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Moin is a student of Humanities (Arts). His hobby is writing Short Stories, Poems and Articles. He lives in India and loves meeting people.



Hello Reader! I am Jason Hills. I am an artist. I am here to share an incident that happened to me on the night of 2nd May, 2020.

I had been given a project to paint a scenery. I had never heard of that place. The address was M/23, Block-B7, Newton. A strange address, I thought to myself.

'I want the project to be completed within two days, okay?' Mr Jacob Williams said. 'My daughter will have recovered by then, and I want to surprise her on her 14th birthday. She loves painting, and preferably night views.'

'Don't you worry, Sir,' I said confidently. 'the painting will be completed before you know.'

Mooling Park was as busy as it had been. And there was peaceful silence as we saw the sun veiling himself slowly.

'Alright!' Mr Williams seemed to be in a hurry, so he shook hands with me and left.

When I reached the address, I found myself standing in front of a hotel. Its name was Wunka Hotel. Not a big hotel, but a two-storey hotel. The flickering of the bulbs made it frightful and mysterious.


I was shown my room, which Mr Williams had pre-booked for me. I set to work at 8 pm. By the time I had done 60% of the work, it was 11 pm. I was tired. The tea I had ordered was tasteless. So, I packed my tools and sat on my bed. I was thinking about making the painting more beautiful. We artists have the habit of imagination, and that's why we love what we do.

'Click!' I heard, and all my attention was drawn towards it.

'Who is there?' I called.

No one answered.

After some time, I heard someone sneeze. My throat went dry. The floor I had been shown to was empty. There could be only one person, and that's me.

I asked in a shaking voice, 'Who…who is there?'

Still, there was no answer.

When silence dominated, I closed my eyes.

Around 1 am, I woke up to drink water. Suddenly, I saw two yellow eyes staring at me, beside the curtains. I moved slowly towards them and slid the curtains out of my way. I sighed when I discovered that those were eye-lamps. I climbed my bed.

'Shh…' I heard, and this time I heard it loud and clear.

It was so close, like next to me. The room was growing more mysterious. So, I switched on the bulb, but suddenly it went out. When I looked out of my window, I discovered that the entire city was drowned in darkness. There was a power cut. Absurd images stirred in my mind. I tried to distract myself, but it was no use. The fan was off, and I was sweating. I was like a turkey-in-oven.

I heard sniffing and sobbing.

'Who's there?' I asked, this time, my voice was weaker.

No reply.

'I know someone's here.' I spoke stupidly.

Indeed, it was a stupid thing to do. How can there be someone when the door was locked, and floor empty.?

'Didn't you murder Michael?' a woman's voice echoed.

'No.' I said, pulling my blanket closer. 'Who-who are—'

'It doesn't matter.' the voice replied. 'How he must have begged when you murdered him! There was still no pity in your heart.'

'I don't know any Micheal. What do you want?' I asked feeling fear and anger burning in my heart. 'Show yourself, you coward!'

'I am not a coward!' the voice roared. 'You shall die too.'

'No,' I protested, 'I am Ja–!'

Something hit my head, and I felt the room moving in one direction. I fell unconscious.

The next thing I remember was lying on my bed, facing the ceiling. I immediately phoned my friend, Henry and narrated the entire incident. He was not completely shocked, but worried.

'You must not stay there. The hotel is cursed.' he cautioned. 'Come to my house when you complete your work, okay?'

'Okay.' I said.

So, I continued my work and got it completed by 9 pm. I headed straight to Henry's. There he told me the entire story how a woman shot herself when she heard about her husband's murder. Whoever lives in the hotel, she convicts him of his murder. She is a spirit.

I was relieved, and was thankful that night that I had my amulet. That saved me. I get goosebumps every time I narrate this happening.

© 2020 Moin Khan Muzammil

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