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Arjun, ek tech company ka UX designer, burnout ke baad Mussoorie ke outskirts pe ek purane guesthouse mein 4 din ka solo break lene aaya tha. Naam tha ‘Darwal Retreat’, jo British era ka tha, ab government guesthouse bana diya gaya tha — bilkul sunssaan, pine ke jungle ke beech.
Jab usne reception pe register sign kiya, chaukidaar Kallu ne sirf ek baat boli—“Room 7 mein mat rukhna, sir. Baaki koi bhi le lo.” Arjun ne hansi mein taal diya aur Room 5 le liya.
Pehli raat sab normal tha. Barish ho rahi thi, hawa mein woh hill-station wali sard nami thi. Second raat thodi ajeeb lagi—raat ke 2:13 baje ek metallic click aur purane hinge ki awaaz aayi. Jaise koi darwaza khula ho. Arjun ne socha koi aur guest hoga, lekin file mein sirf uska naam tha.
Teesri raat usne awaaz chhupke se record karne ki sochi. Alarm lagake 2:10 baje uth gaya, phone ka recorder on kiya. Phir… sahi time pe wapas wahi awaaz: “click… creeeeeeeeak.” Arjun ne torch li, slippers pehne, aur corridor mein nikal aaya.
Guesthouse ka structure colonial tha. Lambi wooden corridors, high ceilings, aur har angle pe purane portraits. Lobby mein ek corner tha jahan ek cabinet tha, jiske peeche usne hamesha ek plain wall mani thi. Magar isbaar, torch uss wall pe chali toh kuch aur hi dikha.
Wahan ek wooden arch tha. Bilkul waise hi design ka jaise baaki guesthouse ke darwaze the, par overgrown plants uss arch ko chhupa rahe the. As if woh pehle kabhi nahi tha. Arjun ne haath se bushes hataayi, aur darwaza poora samne aaya. Koi knob nahi, sirf ek embedded pattern — spiral lines jaisi, jaise neural circuits.
Usne haath rakha. Darwaza khula.
Andar andhera nahi tha. Balki ek bilkul alag type ki roshni — na fluorescent, na sunlight — lekin aisi jo time mein se seep hoti lagti thi. Ek narrow hallway tha, jaise sterile hospital passage ho, par walls pe ek bhi sign nahi, koi room number nahi. Ek guzar chuka antiseptic smell.
Arjun ne 20 kadam bhi nahi chale honge ki peechhe ka darwaza band ho gaya. Jab usne palatke dekha, darwaza wahan tha hi nahi. Sirf smooth wall jisme koi pattern nahi.
Andar chalke usne ek room dekha jisme khidki se baarish dikhti thi, aur ek aadmi bed pe lete the — but with their back arched unnaturally, jaise koi invisible weight spine ko kheech raha ho. Par unke mooh pe Arjun ka khud ka chehra tha.
Usne chillake peechhe bhagna chaha, par hallway badal chuka tha. Har mod pe woh apna hi ek version dekh raha tha — ek me woh window ke glass pe chipka tha, ek me woh bina aankhon ke corner mein baitha tha, ek me uske haath ulta lage the, aur vo ek waveform ke pattern mein kuch bol raha tha — as if kisi machine ne uske thought pattern ko translate kar diya ho.
Tabhi ek familiarity zda khoon se likha text dikha ek wall pe: “You arrived when the gate OPENED. Now you’ll see yourself LEAVING.”
Arjun ne wall pe haath mara, but woh sirf vibrate hui — jaise membrane. Aur wapas woh wahi lobby mein ja gira jahan se ghusa tha. Magar ab lobby mein sari lights blink kar rahi thi, portraits ki aankhen hil rahi thi jaise kissi ne abhi abhi pose change kiya ho. Aur calendar pe date thi: October 17th, 1973.
Darwal Retreat ab wrecked lag raha tha. Furniture pe cobwebs the, aur lobby mein ek raakh ho chuke aadmi ka half-melted frame pada tha jiska haath ussi spiral pattern pe tha.
Kallu chaukidaar ek naye uniform mein aaya, par jawaan tha, aur Arjun ko dekhke bola: “Aap naye aaye ho, na? Room 7 mat lena. Wahan se log andar chale jaate hain, phir kabhi wapas nahi aate.”
Peechhe wall pe ek naya portrait laga tha. Arjun ka. Uske har alternate version ke expression ke saath. Aur neeche sign tha: “Resident: Visitor No. 1912. Duration: Infinite.”
