Spooky Stories

by Tanushree Podder

  To my grandson – the one I call Jojo.

  Your four-year-mind is brimming with imaginary goblins and zombies and monsters now. But soon you will be old enough to read spooky stories.

  CONTENTS

  1. The Journey

  2. The Unpaid Debt

  3. The Treasure Chest

  4. The Wild Boar

  5. The Portrait

  6. The Ghost in Red

  7. The Dancing Ghosts of the Forbidden City

  8. The Tortured Soul

  9. The Tramp and the Seven Ghosts

  10. The Noose

  11. The Ghost That Loved Slapping

  12. The Midnight Visitor

  13. A Lethal Gamble

  14. The Thirteenth Story

  About the Illustrator

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Copyright

  1

  THE JOURNEY

  Anirudh Sen, a writer, was finally on his way to a remote jungle where his friend, Rajat, was posted as a forest ranger in the Buxa Tiger Reserve. Although Rajat had invited him several times, work kept the writer from accepting the invitation. That winter, however, he decided to visit the tiger reserve and stay for a long time. He had just signed a contract for a horror book with an unrealistic deadline. Realizing that the tiger reserve could serve as an ideal background for the book, he emailed his friend who gave him detailed directions to the tiger reserve.

  ‘Try to take the direct train,’ Rajat instructed. ‘It’s faster and more comfortable. Let me know once the tickets are booked. I will be waiting for you at the railway station.’

  Despite Rajat’s instructions, Anirudh managed to miss the direct train so he had to buy a ticket for a slower train that would carry him to Alipurduar.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Rajat when informed about the change in plans. ‘You can get down at Alipurduar and travel by road to Rajabhatkhowa. There are enough cabs and buses connecting the two places. I can pick you up from Rajabhatkhowa. It’s the gateway to the tiger reserve. The only problem is that it will be a much longer journey.’

  ‘I don’t mind long journeys,’ replied Anirudh. ‘In fact, the longer the journey, the better it is. It gives me the opportunity to read and work on my ideas for the next book.’

  A voracious reader, he had packed more books than clothes for his stay in the jungle. Carrying his bag and a large picnic hamper with enough snacks and juices to keep him tanked up, Anirudh embarked on his journey.

  The train arrived and he clambered into the second-class air-conditioned compartment. Delighted, he noted that there were very few passengers in the compartment. Most people preferred the fast train. ‘Thank god! I won’t be forced to make small talk with some garrulous co-passenger,’ he muttered.

  The train began moving and after a few minutes of gazing out of the window, Anirudh pulled out his book and began reading. From time to time, he dug into the hamper and munched on his favourite masala wafers. The book was so engrossing that he didn’t notice the hours flying.

  The sun had set and darkness fell. The train chugged through forests and small villages, halting at almost every station it passed. It was nearing midnight when, lulled by the rhythmic clattering and the gentle rocking of the train, Anirudh began to drowse. After a while, unable to keep his eyes open, he stretched himself out on the berth and went to sleep.

  He woke up with a start when the train halted at a tiny, dimly-lit railway station. A dense forest stretched on one side of the track and on the other stood the station. Walking up to the door, he leaned out and looked around for a tea vendor, but there were none to be seen. A sudden movement caught his attention and he turned to see a thief rushing off with his bag. Shouting, Anirudh began chasing the fellow, who had disembarked from the other door of the train. Crossing the tracks, the fellow disappeared into the forest on the other side.

  Determined to retrieve the bag with his prized books, Anirudh continued to chase the chap, who quickly disappeared into a dense grove. Unfamiliar with the terrain, he stumbled through the undergrowth in the darkness, trying to locate the thief. It was a wasted effort as the fleet-footed thief had melted away in the darkness. Panting, he paused to get his bearings in the forest.

  The forest seemed to have a life of its own. The wind made a keening sound as it rushed through the trees. Several eyes stared at him through the darkened forest. Surrounded by the hushed voices of the forest creatures, Anirudh felt his skin creep. He decided to abandon the chase. The night was growing strangely cold and he shivered. The wind howled menacingly around him, its bite prickling his skin.

  Drawing his coat tighter, and cursing angrily, the writer hastened back towards the station in the dark, only to find that the train had moved out. Sprinting as fast as his legs could carry him, Anirudh tried to climb into the last compartment but the train gathered speed and he found himself left in the lurch. Frustrated and angry, he began walking towards the waiting room.

  With a sinking heart, he realized that he would have to spend the night at the station.

  The station was dimly lit and deserted. Unlike most railway stations that buzzed with activity, this one was unnervingly quiet. Not a soul could be seen on the platform. There were no porters, no vendors and no officials. It was rather strange. Anirudh walked along the platform and found the station master’s cabin. Clad in a grimy uniform, his head resting on the table, the station master was fast asleep. ‘Terrible!’ he muttered as he walked towards the tiny waiting room at the end of the building.

  The waiting room turned out to be a dark and dismal place with a single naked bulb of dim wattage. With its dilapidated furniture, broken windows, crumbling plaster and cobwebs hanging from the corners of the walls, it had a rundown and uninviting look. To add to his troubles, there was an electrical failure that very moment. Unnerved, he stared into the darkness.

  The strong wind continued to blow, and the temperature fell. Shivering, he whipped out his phone, and let its light guide his steps.

  Dismayed, he looked around the waiting room and saw rickety chairs arranged in a circle. He counted them quickly. There were thirteen chairs. All of them were occupied except one. Just then, as luck would have it, the battery of his phone also died. Groping in the dark, he found his way to the sole vacant chair and plonked himself on it.

  ‘Welcome!’ a gravelly voice greeted him from the darkness.

  ‘Welcome,’ echoed several voices in unison.

  Unnerved by the eerie setting, Anirudh wished the night would end. The darkness, windstorm and rattling windows were getting on his nerves.

  ‘Is there a candle around?’ asked a voice from the depth of the darkness.

  ‘Where would you find a candle now?’ replied someone. ‘We’ll have to make do with the moonlight.’

  ‘I have a matchbox,’ said Anirudh, fumbling in his pocket. Taking it out, he struck a match and its dim light began throwing eerie shadows around the room. He could barely discern the people around him. Most of them were clad in winter clothes. Their faces half covered with the woollens, several eyes stared at him.

  The match singed his fingers before burning out. There was darkness once again. Cursing, he examined his surroundings in the faint light of a waning moon. It was likely to be a long night.

  ‘You missed the train?’ asked the young woman seated next to him. Her voice was soft and mellifluous.

  ‘… and lost my bag, too,’ he replied testily.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked an elderly man, his voice muffled by the monkey cap that covered most of his face.

  ‘I am going to the Buxa Tiger Reserve to visit a friend.’

  ‘I see. Well, you have a long journey ahead.’

  ‘What time is the next train?’ he as
ked the young woman.

  ‘Several trains pass through this place, but not many stop here. The one that will stop at this station is scheduled to arrive at 6 a.m., but it is never on time,’ she replied softly.

  ‘Are you waiting for the same train?’ Anirudh was curious. He wondered if everyone was waiting to catch the same train.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ she responded. ‘I might take another train. I have a lot of time to while away.’

  ‘That’s quite strange. I mean, why would you want to spend time at this rundown place? Anyway, I have no right to question your choice,’ he said, fishing for a cigarette in his pockets. ‘I hope you don’t mind me smoking.’

  ‘Go ahead!’ she responded.

  He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. ‘By the way, I am Anirudh Sen,’ he introduced himself. ‘I am a writer.’

  ‘That’s interesting. It’s nice to meet someone who writes. I am Mala,’ she said in an even voice. ‘I am a photojournalist.’

  ‘In that case, we have a lot in common.’

  ‘Yes, we both tell stories,’ she said with a gentle smile. ‘Have you …’

  ‘Speaking of stories, there’s no better time to share stories than now. It’s a long night,’ interrupted the old man. ‘Let’s pass it with a few stories.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ said an eager voice from across the room. ‘I love stories, especially stories of the spooky kind.’

  It was a young man in army uniform, Anirudh noticed. It was too dark to see faces, but he was able to make out the clothes each person was wearing.

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ asked the soldier.

  ‘No, I don’t believe in ghosts,’ replied Anirudh in a shaky voice. The creepy atmosphere was beginning to grate on his nerves and he wondered if he would last the night. ‘They exist only in stories.’

  ‘My dear friend, you will start believing in ghosts before the night is gone,’ chuckled a middle-aged woman sitting on the other side of the room.

  ‘I will need a lot of convincing,’ said Anirudh stubbornly. ‘I am a rational person. Ghosts are nothing but the product of a fevered imagination.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you might change your mind before morning. In the meantime, let’s swap ghost stories.’ A hollow laugh sounded from his right.

  ‘I have a better idea,’ suggested a man sitting next to the soldier. ‘Let’s include all kinds of supernatural stories. In fact, why don’t we have a competition? Each of us will narrate a spooky story. The person who comes up with the creepiest one will be the winner and I will give him a prize.’

  Several voices went up in excitement. ‘What is the prize?’ someone wanted to know.

  ‘This, dear friends, is the prize.’ The man who had suggested the contest held up a stone that dazzled like a diamond, even in the darkness. There was a sharp intake of breath as everyone peered at the stone.

  ‘That’s a valuable stone,’ commented the young woman named Mala. ‘Is it a diamond?’

  ‘It’s a two-carat solitaire,’ chuckled the man. ‘I am a jeweller and I know the exact worth of this stone but won’t divulge it till someone wins the prize.’

  ‘Fair enough!’ agreed the old man sitting next to Anirudh. ‘May the best person win. This is likely to be an interesting story session.’

  ‘Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s start the session,’ a squeaky voice piped up from the dark.

  By this time, the clouds had parted and a waning crescent moon cast a faint light into the room. Anirudh’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness and the writer in him began taking note of the people in the room. He turned his eyes to the man with the squeaky voice. Seated several chairs away, he was a cadaverous man with a bald head which seemed larger than normal. He was rubbing his hands to keep himself warm.

  2

  THE UNPAID DEBT

  The first person to begin the story was a man in elegant clothes. The suit made of fine fabric must have cost him quite a lot of money, Anirudh mused.

  ‘I am an architect by profession, but I have a lot of interest in archaeology and Egyptian archaeology in particular,’ he began. ‘Right from my childhood, I have been fascinated by Egyptian mummies and the mysteries connected with them. For long I had wanted to visit Egypt and finally, at the age of forty-five, I flew to that country.

  I had been preparing for the trip for almost a month, tying up a private vehicle, hotel accommodation, a knowledgeable guide and other administrative details. I had prepared a detailed itinerary, and carried out research about the places I wanted to visit. Finally, one November morning, I landed at Cairo in a state of excitement and anticipation. My guide, Khaled Abbas, met me at the airport and the two of us exchanged pleasantries.

  As luck would have it, Khaled was a young and enthusiastic man who knew a lot about Egyptian culture and history. He knew of my interest in mummies and promised to take me to places that were not on the itinerary of most tourists. My directives were clear – I wanted to see the mummies from close quarters and know all about the process of mummification. Since I was paying a fat fee for his services, Khaled said he would take me on an exclusive and memorable tour.

  Mummification was done because the Egyptians believed in life after death. The body had to be preserved so they could use it in the afterlife.

  From the books I had read, I knew that the process of mummification took seventy days, with special priests carrying out the elaborate rituals. It was mostly the rich and influential who could afford the cost of mummification, which is the reason that there are very few mummies of the common man. The priests were learned people who knew everything about human anatomy. The complicated ritual involved the removal of all internal parts without disfiguring the face and body. Egyptians believed that the heart was the most important organ, so it was left in the body, but the rest of the organs were removed and preserved in containers known as canopic jars. The body was filled with stuffing and dehydrated with natron, a kind of natural salt. After about forty days, the stuffing was removed and replaced with linen and the body wrapped in layers of linen strands and placed in a stone coffin.

  The mummy was now ready for its journey to the afterlife. Egyptians believed that Anubis, who had a human body and a jackal’s head, was the God of Mummification, so the priests wore masks with the head of a jackal.

  Determined to see and photograph as much as possible, I instructed Khaled to take me to al-Dayr al-Bahrī, which was also called the Valley of Queens. This place, which was famous for the funerary temple of Queen Hatshepsut, was on the itinerary of all tourists who visited Egypt. My reasons for visiting the place were different. Apart from the queen’s temple, I wanted to explore the valley where fresh excavations were taking place and mummies were being discovered.

  My excitement grew as Khaled took me through Queen Hatshepsut’s temple. The painted pillars and hieroglyphic decorations on the walls spoke of an ancient story about the queen and her times. I wandered along with hundreds of tourists, gasping and photographing the details.

  An interesting character, Hatshepsut had to wear a beard and dress like a man in order to rule. The lady ruled the country for 22 years. It was a record of sorts, since no other female pharaoh had ruled so long or been as successful as a ruler. There was peace and prosperity in the region. Many of her achievements were documented on the walls of her funerary temple.

  The Valley of Queens had many other tombs of the royal ladies and children. Some had already been discovered and some were under excavation, with fresh ones being found.

  ‘Khaled, do you remember I had expressed my desire to visit a tomb which was being excavated?’ I asked, as we stepped out of the temple. Despite it being the month of November, it was blistering hot in the desert and I sank into a chair in one of the small restaurants which was located in the market near the temple.

  ‘That’s impossible, effendi!’ The guide looked aghast at my request. ‘Entry into such tombs is prohibited and punishable under law.’

  ‘Nothing
is impossible!’ I retorted. ‘Money can open many doors. I am willing to pay whatever amount you need.’

  I was well endowed and could afford to pay more money than the average tourist. I also knew that bribery worked in that country, just as it worked in mine. Also, I was paying Khaled almost double the normal guide’s fee. ‘I will pay you extra,’ I said, trying to bait him. ‘What if I pay 2000 Egyptian pounds over and above your agreed fees?’

  ‘No, effendi, not possible,’ he waved away my offer. ‘It’s too risky.’

  ‘Four thousand Egyptian pounds?’ I doubled my offer.

  That got him thinking. ‘I will have to pay a huge bribe to the officer in charge of security,’ he finally replied.

  ‘Well, how much do you want?’ I was getting desperate. My dream was close to coming true and I didn’t want money to be a hurdle.

  ‘I think ten thousand should be enough,’ he suggested with a cunning look.

  The guy was getting greedy. He had realized that I would be prepared to shell out big money to get inside the tomb. Egyptians love haggling just as Indians do, so I began bargaining. ‘That’s too much,’ I protested. ‘What about five thousand? It’s a fair amount. You can keep some money and pay the rest as a bribe. I can’t pay more than that.’

  It was like a cat and mouse game with the two of us studying each other. Realizing he couldn’t get any more out of me, Khaled shrugged and we settled for five thousand Egyptian pounds, which was quite a big amount, around twenty-five thousand Indian rupees. For me, the deal was worth every paise. ‘I will do this for you, effendi, because I like you,’ said Khaled.

  It was nonsense, of course. The money was too tantalizing for him to refuse.

  ‘You wait here while I make a few calls,’ he instructed.

  I was too excited to sit still so I began pacing around the market.

  Fifteen minutes later, he returned with a beaming face. ‘You’ve got your wish.’

  I clasped his shoulders gratefully and thanked him.

  ‘I have been able to convince the security in charge, but we will have to wait till sunset when all the tourists and guides leave the valley. There is one tomb that has been partially excavated, but it has vivid hieroglyphs and paintings. I think you will like it.’