Rahul and Deepa had recently shifted into the flat. After trying to find a place of their own for a long time, they had finally decided on this flat. It was spacious in spite of being a 1 BHK, it was on the top floor in a building of 8 stories, a terrace flat with a small terrace where Deepa could nurse her gardening passion. Flat no. 808! And in these expensive times, when even 1 BHK were in the range of Rs. 80 lakhs and above, they had got it for dirt cheap Rs. 65 lakhs. There was a reason. But no one told.
One day, early morning, Deepa had just woken up and was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. Looking at herself in the mirror, with her dishevelled hair and heavy morning eyes, she was critical of her own looks. After brushing her teeth, she took the napkin from the hanger to wipe her face. And as she turned to leave the bathroom, for a moment she felt someone staring at her. She glanced into the mirror, the reflection glanced back at her. Shaking her head, she left the bathroom. The entire day, the string of tasks ensured that the morning the uncomfortable feeling was soon forgotten.
The next morning, after brushing her teeth, as she turned to leave the bathroom, the same thing happened. This time as she glanced into the mirror, her own image, but frozen a few seconds back was staring at her! She felt all her energy drain out causing her feet to buckle, losing her balance, she stumbled out, screaming out Rahul’s name. Rahul, who was still enjoying his morning sleep, woke up with a start. As he rushed towards the bathroom, he saw Deepa quite shaken up and trembling. “What happened, Deepa?” , he asked, concern lit large upon his face. Still shaking Deepa could only stutter, “Mm…mirror!” Rahul pushed open the bathroom door…but the mirror was as normal a mirror can be. “Deepa, there’s nothing here. Come here”. But she refused. Gently, Rahul got hold of her hand and guided her towards the bathroom. Both looked into the mirror…but there was nothing. Still, Deepa was clinging to Rahul for comfort. Rahul then took her to the kitchen and made her sit in a chair. “Today I will make tea for you”, and so saying, proceeded to fix up two refreshing cups of tea for themselves. By now, Deepa had got hold of her nerves and like every morning, she got into the task of making their morning breakfast.
Rahul went to the bathroom to get ready for the long day ahead. He finished his brushing and like always, started shaving. He worked up a good lather on his face and after holding the razor in the warm running water, he started shaving. First the right cheek and then his left, he started shaving on the underside of his face, looking at himself in the mirror. Suddenly, he saw his own reflection getting hold of its neck with one hand. He felt himself choking while his reflection proceeded to cut its own neck arteries with slow and deliberate cutting with the razor, the blood spurting out causing the red colour to eventually blind his eyes, as he lost consciousness and he slumped to the floor, darkness enveloping his entire being.
“Breakfast is ready, Rahul” Deepa was calling out to her loving husband. But why was he taking so long? Finally, she came to the bathroom to check on him. She banged on the door, it just creaked open. She could feel no movement inside. She pushed at the door and was aghast to see Rahul’s body sprawled across the bathroom floor. She cried out her husband’s name, but there was no response. With shaking hands, she placed her fingers on the throat to feel any pulse…there was none. For a moment she collapsed on Rahul’s body, then picking herself up, she rushed towards the main door and started banging on the neighbour’s door, all the while shrieking with pain and fear. Her neighbour immediately called the nearby doctor as well as the police. The post-mortem showed that Rahul had died due to a severe heart attack.
The gossip in the society has now got louder about the revenge of the murdered woman in flat no. 808, murdered by her own husband inside the bathroom. She had seen herself being cruelly asphyxiated by the strong arms of her violent husband, in that very mirror. Her angry soul could not take revenge on her own husband since he died within a month of her murder. So It had taken her revenge on the second pair, who dared to occupy her flat and who come in front of her mirror daily, the mirror which is now her residence. This was the third death in the flat within the last three years.
Deepa has since shifted to her mother’s place and put an ad on the net, to sell off her flat at a dirt cheap value of Rs. 50 lacs. And no, she does not mention anything about the mirror or her husband’s death in the bathroom, to prospective buyers. Ranganath and his wife, Roopa are very interested in this cheap flat, which seems to be a dream come true in these expensive times. Today they are sitting with Deepa to finalise the transaction to their dream home. Or a nightmare!