Ruby Red

“Hey there!” comes a voice from far behind me. Wasn't I supposed to be alone here, I think. I continue painting without turning back. “Hey, at least respond to me,” says the voice which now seems to be right behind me.

I turn around to find a handsome young man in a pair of grey trousers, a white shirt, and a brown checked blazer.

“Hi,” I reply. “I thought I won't find any disturbing element here.”

“Disturbing element!” he laughs. “You sure wouldn't have had you closed the doors behind you.” I roll my eyes at him. “So, what are you doing here?” he asks emphasizing the last word.

“Just trying to make a painting for my friend's birthday.”

“Really? And why did you choose this particular place for it?” he raises his eyebrow.

“Because it is quiet and I expected not many people know about it.”

“How did you get to know about it then?”

“Who are you, the owner of this place or what? I believe I have answered enough of your questions. Now, if you may, then I would like to fulfill the purpose for which I came here in the first place,” I respond angrily and continue to paint.

He comes around and sits in front of me on the floor. He looks at my face and then at the painting for a while before picking up a box full of different shades of red oil pastel crayons.

“I found them in that cupboard.”

“Now did you? Don't you think you mustn't open other people's cupboards?”

“No,” I wink. There is a pause as he stares right into my eyes. “OK, I shouldn't have. But it's the college cupboard and so it doesn't belong to any individual, does it? Look at these beautiful colours. I don't even know the names of all these.” I point at different crayons while naming them, “This one here is cherry red, that is wine red, that one is scarlet and the one at the right-hand corner is the normal red. Here you go, I know the names of only four shades out of twenty crayons in this box.”

“Carmine, crimson, rusty, cardinal, maroon, burgundy, berry, rose, merlot, garnet, brick, apple, sangria, blush, candy…,” he says picking up each crayon of the corresponding colour before pausing to pick the last one, “and this one here is blood,” he says with a wicked smile. “Blood red.”

He has such good knowledge about colours, I think.

“I am Ruby,” I say and hold my hand forward for him to shake.

“Hi, Ruby. I am Prat,” he winks ignoring my hand. I pull my hand back and continue to paint. “Don't you feel scared here? It's so lonely. Windows shut, no furniture. Just a cupboard and a rod…”

“Rod? There is a rod in this room? Where?”

“Right next to the door,” he says, pointing towards it.

I turn back to spot a thick iron rod placed on the floor near the door. “Why didn't I see it before?”

“Maybe because you were more interested in the cupboard,” he replies waving his hands. I chuckle.

We talk about my friend and the ongoing preparations for her birthday, his friends and how they have all settled in different parts of the country, and our common love for food, while I continue painting.

When I stand to leave, picking up my painting and crayons, he suddenly appears in front of me with the rod. He flashes his wicked smile and hits my stomach with it. Even though the rod only brushes past me, I play in with him and screech, “Aaaaaaah…”, as if in great pain. Then I start laughing, my eyes still closed due to the screech.

“Is anyone there? Is anyone there?” the watchman calls running inside the room. “What are you doing here, madam? What happened? I heard you scream,” he interrogates.

“Nothing. I was just…”

“From where did you find that box of crayons?” he interrupts me, pointing to the floor. His face turns pale as he stares at the box.

“From that cupboard. You know it has so many red crayons,” I reply.

“You mustn't have opened that cupboard, madam.”

“But why?”

“Because it is not yours.”

“Why does everyone say this to me? Have you people taken moral value classes too seriously?” I ask.

“Everyone? Who else told you that?” I ignore him and fix my gaze at the box of crayons. “Was he tall and fair, wore a white shirt and a brown blazer?”

“How do you know that?” I ask, finding only the two of us in the room. Prat seems to have disappeared.

“Oh God! Not again. Why did you open the cupboard, madam? Why did you?”

“But what is it with the cupboard?”

The watchman shrugs and says, “His name was Prateek Raj Bakshi, the sole heir of the Bakshi Group of Industries. He was a student at this college twenty years ago. It was their farewell party when two of his classmates had brought him here and hit his chest repeatedly with a thick iron rod until he bled to death. They did this because their fathers were business rivals. They hid his body in that cupboard. Soon, the students started experiencing eerie things in this room and the college administration locked its door. But the next morning, they found it wide open. They kept locking it but the door was always open the next morning. Finally, they started shutting the door without locking it to prevent anyone from entering the room. About fifteen years ago, a student disappeared and was found in this room coughing blood. He could not be saved but before dying he revealed that he had opened that cupboard and a young man had hit him with a rod...”

“What?” I ask, freezing.

“Yes, but the student didn't feel the pain of the rod hitting him. Two months after that, another student was found in the same situation. She was holding a red crayon in her hand that she had found in the cupboard. Twenty students have died in the past fifteen years and each one had opened the cupboard and found the crayons, except the first one.”

“What are you saying?” I shout, spitting blood on him. The horror is apparent on his face.

As today’s events flash in front of my eyes, I start coughing and more blood comes out of my mouth. I hear a whisper in my ears as I fall slowly to the ground and blackness starts engulfing me, “You, my lady, will be my RUBY red crayon...”