My Aunt's Haunted House

The problem with having a head full of ideas is that it takes time to find a true diamond– the one idea that fits the bill of the world, the winner in the haystack, the eye of the bull, as they say. While I was struggling to find such an idea in the stack in my head, it was becoming tough to meet the comforts that suited my taste. There was a struggle to consume coffee when needed and it was a pinch to buy movie tickets at will.

Aunt Vyjanti, my guardian and a mini-bank of sorts, figured out my woes. One lazy Sunday, as I was lost in a movie magazine, learning about the wonderful lives of those glitzy superstars, she simply snatched the publication out of my hand.

“What good is this going to do?” she asked with an irritation that was so unsuited to a rich woman with a loaded portfolio. “You can never be like these actors unless you put some effort into being something.”

“I am something, Aunt Vyjanti. A strategist, if you have heard of those people. Just got to put the wheels into motion and one of these days, I’m going to strike gold,” I said as I rose off the couch and began walking towards the kitchen. A tired brain needs more fuel on Sundays, I feel.

“Stop right there. No more of this strategy and wheels that refuse to move. You are to pack your bags and go to Sapnapur,” she said with a needless weight of drama, what with one hand outstretched and all.

“And what am I to do in Sapnapur?” I asked as I opened the jar of cookies on the dining table and took a bite. They’ve began adding too much salt in these, I realised.

“I have a flat there. And it needs a caretaker. You can try to be useful there,” she said while giving me a note. I saw that it was an address of one Hilly Heights Apartments.

“Then you must hire a caretaker. I have a degree in business, not in housekeeping,” I tried to return the piece of paper.

“Consider it a business of housekeeping then. Pack your bags. I will pay an amount sufficient to manage the house every month starting today,” she began walking off.

“On top of my monthly allowance, you mean?” These things better be in writing but I trusted Aunt Vyjanti.

“For now, your monthly allowance includes the house. I will decide later whether you get an additional sum or not. Do not disappoint me this time,” she walked off to her room without caring to listen what a massive pinch this arrangement was. 

To float in this world’s woes, one must grab on to any supporting straw. So, I pocketed the flat’s address, packed my bags, and began towards Sapnapur. Of course, Aunt Vyjanti wouldn’t need that film magazine and jar of cookies so off they went into my hand bag.

I had been to Sapnapur a few times as a kid. It was a sleepy little town with farms in the vicinity. Over the years, people had sold their land to house office spaces for the IT crowd. That meant upcoming malls and multiplexes. The Sapnapur flat suited Aunt Vyjanti just fine. It was, what they call, a two-storeyed duplex occupying the top floors of the thirteen-floored Hilly Heights Apartments. But like everything Aunt Vyjanti’s persona, it was in shambles - dusty floors, worn out carpet, and suffocating. So, I clicked a few pictures and sent them to Jaya - “Too much damage. Needs urgent attention. Send immediate help.” Jaya was Aunt Vyjanti’s assistant and my vending machine that rarely worked. Aunt Vyjanti was too unbothered to carry her own phone and so Jaya was my go-to when it came to distant talks. She immediately saw the message and after some time replied with a thumbs-down emoji. Communication from Jaya was either the ka-ching sound of money hitting my bank account (e.g. “Need bail money for friend and self. Arrested for a street brawl.”) or a thumbs-down (e.g. this case). Once, I had tried to bribe Jaya with a percentage of my earnings but she had sent a string of angry face emojis. Like boss like assistant. So, Aunt Vyjanti’s advance was to cover cleaning up this mess. Not a great start.

I talked to the neighbours, gathered some workers, and made the place habitable. And then… well, then I had no clue what to do. Two weeks of relaxation zoomed by. My top floor machinery was well-greased and running. Hadn’t Aunt Vyjanti called this a business? And so, I decided to make it one.

I absolutely hated clickety-clacketing my laptop but that was what the hour needed. A man needs his movies and coffees, doesn’t he? Researching upon how to run the business of online house renting, I learned that spaces like these might attract bigger coins if they’re designed for leisure. That meant picking a theme and offering a certain experience.

Hilly Heights was around forty years old. Though it was in a decent neighbourhood, the area wasn’t in the prime of the city. The front street was poorly lit and the apartment itself was hardly occupied. Dogs barking aimlessly at night gave the setting a final touch of sadness. And so, I decided upon the theme of a haunted house. More rap-tapping on the laptop and I knew what the house needed – a few old dolls stuffed in one room, a hidden switch that triggered the sound of a baby crying, creaking doors, I got it all in. I gathered a few members of the staff who readily agreed to stay in the house and give the guests some hibbies here and a few jibbies there. Nothing too scary – one religious dude in the living room summoning the devil, a tarot card reader lady in the dining room foreboding someone’s ghastly death, and a few more unsettling settlers.

Once listed on the internet, “My Aunt’s Haunted House” (ha!) found guests crawling in for the thrills. Acting as the manager, I got them to sign a document that got rid of my obligations – you never know how a person would act in a scary setting. After a few days, my bank account began to look livelier, coffee began to flow freely, and movies were not a thing of the past. The stocks of the venture were skyrocketing.

One evening, my phone chimed with Jaya’s five-word horror text, “She’s reaching tonight at 8,” stared back at me. A string of question marks popped up in my head but there was no point in countering the inevitable. All I could do before Aunt Vyjanti’s arrival was to get rid of the board on the door. And then, the wheels in my head turned. Unlike those guests, Aunt Vyjanti was not going to be aware about the hauntedness of this house. That ought to take care of her.

I left a “Terrible tummy ache. Off to sleep early. House helpers to assist,” note stuck on the door for Aunt Vyjanti. The house staff began catering to her right from the moment she stepped in. Even from my room, I imagined how she would have reacted to the entire show. She would have let out a little scream when a man with a melting face (mask!) picked her bag. When he offered her our welcome drink of “Fresh blood from a sacrificed wolf,” (cranberry juice!) she would have struggled her urge to throw up. The shock of receiving blood (beetroot juice!) from the tap would have made her shudder. The red light in her room highlighting the big cobweb with a bat hanging next to it would have made it difficult for her to sleep. So she would decide to leave right away.

As I kept thinking about the sequence unfolding, the front door thud shut. So, she had fled! And with much merriment and excessive excitement, I rushed out of my room. The welcome drink glass lay spilled on the carpet with the cobweb looking sad and diminished next to it. And there stood Aunt Vyjanti.

“Get rid of these toys and idiots at once!” she yelled.

I looked questioningly at the tarot card reader lady standing next to Aunt Vyjanti. “She slapped the melting face guy and threw him out,” she said in an apologetic tone. That explained the sound of the door shutting.

The house felt truly haunted now – occupied by the ghosts of my dead coffee desires and movie trips.