Room No. 666 - II

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Savoy Queen was built in 1956, but the top three floors had been appended only ten years ago. Now, among all the grapevines and scullery talks of the Queen’s staff the most celebrated mystery was of Room No. 666. They said it was haunted, and over the years the stories which thrived had only led credence to its queerness. Boarders had complained of voices in the bathroom, lights turning on and off, drawers opening and shutting however these had been brushed aside as illusions of the boarder’s nightmarish dreams. But what had prompted the hotel management to seal the room was one frightening occurrence. One morning, a bell boy had noticed blood flowing out from the keyhole. Upon investigation, the crimson fluid’s source could not be traced since the room had not been occupied since over a week. To such a macabre room did Michael nervously lug our dear lady’s bearings for the night.

“There Madame, two single beds here. The wind is chilly, so you should keep the windows shut. If you need anything, just ring the bell” said Michael
“And why would I need anything?” snapped our lady. Curtness and brevity in speech mademoiselle had learnt when she was a kid.
“Ahh, Indeed.. you shan’t”. Michael looked at this 25 year old woman queerly and blurted a gruff Good Night.

Not much has been said of Swati Twain, perhaps there was not much to be said. Attractive though she was, the utter disgust towards the Martian gender meant a celibacy for life. She slid off her stilettos and crashed on bed, her chestnut hair bouncing at the fall. The eyelids felt like lead, and in no time was she in a surreal peace which the day’s whirligig denied. She lay on the single bed away from the window, perhaps Michael’s words had been heeded to. Stacked suitcases, towels and accessories replaced in washbasin, the blinds up, strewn stilettos, a svelte figure on bed…Room No. 666 had been occupied.

to be continued...