house.
How come I didn’t see this from the outside this past month? Everything was so damn clear, it was confounding! I had kept a watchful eye on this house for so long, and I couldn’t even see? I must be the worst creeper in history. And here I thought, I was finally acquiring some useful skills aside from reading horror stories and eating candy. Why does this always happen to me?!
As I contemplated my tale of tragedy and woe, I distinctly heard a whirring machine sound. The floor was warm, too, for a house that had been uninhabited for ten years. I walked around the large area, searching for the source of the noise. I pulled out my flashlight. For some reason, the sunlight outside didn’t filter in as much and I had to switch on my ‘light to be able to see where I was stepping.

The heat seemed to be coming from a room in my right corner. It was almost black. I ran the flashlight over the floor, walls, ceiling, etc. and found a staircase leading to a basement. Why hadn’t they hidden it? Or covered the floor with a carpet or a trapdoor? I braced myself for the worst thing I could possibly encounter in the basement. My mind hardened by steel, I walked down the staircase. The room was covered in white sheet. Plastic, from ceiling to floor, every inch. There were numerous pillars and rather than a large hall, it seemed to be a zigzag corridor which led to another destination. By the looks of it, there were multiple corridors like the one I was in with a round, clear space at the end of a corridor. The place was well-lighted.
“Come, come, dear, let me feed you.” I jumped out of my skin, a pathetic whimpering noise escaping from my mouth. The old cleaning lady was standing in front of me. She seemed to have appeared out of thin air. She was wearing a warm smile, grey clothes, and black heeled shoes.
Her voice was dark, cultured. Full of secrets. And she seemed to be expecting me, a stranger she definitely hadn’t met before. Hence the attempt to put me at ease, lull me into a false sense of security. All the signs of criminal intent. Maybe this was a mistake…
No, of course not! I’d lost my head. She was clearly just an old lady, aren’t all of them kind and fragile? She was a hunchback, for God’s sake! And what could she possibly do to me? She wasn’t wearing shoes conducive for committing murder. But those fingers were like splinters……. No, it was fine! My throat would probably slip out of her measly grasp if she tried to suffocate me.
Snorting at the amusing image, I walked after her as she tagged along forward. I experienced a weird sensation in my head, as if I had left my brain outside my body somewhere and carried on. My head actually felt hollow.
In the middle of the zigzag path there was a table laid out for tea. There were little cakes set in a three-tray display, a teabags and a big kettle with milk in a separate container. The sugar was kept aside too. It was the English Tea display, “High Tea.” She gestured to a chair. I sat down.
Okay, what the hell was happening?
“We have been waiting for you. I told Mr. Rasal that you love to eat cakes and you especially like reading horror tales, don’t you? He’s such a gruff man, and so handsome, anh? You’ll love to meet him. He’s of the Old World, such manners, such respect! In my opinion, he was born to rule over the peasantry. After all, he is an educated, cultured and elegant man. I do hope you won’t behave like the indecent heathens which came around last week. Giggling around, such frivolity! And they looked vulgar, too, in those skimpy clothes. Pants that stick to their legs and little shirts which end at the hips! Such obscenity! What has the world come to! My granddaughters were the same sort of creatures. Mr. Rasal set them straight as well. He’s good at disciplining little girls. They’re here, with us, now! They’ve seen the error of their ways, and have completely amended their horrible personalities. Let’s just say, they won’t be behaving like vixens anymore! Come to think of it, they would love to meet you, too. Just don’t be jealous when you see them, huhn, we keep all of them locked and chained for their own protection. Otherwise the outside world would corrupt them, no? But you won’t have to be, dear. You’re not like those impertinent girls nowadays, are you? You’re a well-mannered child. I can already see you’ll be very special.”
O.M.G. Someone help me!!!
Her malevolent laugh bashed against my skull. I was frozen in my spot in the chair. As I desperately attempted to think of a way to escape, she spoke again.
“Please wait here while I fetch Mr. Rasal.” She poured me water from the kettle, milk from the small jug, and dipped a tea bag into it. “Help yourself to the sugar and cakes, dear. I’ll be back.”
Terminator comeback? Wait, why the hell am I focusing on that now?!
I launched myself out of the chair the moment she turned out of sight. I ran into the corridor into the right. Ugh! This place was nothing short of a labyrinth. What’s more, every single corridor was covered in the white plastic. What was up with that?
There were two more corridors to choose from. I rushed down the left, hearing a whirring machine noise. Wait-
Thuck.
My vision was blurring as I lost my footing and heard her dark voice by my ear.
“I told you to wait there, you unmannered heathen. Now Mr. Rasal will need to discipline you. No need to feed you, girl. We’ll be the ones eating you…”
Oh, no.
